The fact that he hardly shifted his position showed that he was holding himself almost stationary until his foe should reappear. He had turned upon his persecutor, and was waiting to destroy him.
The latter now did a clever thing. He came up so noiselessly that the brute did not hear him. He had to blink pretty hard to clear the moisture from his smarting eyes, but when he did so, it was as he expected; he was within six feet of the game, but directly behind him. The dugout was fifty feet down stream.
One long stroke carried Jud across the space. The stag heard the soft swash, and possibly caught sight of the figure stealing upon him, but, before he could turn his head, each hand grasped an antler with iron grip.
“Now, swim, old fellow, but you’ve got to take me along.”
It was the turn of the stag to fall into a panic. He flirted his head and whirled round and round in his effort to dislodge the incubus, but he could not do so. Jud laughed at the discomfiture of the animal.
“You’re doing quite well, but not so well as you think you can do.”
Jud’s expectation was that the stag would tire himself out, and then, finding he could not free himself of his load, would make for shore again. The youth meant to let go as soon as land was reached. No doubt by that time the animal would be glad enough to make off. He would be likely to escape altogether, for he certainly showed no signs of being badly wounded, if indeed he had been hit at all. If he should turn to assail Jud, after the latter let go his horns, he could easily avoid him in the water.
It looked as if Jud’s theory was to be verified, for, after a few blind circlings, the stag, with a disgusted sniff, made for the bank toward which he had headed on entering the river.
Peering through the little forest of antlers in front, the lad noticed that the trees along the shore were sweeping backward with amazing velocity; then he caught a roar, rapidly swelling into a deep boom, and gazing to the left, he saw the dugout bowing, dancing and turning on its own center in a cloud of rising mist. It was on the very point of plunging over the falls.
Jud thought no more of the stag. Unless he could reach shore within a few seconds, he must follow the dugout or be drowned. Releasing the antlers, he dropped to the bottom of the river, impelled to do so by a curious hope that he would thus gain a chance to help himself along.