He had been hunting in the woods along the upper Kanama river, had eaten his lunch, and now, finding himself a good six miles from home, began working his way back, hoping to gain a second shot at the stag that had dashed off at such speed that the youthful hunter was quickly left behind. Although deer were once plentiful in that section, they were now so scarce that it was quite an exploit for the best marksman to bring one down. Jud took his dog along, but just before starting the game, he scurried off on a false scent, and had not been heard or seen since.
The weather was unusually mild for the season, and Jud stood on the margin of the swift Kanama that was free from ice, debating whether he should cross in the dugout at his feet, in the hope of finding the game on the other shore, or whether he should turn about and search for the animal on the same side of the stream.
“He ran straight for the water, and most likely swam across; I think he was hit hard and will not go far, but it is so late that I may not come up with him before dark—helloa!”
A crashing of the undergrowth on his left was followed by a bound that carried the stag a dozen feet into the water. Like a diver, he sank out of sight, even his spreading antlers disappearing from view, but almost instantly the noble head came up over a rod away, the wealth of prongs spreading above the wet snout like the disjointed rigging of a ship. He swam with such powerful strokes that a deep wave opened out behind him. He was fully fifty feet from shore, before Jud rallied from his amazement.
“I’ve got you this time, my fine fellow,” he muttered, bringing his gun to his shoulder.
In the flurry of the moment, he did not recognize the meaning of a humming shriek which accompanied the report of his weapon. But the cartridge driven from his breech-loader was a defective one. There was a depression in one side of the lead which caused it to give out a quick, intense noise like that of a common nail when thrown in the peculiar manner known to all boys. Not only that, but the defect in the missile caused it to deflect just enough to make a clean miss.
Quite sure, though, that he had inflicted a mortal hurt, Jud was afraid the stag would reach land and get too far away to be overtaken before night. He shoved the dugout into the water, threw his gun in, followed it himself, caught up the paddle and worked with might and main to overtake the game.
Swiftly as a stag can swim, he is no match for a man in a dugout. Jud gained fast, and, before the middle of the stream was reached, he was abreast of the deer, but a dozen yards or so above. He curved down toward him, and had passed half the intervening distance, when the fugitive wheeled about, or headed toward the shore he had left a few minutes before.
His protruding eyes, and the whiffing snort which sent a fine spray from his nostrils, proved that he saw his peril and was desperately swimming away from it.
Now was the time for another shot. Jud hastily pulled the lever to throw out the old shell and push a new cartridge into place; but every one knows the “obduracy of inanimate things” at such times. Something got out of order, and, with an impatient exclamation, he lowered his piece to adjust it.