The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri; or, In the Country of the Sioux

by St. George Rathborne

Having in some measure managed to get control over his nerves, he now prepared to carry out his plans.

First of all it was necessary that the elk be feeding at the same moment, and it seemed to the impatient Roger that one of them was on the lookout all of the time.

But in the end his chance did come; perhaps in less time than he imagined, for Roger was apt to count seconds as minutes when laboring under such a strain.

No sooner had the big buck lowered his head than gradually the form of the hunter arose from the midst of the clump of grass. The sturdy bow was extended, clutched in a hand that no longer trembled, but was as firm as a rock; the other started to draw back the arrow, the notched end of which was fitted on the taut cord.

Roger could have asked for no better chance than the one now presented to him, for by the greatest of good luck the side of the calf was toward him, and its left foreleg advanced, giving him a splendid opening to speed his arrow straight at a vital point behind that same shoulder.

So Roger let fly. The hurtling shaft shot through the sunlight like a thing of life, the eagle feathers with which it was plumed simply showing to a practised eye the direction in which it sped.

There was heard a slight thud as the arrow struck. The calf was seen to start violently, while both the buck and the doe looked up, and jumped several feet.

Then all three started to run off, though it was instantly seen by the young hunter that the calf faltered, and grew weak from the effect of the death-dealing barb that had pierced its side.

Roger had instinctively thrown up his hand and drawn another arrow from his quiver, which he was even then adjusting to his bowstring. He had several reasons for doing this. In the first place his hunter instinct advised him that it was always best to be on the safe side; for there could be no telling but what that savage old buck would get over his fright, and turn to offer battle to the enemy. And in that open place, with not even a friendly tree to offer him refuge from those ugly antlers, Roger had no heart for the job of meeting an enraged beast, capable of doing him serious damage before Dick could come to the rescue with his rifle.