“All right, Dick. Take my gun. It’s better than yours.”
The eager young lieutenant seized the weapon and began creeping through the brush in the direction of the caribou’s flight. Cody came behind, not much interested in the game, having his mind more fixed upon the overtaking of Boyd Bennett. The hunt promised to be a brief one, however.
Fortunately the running buck had not diverted far from the straightaway course to the hiding-place of the treasure-box; otherwise Cody might have more strenuously objected. In a few minutes the two men came to a glade well dotted with trees, yet free for the most part of brush so that they could see some distance.
“Wait! isn’t that him, Bill?” whispered the young lieutenant.
“Your eyesight is good, Dick. Where?” asked the scout.
“Yonder. Beyond that low brush-clump.”
“Ah!”
“That’s sure him, Bill. Yes, sir! he’s facing this way. You can see his black breast and fore legs. Down, Bill! don’t show yourself,” whispered Danforth eagerly.
“Wait a moment. Better be sure, Dick,” muttered the scout, stooping and peering under the sharp of his hand toward the spot indicated.
“Gad! he’ll get away. Let me plug him.”