“I reckon it was more by accident than anything else, that Rouser turned the rabbit back my way before,” muttered the lad from Texas, “and I don’t judge it will happen again. If I stay here I won’t get another shot. Bunk and Spotty count on doing the rest of the shooting themselves. By the sound, I should say Rouser will be over in the next township before he stops.”
The inactivity swiftly became irksome to him, and finally, with gun tucked under his arm and game bag containing the rabbit and partridge slung from his shoulder, he set forth, guided by the barking of the dogs. At times he was forced to stoop to make his way through the low, scrubby growth, and once he paused to tie a red silk handkerchief about his neck, down which the snow had an uncomfortable way of sifting from the overhanging bushes which he disturbed as he pushed along. He made no attempt to follow either Lander or Davis, but finally, to his satisfaction, the sound of the dogs grew more and more distinct, and he came to a swamp growth where rabbit tracks and paths were plentiful. This swamp covered an extensive territory, and in its depth the hounds seemed to be pursuing the twisting, turning, circling game.
“I’ll bet something that both Bunk and Spotty are here somewhere,” laughed Rod softly. “They tried to leave me picketed over yonder where there wasn’t a show for me to do a whole lot of shooting. Perhaps they think I’ve done enough already.”
“Whoo!” came a hoarse shout, which sounded almost in Rod’s ear and caused him to give a ludicrously startled jump. Ere he could recover and shoot, a fluffy gray thing shot out of the shadows at one side and was gone into the still deeper shadows of another thicket.
“An owl,” muttered Grant, with a short laugh and a feeling of foolishness over his alarm. “He was sitting right there on the broken branch of that old dead stub. Owls aren’t good to eat, but, mounted, he would have made a good trophy for my room.”
Still, with the sound of the dogs drawing nearer, he spent little time in regretting the escape of the owl. Once the hounds were so close that he stood half crouching, peering into the shadows of the swamp, fully expecting to see the hunted rabbit come bounding forth into view; but suddenly the baying swept away to one side and passed on to the north, denoting that the furry fugitive had made a turn in the effort to baffle the clamoring animals that would give him no rest.
“It’s right plain he’s sticking to this swamp tract,” thought Rod, “and so I judge he’ll come round this way again if some one doesn’t pop him over.”
He moved on a few rods, found a spot that seemed favorable, placed himself with a tree at his back, and continued to wait, as motionless and rigid as the tree itself.
It was quite warm down here in the swamp, where no breath of air stirred. If other living creatures there were in the immediate vicinity of the young hunter, it appeared that they were also hypnotized into stony silence by the baying of the dogs, now drawing near, now receding, growing faint, becoming plainer again, and finally seeming swiftly to approach.
“If I get this fellow, too, I’ll sure have the laugh on Bunk and Spotty,” whispered Rod, holding his gun ready to clap it instantly to his shoulder.