“Sorry we can’t accept your kind invitation and come down,” Jack chuckled from his perch some ten feet above the moose’s head. “But really I don’t like the looks of those horns. I say, Bob, how long do you think our friend will favor us with his company?”
“That’s hard to say,” Bob replied shaking his head. “But they’re mighty persistent critters once they get their mind fixed on an idea, and this boy seems to have his fixed pretty firmly on us just at present.”
“Well, I hope he gets another idea pretty soon so we can be on our way,” Jack said as he shifted to a more comfortable position.
“Great Scott, Jack, I forgot all about Rex for the minute,” Bob cried in alarm. “We can’t stay here. Think what it may mean to Rex. An hour sooner or later may make all the difference.”
“Spoken like a general,” Jack declared. “But our friend below seems to be master of ceremonies just now.”
“Don’t you think we’d be justified in shooting him?” Bob asked.
“Have you got the Winchester?”
“Sure. It was tied to my pack.”
“Then I believe I’d do it. It looks to me as though he’d bleed to death in time anyhow, and we certainly ought to be on our way as you said.”
“I hate to do it, but I honestly think it’s the only way out,” Bob said slowly as he reached for the rifle. “He’s apt to keep us here for hours.”