The sun was quite low in the western heavens when Dick, who happened to be in the advance, drew in his horse, and made a movement with his arm that brought the other to a full stop. Both boys slipped from their saddles, and came together, Roger with alarm written upon his face, until he saw that his companion, while excited, looked rather pleased.
“Then it isn’t Indians?” whispered Roger, laying a hand on the other’s arm.
“No,” came the low reply; “but I just happened to glimpse a little band of elk, feeding in an open glade. And as we haven’t had any fresh meat for three days the idea struck me, Roger, that perhaps this is the chance for you to make use of your Indian bow and arrows!”
CHAPTER X
THE TWANG OF A BOWSTRING
“I’d like to do that first-rate,” Roger replied, at the same time passing hastily over to his horse, in order to get the bow, with his quiver of arrows.
“It just happens, luckily,” Dick whispered, having fastened his horse to a tree, “that the wind is in our favor, because we’re to leeward of the elk, and they will not get scent of you creeping up.”
“How about cover?” asked Roger, as, with a hand that trembled a little in spite of his efforts to appear calm, he commenced to bend the stout hickory bow on his knee, and slip the loop of cord over the notched end.
“You’ll have to pick your own as you find it,” came the reply. “I didn’t have a chance to see what it was like; but there ought to be some way to creep close up, so as to get in a shot. I only hope you manage to put an arrow where it will count. Some elk steaks would taste pretty fine, let me tell you, Roger.”