“They are certainly on the track of something,” suggested Roger, as he listened, and then, shrugging his broad shoulders, he continued. “Like as not, it is that buck we were hoping to run across. A plague on the pests! If I had my way, and could spare the ammunition, I’d shoot every one of the lot!”
“Little good that would do,” Dick told him; “because they run to thousands upon thousands out on the plains and in the mountains where we are heading. A dozen or two would be no more than a grain of sand on that seashore we hope to set eyes on before snow flies again.”
“But listen to them carrying on, Dick,” continued the other, with growing excitement. “Come to think of it, I never heard wolves make those queer sounds when chasing a deer. You know they yap like dogs, and almost bark. These beasts are acting like those creatures did when they had me caught up in a tree, with my gun on the ground.”
“Yes, I remember the time well enough,” chuckled Dick. “You were mighty glad to see a fellow of my heft, too, when I came along. Twenty hours up a tree is no joke, when you’ve got a healthy appetite in the bargain. But, just as you say, Roger, there is something queer about the way they are carrying on.”
“They’re not chasing anything now, that’s certain,” asserted the other positively; “because the sounds keep coming from the same place all the time. Dick, perhaps the beasts may have some one treed for all we know. They are savage with hunger, and would just as soon make a meal off a hunter, red or white, as off a deer or a wounded buffalo.”
“It happens to be right on our way to camp,” remarked Dick, tightening his grip on his long-barreled rifle, “so we can find out what’s up without going far out of our path.”
This, of course, pleased Headstrong Roger, always in readiness for adventure, it mattered little of what nature. He always maintained that he had a long-standing debt against the tribe of lupus on account of that terrible fast mentioned by his cousin, and, although powder and ball were not too plentiful, he seldom failed to take a shot at his four-footed enemies when the chance came to him.
So now he fancied that he would end the prowling of at least one red-tongued woods rover. Certainly he could spare a single charge, and it would give him more satisfaction than almost anything else. You see, Roger had rubbed the old sore when he spoke of that bitter experience in the past, and it smarted again venomously.
As they pushed steadily on, the sounds increased in volume. They could even hear the thud of heavy bodies falling back to the ground after frantic leaps aloft, as though endeavoring to reach some tempting object among the branches of a tree.
Then Roger, who had the keenest eyesight of the pair, muttered: