And still, as the moments passed, as the caribou moved nearer and nearer, the zero hour came closer to hand, he found his faith wavering.
“One arrow,” he thought over and over, “only one.”
But “Now! Now!” he breathed at last. “Can’t wait any longer.”
As the antlered monarch of the far north raised his head to stand there silent, listening, still as a statue, Johnny’s bow twanged, his arrow sped.
With a bound high and free the wild creature leaped away.
One, two, three bounds, and he had cleared the spot of light green. Another, another and yet another, he went thrashing breast deep in the young firs.
“Missed!” Johnny groaned. “Missed! And he carries into the forest my only arrow!”
But what was this? Just as his head fell in dejection he saw the caribou make one more leap, high and wide, then come to a sudden stand. Still breast deep in darkest green, he appeared to view the scene before another wild dash.
“Oh, for one more arrow!” the boy groaned.
“There is no other, so what’s the use?”