“But all the same, Sandy, we ought to be glad that we have been able to knock over that fine buck, from which all this fresh venison comes. And we are not greedy in carrying such big loads, for there are many hungry mouths to fill, with four families to think of. Let us rest here, then, and be refreshed for another spell of walking.”
It was well on in the afternoon when Bob and Sandy, on the way home from their hunt, exchanged these remarks. Each had a large pack on his back, for, shortly after noon, they had come across a deer, and succeeded in killing the animal at the first shot.
“How far below the camp do you think we are?” Sandy presently asked, as he lay there taking his ease, with his hands under his head.
“I hardly know,” replied Bob, “but it must be several miles. My idea was to do the same as we used to up on the Ohio—strike for the river first of all, and try to make our way back by keeping to the open stretch of shore.”
“Well, we are already close to the river, though perhaps you didn’t know it when you said we had better take a rest. See, you can look out on the water right here,” and Sandy pointed as he spoke.
“Sure enough, it is as you say, and that makes it easier,” Bob replied. “I thought that I had my bearings all right; but, then, we know so little of this country, and none at all about the river; so there is always a chance we might miss seeing it for a long time. So you understand I’m glad enough to look out and see that running water.”
“This is a fine big buck we got,” remarked Sandy, reflectively.
“Yes, and as large as any I’ve ever seen,” Bob added.
“I don’t know how it is,” Sandy continued, with a faint smile; “but something in me just seems to take a savage pleasure in getting after big game. Somehow I don’t care for shooting partridges or ducks any more. Even a deer seems tame to me. If it is a big bear, a panther or a buffalo I think I’m in great luck. Some day—” and there he came to a sudden stop.