“I’ll do my level best,” was the reply of the archer, as, having arranged the otterskin quiver over his left shoulder, so that he could quickly pull out a second feathered shaft, should it be needed in a hurry, he fitted the one he had retained to the bowstring, and then prepared to advance toward the spot where Dick had noted the feeding elk.
“Easy, now, Roger,” for Dick knew the other’s failings, and many a time had his admonition stilled a tumult in the heart of the nervous lad, causing him to get a grip on himself, and come out of some enterprise with credit.
Roger was a born hunter, at least. Few border lads could creep up on a suspicious quarry more quietly than he. Part of this was an inherited trait; but he had also been much in the company of a young Indian brave who used to visit at the St. Louis settlement before his people went further West; and from him Roger had picked up many valuable points.
He now bent down, and glided noiselessly along until he could see through an opening in the underbrush, when he, too, caught sight of the elk.
The sight thrilled the young hunter, and caused him to shut his teeth hard together as he resolved to do his very best to get in a fatal shot. The fact that he knew his cousin would surely be watching him seemed to lend Roger additional faculties; and when he finally dropped down, and commenced to do his creeping, he was in a mood to excel all previous efforts.
Once in a while, as he “snaked” his way from bush to bush, taking advantage of every possible screen, the lad would lift his head just a little to take an observation. And thus he learned that there were three elk in the band, as far as he could see just then, although others might be lying down where they were hidden from observation.
First there was the buck, a big fellow with a pair of towering antlers that looked particularly dangerous; then there was a cow; and finally a half-grown calf.
It was upon this last that Roger had fastened a covetous eye, for he knew that the meat of both the older animals would very likely prove pretty tough eating, and just then he was after a supply of food, rather than a skin from which to make moccasins, or a new fringed borderman’s jacket.
As his cousin had said, the wind was just where he most wanted it, blowing directly from the feeding animals toward the place where he was edging his way along, foot by foot, careful not to make the least movement that the elk might notice and take the alarm.
Keeping a close watch upon them now, Roger tried to suit his movements to their own; that is, he waited until the three had their heads down while cropping the sweet grass that grew in the glade. At such a time he crept a little closer.