"No, I haven't," answered Oscar. "I was obliged to neglect everybody while I was in the store. I'll be ready for you."
Sam rushed out, slamming the door behind him, and hurried toward the gate; but, just then, Oscar happened to think of something, so he ran to the door and called him back.
"I will detain you but a moment, Sam," exclaimed Oscar. "I have received a check from Calkins & Son for $7.20, to pay for the ducks we killed on Saturday."
"Good for Calkins & Son!" replied Sam. "If they are always as prompt as that, they are the men we want to deal with."
"Half of it belongs to you, you know."
"Yes, I know it," answered Sam, once more turning his face toward the gate. "You act as my banker, and when I want my share, I'll make out a draft for it."
"Hold on, Sam!" shouted Oscar, who knew very well what this meant; "I'll do nothing of the kind."
"Oscar, you are the most stubborn fellow I ever had anything to do with," said Sam, shaking his finger at his friend, and utterly ignoring the fact that he had never been known to give up to Oscar in a single instance. "I never saw so obstinate a boy; you want your own way all the time. Now, put that check in your pocket and keep it there. If it is too much trouble for you to do that, give it to the poor. Good-by, and be ready for me at a quarter past four."
Sam turned down the street and set off at a rapid trot. He had just time enough left to eat his dinner and reach the school-house before the last bell rang.
"If there is a confiding fellow in the world, it is that Oscar Preston," said he to himself, as he ran along. "That crazy man has bamboozled him completely. I was sorry to dash all his bright hopes to the ground, but I thought he ought to be waked up to the real facts of the case. I never saw a boy look so sorrowful and downhearted as he did when I told him what I thought about it. I wish from the bottom of my heart it was an offer he could depend on. Wouldn't he be in clover, though! A hundred dollars a month and expenses, for travelling about the country shooting birds and animals! Just think of it!"
Oscar watched his friend as long as he remained in sight, and then, leaning his elbows on the work-bench, he rested his chin upon his hands and looked thoughtfully out of the window toward the evergreen screen behind the house.
He was by no means as cheerful and hopeful as he had been a short half hour before. His crony's visit had depressed his spirits wonderfully, but Sam was not to blame for that.
He had asked him what he thought of the president's proposition, and Sam—as he always did—had answered his question promptly, and in language that could not possibly be misunderstood.
Perhaps Sam was right, and he would never again hear of the man who had called himself President Potter.
Oscar had resolved more than once that day that he would not build any hopes upon the offer he had received; but, in spite of all his efforts, his thoughts would dwell upon it, and every little while he found himself indulging in some rosy dreams of the future.
Would it not be a good plan to take Sam's advice and tell Mr. Smith that he would go back to the store for the wages he had, of his own free will, offered to give him?
The thirty-five dollars a month he was sure of—the larger sum he was not sure of. While he was thinking about it, his mother came to the door and called him to dinner.
The first thing Oscar did when he entered the dining room was to place in his mother's hands the money he had been paid by Mr. Jackson, and the check he had received from Calkins & Son; but he said not a word to her regarding the interviews he had held with Professor Potter and Mr. Smith.
He could not describe these interviews without telling of the propositions that had been made him, and he did not want to do that until he had determined upon something.
He wanted time to look at the matter from every possible standpoint, and he found ample opportunity to do it that afternoon, for he spent very little time in work. He went back to the shop as soon as he had eaten his dinner, but he could find nothing there to interest him.
He finished sweeping out, and rearranged his specimens on the shelves, but it was all done by snatches. He would work a few minutes, and then he would walk up and down the shop with his eyes fastened upon the floor.
When four o'clock came his chores were all done, and having exchanged his working-clothes for a neat business suit, he was ready to accompany Sam to his home, where he passed a few hours in the most agreeable manner.
Everybody who visited there said that Mr. Hynes's house was one of the pleasantest and happiest in Eaton, and Oscar had always found it so. It was just the place to go when one was troubled with the blues, as our hero had been all that afternoon.
Sam's father and mother were very jolly people, and his sister, besides being a fine singer and pianist, played chess so well that Oscar, who was sometimes given to boasting of his own skill, was often badly worsted.
