"Stop! Remember what old Reuben told you always to do!" cautioned Bob, as he thrust himself in front of Sandy, already in the act of leaping forward.
"I forgot," murmured the other, as with trembling hand he started to reload his gun, some of the powder from his horn slipping out of his shaking fingers as he attempted to pour it into the muzzle of the barrel.
Then came a greased bullet in a patch of linen, being pushed down after the powder had been rammed good and hard. To prime the flint-lock gun was no great difficulty, though constant vigilance was needed in order to make sure that the priming, so essential to a discharge, be not shaken from the pan by accident.
"Now let us go up," said Sandy, after both had reloaded.
"He's kicking his last," remarked his brother, quietly, "and there is no fear of our losing him. I wonder now if I missed. You were, as usual, ahead of me in firing, Sandy. And I saw him quiver even before I pulled trigger, so I know you hit him."
When they bent over the now motionless quarry it was found that there were two bullet-holes in the deer. ([Note 2.])
"Yours is the one behind the shoulder, Sandy, and that killed him instantly. He could have run a mile or more with the wound through the body that I gave him. But never mind, we have had great luck, and mother will be pleased when we carry this meat home."
Bob lost no time in bleeding the game. They were so far away from the cabin that it would be impossible to "tote" the deer there intact; so it was quickly determined to cut up the venison and select the choice portions.
Both boys carried hunting knives, and they set to work without delay. As they labored they became so interested in what they were doing that neither seemed to pay any particular attention to the remarkable change that had come over the weather, until after a while Sandy started to complain that it was getting so dark he could hardly see how to work.
Then an exclamation from his brother caused him to raise his head. What he saw was anything but reassuring. The snow was coming down between the trees in blinding sheets, driven before a cold wind, that seemed to be growing stronger with every passing minute.