The boys were disappointed in their expectations, for the deer changed its course, and again left the river. Another hour passed, and the deep shades of the forest cast a gloom on all around.
"Helloo, there, Owen!" shouted Martin, emerging from his place of concealment, and stretching his cramped limbs. No answer came, so he called again in a still louder voice: "Helloo, there, Owen! Wake up, and let us move; it's getting dark."
Still no answer came.
"Owen! Owen!" he called, walking toward the place where his companion had waited. Not finding him, Martin took the horn which hung at his side and was about to raise it to his mouth, when he heard the report of Owen's rifle. The latter had given up all hope of killing the deer, and had crept cautiously away in quest of the gobbler. He had just caught sight of it in the thick underbrush, but the woods were now so dark that his aim was not true.
"We are in a pretty plight," said Owen as Martin approached. "Hunting all day, and nothing to show for our work but a few squirrels."
"Yes!" assented Martin. "And it's seven miles home—dark, too; in half an hour we won't be able to see ten steps ahead. We stayed at the ford too long; there is no going home to-night, and that is all about it. Why, an Indian would get lost a night like this. We must stay here; it won't be the first night we have slept on the banks of the Beech Fork."
"That's all right for the summer," argued Owen. "But remember that it's October now, and the nights are frosty."
"What's to be done?" asked Martin, glancing anxiously around the dark forest.
"I really don't know. But I do know one thing: I am tired and hungry."
"Let us stay here. We won't starve. We'll have the squirrels for supper."