Seven o'clock came almost before the boys knew it, and then they put on their caps and set out to visit the principal of the High School.
Ringing the bell at his door, they were ushered into the library, where Mr. Chamberlain sat with his slippered feet on the fender and the evening's paper in his hand.
He greeted Oscar very cordially, for the latter had been one of his favorite pupils. He had never been known to break one of the rules of school, and had never been reprimanded. He went to school to learn, and for no other purpose.
Do you know such a boy? If you do, you know one whom all his teachers like.
"I am glad to see you again, Oscar," said Mr. Chamberlain, as he shook his visitors warmly by the hand and placed chairs for them; "and I must congratulate you on your good fortune. I knew it would come after awhile."
"Thank you, sir," replied Oscar, wondering how the gentleman had heard of it.
"It never does any good to allow ourselves to get discouraged," continued Mr. Chamberlain, sinking back into his easy-chair. "It is always darkest just before daylight, you know. I must say that I am surprised as well as delighted."
"So am I, sir," returned Oscar. "I never expected that he would make an acknowledgment, even though he received the most positive proof that he had been mistaken."
"Acknowledgment!" repeated Mr. Chamberlain. "Who made any acknowledgment? What are you talking about, Oscar?"
"Why, I thought you referred to what passed between Mr. Smith and myself to-day," replied the boy.
"I hadn't heard anything about that. Has Mr. Smith found out that he did you injustice? I am glad of it," said Mr. Chamberlain, upon receiving an affirmative nod from Sam. "I knew that would come, too. You may have the satisfaction of knowing that not a single one of your friends ever believed anything wrong against you. I may also say," he added, with a smile, looking toward Sam, who blushed to the roots of his hair, "that some of your acquaintances hold very strong opinions on that point, and that those opinions have been enforced with the aid of a ball-club. But I was speaking of the offer you received from President Potter. He called on you this morning, did he not?"
"Do you know him, Mr. Chamberlain?" exclaimed Sam.
"Certainly I do. He was my old preceptor, and my guest while he was in Eaton."
"But is he really president of the Yarmouth University?"
"He certainly is. What else did you take him for?"
"I took him for a crazy man," replied Sam bluntly.
"A crazy man! Sam, I am surprised at you!"
"Well, now, Mr. Chamberlain, if you had been in our boat and had heard him talk when we pulled him out of the water, you would have thought so yourself, if you had been a stranger to him."
With this introduction Sam went on to repeat the speech the professor had made while he was lying on the bottom of Oscar's skiff. He had paid particular attention to it, and could recall it word for word.
"That is just like him," said Mr. Chamberlain. "If he were lecturing a class in this room to-night, and the house should catch fire, he wouldn't leave off until the smoke or flames drove him out. He becomes so completely absorbed in his subject that he doesn't seem to hear or see anything; and I have known mischievous students to steal out of the class-room, one after another, until there were not more than three or four left, and he never missed them. If I had not called his attention to the fact that he had Sam's cap on his head, he would have worn it to Yarmouth when he went away this afternoon. Sam, you will find the article in question on the hat-rack, when you go home."
"I'd like to ask one question, before I forget it," said Oscar. "Is it possible that there are men who, by looking at a single bone, can give you the name of the beast or bird to which that bone belongs? Mr. Potter told me to-day that some of his students once brought him a bone they had found in the woods, and which they supposed to be the bone of a mastodon; but it proved to be the bone of an ox."
Mr. Chamberlain leaned his head against the back of his chair, looked up at the ceiling, and laughed until his eyes were filled with tears.
"I wonder if the professor still remembers that little incident?" said he. "If my memory serves me, I used to be pretty well acquainted with that same student. He knew very well that the bone did not belong to a mastodon, but he thought he would test the old gentleman's knowledge. It is hardly necessary to say that he was entirely satisfied with the result of the experiment, and had the laugh turned on him completely by the other students who were in the plot."
There was something in Mr. Chamberlain's tone that made the two boys smile at each other. They believed that if the principal had given the name of that student, he would have given one that sounded very much like his own name.
