The buck’s head was hung from a tree, high enough to keep any animal from reaching it.
“Of course,” Frank explained, after they had managed to do this, “if a hungry bobcat came along we couldn’t hope to prevent it from getting there; and a Canada lynx would think nothing of making a spring twice that high. But what we want most of all are the antlers; and this will save them for us.”
He also made one package of meat to take home, and another that they hung from a limb the same way the buck’s head had been.
“Now, are we ready to start for home?” asked Bluff, when all these things had been looked after.
“Yes, because we’ve gone far enough for one thing,” replied Frank; “and then, besides, we have all the game we need for the present.”
“Three birds is a poor number for our crowd,” the other protested. “Either somebody has to go without, or else they must be divided up.”
“Well, keep on the watch, and perhaps you may get a crack at another on the way back to camp,” Frank advised him.
“Guess I will, and thank you for telling me, Frank. It was hardly fair, though, for you to make all that venison up in just one pack. Why didn’t you fix it so I could tote some on my back?”
“I figured that three fat partridges would be about as much as any fellow cared to carry; and, if you should bag another, that’d make it complete. So forget it, and be on the watch.”
That was Frank’s way, and Bluff knew it was no use trying to make him change his plans. There was not a selfish bone in Frank Langdon’s body—even his worst enemy would admit that much.