“‘Sure, an’ we’ll hide in the skronnick,’ replied Mike, ‘an’ shoot thim as they go by.’
“‘An’ maybe they won’t go by just to oblige us,’ suggested Ben. ‘I reckon we’ll hev to git down, so’s they can’t see us, an’ crawl up on ’em!”
“These tactics decided upon, the hunters mounted to the plain, enthusiastic and sanguine. Eagerly they scanned the bleak reaches. Not a caribou was there in sight. Ben’s face fell, and he heaved a mighty sigh of disappointment. But Mike was not so easily cast down.
“‘Come on,’ said he cheerily, ‘an’ we’ll find the bastes ’fore ye know where ye are.’
“With their guns over their shoulders, they picked their way through the skronnick for a couple of hundred yards, till suddenly, out from behind a bowlder, not twenty paces in front of them, stepped a huge bull caribou.
“The caribou was solitary, and in a very bad humor. He shook his spreading antlers and snorted ominously.
“‘You shoot! He’s yourn!’ shouted Mike in wild excitement, brandishing his gun at full cock over his head.
“Proudly Ben raised his long weapon to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. There was no marked result, however, as he had forgotten to cock the gun. Just as he hastily remedied this oversight, the caribou charged madly. Ben fired—and missed!
“‘He’ll kill ye! Dodge him in the skronnick,’ yelled Mike.
“And obediently Ben dived into the nearest patch.