"The professor told me to-day that he had offered you a hundred dollars a month and all expenses, to procure specimens for the university museum," continued Mr. Chamberlain, addressing himself to Oscar, "and you may rest assured that you will get it. Mr. Potter has a hundred thousand dollars to spend in that way, and I see no reason why you should not earn a good portion of it. You have a number of years of steady employment before you, at more than living wages, if you are inclined to accept this offer."
The boys listened to these words with the greatest amazement, and it is hard to tell which of the two was the more delighted thereat.
Sam was overjoyed to learn that he had been mistaken in the opinions he had formed, and could hardly refrain from jumping up and tossing his cap into the air.
As for Oscar—he blessed his lucky stars that he had not accepted Mr. Smith's offer, as he had more than once been tempted to do that afternoon.
"Mr. Chamberlain," said Sam, as soon as he had controlled his excitement, so that he could talk intelligibly, "what is a—a—where's that list, Oscar?"
The latter produced a piece of paper, on which he had copied the hard words he had written on his pine board that morning—that is, all that Sam had not been able to translate for him—and handed it to his companion, who passed it over to the principal.
Mr. Chamberlain glanced at the first words on the list, and shook his head.
"Perhaps I haven't spelled them correctly," observed Oscar.
"They are the things the professor went down the river after on Saturday," chimed in Sam.
"Oh, the Fuligula Valisneria," exclaimed Mr. Chamberlain. "That is the canvas-back duck."
"Ah!" said both boys, in concert.
"The family Canidæ is the dog family," said Mr. Chamberlain, turning again to the list. "The family Tetraonidæ is the grouse family, and Tetra Umbellus is the ruffed grouse, which almost everybody calls a partridge. In the South, the quail is called a partridge, and the grouse is called a pheasant. I hope you boys will never allow yourselves to fall into such habits. You can't begin too early in life to call things by their right names. To the family Ampelidæ belong the chatterers; Bombycilla Carolinensis is the cedar bird. The Cervidæ comprise the deer family, and Cervus Virginianus is our common red deer; the hollow-horned ruminants are the antelopes. There is only one species in the United States, and that is the pronghorn of our Western plains. If you should go out there to hunt him, you would see no end of sport, Oscar, and, I suppose, no end of hard times. I hope you will not expect to find it all plain sailing, simply because you have stepped into an agreeable and profitable situation. Ursus Americanus is the American black bear; Ursus horribilis—you mustn't have anything to do with him—that's the grizzly bear, the most dangerous and dreaded animal in the country. Ursus maritimus—that's the polar bear—is almost as bad."
"The names on that list include the animals they want in their museum," said Sam, "and Oscar will be obliged to hunt them if they tell him to do so."
"Would you dare do it?" asked Mr. Chamberlain, looking at Oscar.
"I don't know, sir. My courage has never been put to the test. But I will say this: If they will give me a chance to work around home until I can earn money enough to support my mother while I'm gone, I'll start for the plains, or for Africa, within twenty-four hours after I receive their order."
"I like that spirit," said Mr. Chamberlain. "If you are going into a thing, go into it as though you were alive and wide awake. By the way——"
The principal laid down the list, and arose to his feet. Opening his bookcase, he took from it two large and finely bound volumes, which he placed upon the table at Oscar's elbow.
"When you go home, take these books with you," said he. "Keep them as long as they are of any use to you, and they will tell you everything you want to know about birds and animals, scientific names and all. I have the best of reasons for saying that you will be summoned to Yarmouth in the course of a few days, to pass a sort of examination before the committee, and I want you to acquit yourself with honor; so, if I were in your place, I would spend all my spare time in 'cramming.'"
Oscar thanked the principal warmly for his advice and for the interest he took in his affairs, and just then the little clock on the mantle chimed the hour of nine.
The boys, having promised to be at their respective homes by that time, bade Mr. Chamberlain good-night and hurried out, Sam taking possession of his cap as he passed through the hall.
"What do you think of the situation now?" inquired Oscar, when the gate had been closed behind them.
