“No; but there may be danger that some one will run away with them if we don’t keep our eyes open,” returned Walter, who was gazing intently toward the woods. “There are other hunters coming, if my ears do not deceive me.”
After listening a moment, the boys all heard the noise that had attracted Walter’s attention. It was the baying of hounds. The sound came faintly to their ears at first, but grew louder and louder every moment, indicating that the chase was tending toward the cornfield.
“Now isn’t that provoking?” cried Eugene. “Pull off your coats, boys, and get ready for a fight; for if we don’t have one in less than ten minutes, I shall miss my guess.”
“We can tell more about that when we see the hunters,” said Featherweight.
“O, I know who they are,” replied Eugene. “I have heard those hounds before, and I am certain that they belong to Bayard Bell and his crowd.”
The other members of the Club thought so too, and they wished that Bayard had stayed away half an hour longer, and given them time to remove their game to a place of safety.
Every section has some laws of its own that are not written in books; and this is especially true of a new country, concerning the sharing of the proceeds of a hunt. For example, a hunter sets out on the trail of a deer that has travelled all night. A second hunter strikes the trail in advance of him, and follows up the game and kills it. The first man, if he comes up before the game is removed, and can prove that he was on the trail at an earlier hour than his rival, can claim half the deer, although he may have been miles away when it was killed. Game was so abundant at the time of which we write, that there was seldom any difficulty in regard to the division of the spoils. If the successful hunter was generous, the other let him off very easily, perhaps taking only a few steaks for his next morning’s breakfast; but if he showed a disposition to be stingy, his rival always insisted on his rights, and got them, too. In this case the Club thought they saw a chance for trouble. Every one in that region knew that there was a standing reward of twenty-five dollars offered for the scalp of every panther killed in the parish, and they were afraid that the hunters who were then approaching might endeavor to establish a claim to a portion of the money. That was something they did not intend to allow. They found the trail first, followed up the panther, and finding him in company with another, killed them both, before any one, except Mr. Gaylord, knew that they were in the neighborhood. They hurriedly discussed the matter while they were awaiting the approach of the rival hunters, and resolved that they would stand up for their rights.
The noise of the chase continued to grow louder every moment, and presently a pack of hounds, perhaps a dozen of them in all, emerged from the woods, and leaping the fence came close upon the young hunters before they discovered them. Then they ceased their baying, smelt of the panthers, and tried to scrape an acquaintance with Rex and the rest of the Club’s hounds; but their advances not being very graciously received, they ran back to the fence to await the arrival of their masters. They came at length, and when the foremost horseman appeared in sight, our heroes exchanged significant glances and drew a little closer together, while Eugene rested his gun against the nearest tree and began to pull off his overcoat. “It is just as I expected,” said he, in great disgust. “We’ll see fun now, for Bayard and his crowd are mean enough for anything.”
As Eugene spoke, a magnificent coal-black charger arose in the air, and, sailing over the fence like a bird, came toward the thicket at a rapid gallop. He carried on his back a dark sullen-looking boy about seventeen years of age, who wore a military cloak and cap, heavy horseman’s boots and gauntlet gloves, and carried a light rifle slung over his shoulder by a broad strap. This was Bayard Bell, Walter’s rival in everything except his studies. Close behind him came four other boys—Will and Seth Bell, Henry Chase and Leonard Wilson—all finely mounted, neatly dressed, and armed with shot-guns and rifles. These five boys had a society of their own, something like the Sportman’s Club, and somehow they were always opposing the members of the Club, and were invariably worsted by them. They had claimed to be the champion oarsmen of the Academy, and in the attempt to establish that claim, had been so badly beaten that their friends were ashamed of them. Bayard and Henry Chase had been candidates for the position of Commodore and Vice-Commodore of the Academy squadron; but Walter and Featherweight had carried off the honors. Bayard also wanted to be president of one of the literary societies of the institution, and had worked hard for certain academic honors that he thought he ought to have; but rattle-brained Eugene Gaylord had snatched one of the prizes from his grasp, and the studious little Featherweight had walked off with the other. As Bayard and his friends had been confident of success in every one of these instances, their failures were sore disappointments to them. They looked upon their defeats as direct insults, and declared that they would never forget them. They had generally tried to treat the Club with civility as long as they remained at the Academy, but now that they were out from under the eyes of their professors and away from the rest of the students, they thought they had no reason to conceal the real state of their feelings.
The attention of the new-comers was so fully occupied in guiding their horses through the thicket and over the rough, uneven ground, that they did not discover the members of the Club until they had dashed into the very midst of them; and then they checked their horses so suddenly that every one of them was thrown back upon his haunches. The encounter was plainly unexpected, and very much of a surprise to them. They gazed first at our heroes and then at the panthers, and taking in the position of affairs at a glance, looked inquiringly at one another, as if to ask: “What shall we do about it?” Bayard must have been able to read the thoughts that were passing in the minds of his friends, or else he received some sign from them indicative of their desires, for he immediately assumed a swaggering, bullying air, which told the Club plainly enough what was coming.