Finally he fixed his rifle in such a manner that it aimed directly down this enclosed section, and if it were discharged any creature between the parallel lines of stakes would be very apt to get shot.
When the trap was set Roger chuckled, and seemed to take considerable boyish pleasure in anticipating the surprise of the hairy thief, when, upon creeping stealthily along the limited space, he snapped at the tempting bait, only to have it apparently develop a sting, accompanied by a crash like thunder.
Dick had watched all these preparations with amusement. He knew how much pleasure the other took in managing these little surprises, for he had often observed Roger spending time fixing a trap for a fox, or it might be a bear. It had become what might be called a hobby with the boy, and in such matters he had few equals among the lads of the St. Louis settlement.
“Remember, and don’t be frightened out of your skin if you hear a shot some time to-night, Dick,” was the warning the maker of the trap gave, as he pronounced his work fit for business.
“I’ll try not to,” observed the other, then adding: “and I hope that if it succeeds, as you expect, the sound won’t bring any hostile Indians down on us. But at sundown there was nothing in sight, and that was why we dared to have our fire.”
It was just half an hour later that the boys jumped as though they had been shot, when the gun went off with a tremendous report. Dick immediately burst out laughing.
“That’s a joke on you, Roger, as sure as anything!” he exclaimed, when he could speak; “telling me not to be alarmed when your trap worked, and then nearly having a fit yourself. But let’s look, and see if you got your game.”
There was no doubt about that, for a dead coyote was found in the passageway between the stakes, looking for all the world like a thin, half-starved dog. This was the first time either of the boys had seen one of the animals close, and Roger was disgusted to think he had wasted a charge of powder and a bullet on the miserable beast.
“That trap will do for once, but I’m done shooting such scurvy things,” he declared, as he dragged the game out a short distance, and left it, in the hope that some of the other coyotes would dispose of it before morning; which they certainly did, for they could soon be heard snarling and quarreling as though there were too many guests at the banquet.
After that, when the coyotes howled, and made things disagreeable, Roger would take up his gun, fondle it for a minute, as temptation whispered at his heart, and then with a shake of his head he would place it once more on the ground as though he could not be coaxed to come down to such poor shooting. And so long as the miserable brutes kept clear of the camp, and did not annoy their horses, the chances were that they would be left alone to continue their nightly serenade.