Deer-tracks, as we have said, were innumerable, and along one of those tracks a herd of deer were seen trotting one day about two bow-shots from the party. With characteristic eagerness Oliver Trench hastily let fly an arrow at them. He might as well have let it fly at the pole-star. The only effect it had was to startle the deer and send them galloping into the shelter of the woods.
“What a pity!” exclaimed Oliver.
“Not so, my boy,” remarked his father. “Experience, they say, teaches fools; and if experience has now taught you that it is foolish to shoot at game out of range, you are no fool, which is not a pity, but matter for congratulation.”
“But what about practice, daddy? Did you not say only last night that there is nothing like practice to make perfect?”
“True, lad, but I did not recommend practising at deer beyond range. Besides, you can practise at stumps and stones.”
“But stumps and stones don’t afford running shots,” objected Olly.
“Yes they do, boy. You can run past the stumps while you shoot, and as to stones, you can roll them down hill and let fly at them as they roll. Now clap the hatches on your mouth; you’re too fond of argument.”
“I’m only a chip of the ancient tree, father,” retorted the boy, with a quiet laugh.
How much further this little skirmish might have proceeded we cannot tell, for it was brought to an abrupt close by the sudden appearance of a black bear. It was on turning a cliff which bordered the edge of a stream that they came upon the monster—so close to it that they had barely time to get ready their weapons when it rose on its hind legs to attack them.
“Look out!” yelled Oliver, who, being in advance, was the first to see the bear.