I had expected to see several head of game, at the least, and I was disappointed. Only one was in sight—a fair-sized buck. He was drinking at the source of the spring, and the moonlight glistened on his pronged antlers and on the bubbling water.
“We have but a single chance,” I said in a whisper. “We must run no risk of losing it. I take it you are a good shot, Captain Rudstone?”
“I have twice killed my man in a duel,” was the curt reply.
“Then you and I will fire together,” I continued, “when I count three. And do you reserve your ball, Carteret, if by any chance we both miss. Ready now!”
“All right,” said the captain, as he took aim.
“One—two—three!” I whispered.
Bang! The two reports were simultaneous. Under the rising powder smoke the buck was seen to spring in air and then topple over in a quivering mass, dead beyond a doubt. The crashing echoes rolled away into the depths of the forest. We were on our feet instantly, ready to run forward with drawn knives; but before we could do so an unexpected thing checked us. Up the valley behind us, from a point no great distance off, rang a shrill, wavering call. As we listened, staring at one another with alarmed faces, we heard the sound again. And now it was a plain call for help.
“What man can be in this lonely spot?” exclaimed Carteret. “Our ears deceive us. It is the scream of a crafty panther we hear.”
“No; it is a human voice,” muttered the captain. “I’ll swear to that. But I am afraid of a trick.”
“If enemies were about they would have no need to lure us,” I replied.