“That’s a good plan; I did not think of that.”
The report of Harry’s gun followed his words, and feeling safe in his tree, he made a good shot, the largest of the wolves receiving the entire charge in his head. The boys continued to load and fire until the last wolf was killed, when they dropped down from the trees, and took a survey of their work. Nine wolves were lying dead on the snow, which was saturated with blood, and a tenth was endeavoring to crawl away on two legs. Brave immediately commenced a battle with him, but the wolf had plenty of fight left in him, and was killed only after a hard struggle.
“Now,” said Frank, “let’s follow up that white buck. I would give almost any thing to catch him alive. He is pretty well tired out, and can’t run far.”
“Lead on, then,” said Harry; “but, if Dick was here, he would say it was no use. You know hunters are inclined to be superstitious about such things.”
The boys had often heard extravagant stories told about the incredible speed and tenacity of life possessed by white deer, and had heard old hunters say that it was impossible to kill or capture them. But Frank was not superstitious. He could not see why a white deer should be so widely different from one of the ordinary color. At all events, he determined to make an attempt to capture the white buck—which would make a valuable addition to his museum. So, leaving the wolves where they had fallen, he led the way along the trail, which could be easily followed by the blood on the snow. They had run nearly a mile, when they discovered the white buck a short distance ahead of them, making his way slowly through the snow, and staggering as though he were scarcely able to keep his feet.
“There he is,” exclaimed Frank, joyfully. “Catch him, Brave.”
The dog was off in an instant, and although the buck made an effort to run, he was speedily overtaken, and pulled down without a show of resistance. The boys hurried forward to secure their captive, which struggled desperately as they approached. But at length Frank succeeded in fastening his belt around his neck. The buck staggered to his feet, and, after a few ineffectual attempts to escape, seemed to submit to his fate, and suffered himself to be led toward the cabin. He was one of the most noble specimens of the common deer that the boys had ever seen. He stood nearly five feet high at the shoulders, and his head was crowned with antlers, which Frank had learned, from experience, would prove no mean weapons in a fight. He was evidently an “old settler,” and had seen some stirring times during his life, for his body was almost covered with scars. They reached the camp without any mishap, and Harry brought from the cabin a long rope with which the captive was fastened to a tree. After a short struggle, during which the boys received some pretty severe scratches from the buck’s sharp hoofs, his legs were rudely bandaged, and he was left to himself.
After a hastily-eaten dinner, the boys returned to the scene of their late fight with the wolves, to procure some of the skins, which Frank wished to mount in his museum. They got back to the cabin just before dark, and found Dick leaning on his long rifle, and closely examining the buck. Useless was seated at his side, and near him lay three otter-skins, which they had captured during the day.
“See here, youngsters,” exclaimed the trapper, as the boys came up, “what’s all this yere?”
“O, that’s our day’s work,” replied Frank.