In the forlorn hope that his lone arrow might by chance have glanced and fallen on the green, he moved toward the narrow circle of wild pasture.
Then suddenly he stood still. There had come to his sensitive ear a sound of movement in the brush.
“Not the caribou either,” he told himself as his heart skipped a beat. “Some wild beast of prey, a bear or a wolf.”
But no, a greater surprise awaited him. Before him, much closer to the caribou than to him, a khaki clad back appeared. A boyish head, an old cap, a pair of stout arms held high, a bow, a quiver of arrows. A second’s suspense, and an arrow flew straight and fair at the statuesque caribou.
“’Twon’t do,” Johnny told himself, rubbing his eyes. “This is Nineteen Twenty-eight. Strange enough for me to be here. But a girl with only a bow and arrow in these wilds? It can’t be!”
And yet it was. As he looked again the girl was still there. So too was the caribou.
“Two arrows, and still he stands there motionless. That creature, this place is bewitched. I’ll break the spell.”
He was about to lift his voice in a loud “hello” when the girl, turning half about, fitted a second arrow to her bow and let fly.
“Straight to the mark, as I live!”
Johnny spoke his thought out loud. “And still he stands.”