Sam stopped, and, by way of reply, seized his companion's hand, giving it a grip and a shake that would have made almost any other boy double up with pain.
"I never wanted to yell so badly in my life as I did when Mr. Chamberlain told us that that crazy man was just what he represented himself to be," said Sam. "I'll hold in until we have our next practice game of ball, or until you and I go down the river again, and then won't I make things ring? Say, Oscar, when you are knocking over that big game, right and left, you'll think of a fellow, won't you?"
"Indeed I will, Sam. How much I wish you could go with me, if I go!"
"Oh, you'll go—you need have no fears on that score!" exclaimed Sam, with great enthusiasm. "I should like to be hanging on to the sleeve of your jacket about the time you catch sight of your first antelope, but it isn't to be thought of. I must be in Harvard by a year from next fall, if I have brains enough to get there. Father has set his heart upon it, and, as he is the very best father any boy ever had, I wouldn't disappoint him for the world."
"Of course not," said Oscar. "Now, Sam, I want to ask you a question: What have you been doing?"
"Nothing—nothing whatever," said his companion promptly. "I have read somewhere, Oscar, that the way those fellows on the plains hunt the pronghorn is to——"
"That won't do, Sam," interrupted Oscar. "I want to talk about another matter. You have been hitting somebody with a ball-club!"
"No, I haven't—honor bright!" exclaimed Sam, with a great show of earnestness. "I never in my life hit anything with a ball-club except the ball and the home base. Why, man alive, I'd be afraid to do it!"
The boys had by this time reached Sam's home, which was but a few steps from Mr. Chamberlain's house.
As Sam was about to open the gate, Oscar shut it with a bang, and placed his back against it. After that, he put his books upon the top of the gate-post, and stood ready to resist any attempt his companion might make to pull him away from his position.
"Hallo, here!" cried Sam, with well-feigned astonishment. "What do you mean by that performance? Won't you let me go in?"
"No, sir, I won't—not unless you can pull me away from here, and I don't know whether you can do that or not!"
"I don't, either," replied Sam, backing off, and putting his hands in his pockets; "so I'll not try. But it is after nine o'clock, and I ought to be in bed and fast asleep. Some of the folks might come out here to look for me."
"I know they might, but they won't. Now, what have you been doing with that ball-club? I know you have been up to something, for your face got as red as a beet when Mr. Chamberlain spoke about it."
"I never saw so obstinate and persistent a fellow as you are when you once get your mind set on a thing," said Sam, leaning his elbow on the fence, and trying to look like a boy who was very badly persecuted. "I punched him with it, if you must know."
"There! I told you that you had been hitting somebody."
"But I say I didn't hit him!" protested Sam. "I only poked him in the ribs with the end of it."
"Him? Who?"
"Leon Parker."
"And got yourself into trouble by it, for Mr. Chamberlain kept you after school and gave you a good talking to."
"Well, I guess that was about the way of it," said Sam reflectively.
"What did you poke him in the ribs for?"
"Because he had too much to say about—well, he had too much to say."
"Look here, Sam," said Oscar, stepping up and laying his hand upon his companion's shoulder; "I am proud of your friendship, and I know it will continue as long as you and I live. I wouldn't say or do anything to hurt your feelings, and I wish you would be equally careful of mine. Now, don't get yourself into trouble for me any more."
"Oh, it wasn't the least trouble in the world," answered Sam, purposely ignoring Oscar's meaning; he thought his friend was becoming altogether too serious. "I poked him just as easy—and I never hurt him a bit, either."
Oscar was obliged to laugh in spite of himself.
"Well, promise me that you won't poke any more boys in the ribs with ball-clubs because they talk about me, for I know that was what Leon did," said he.
"I promise. I'll never do it again," assured Sam earnestly.
"And whatever you do, don't touch Leon Parker," continued Oscar. "I owe a great deal to his father, and I wouldn't have Leon hurt for anything. He hasn't injured me by his talking, and neither has anybody; for not one of those whose friendship I prize has turned against me."
"That's so," assented Sam. "Well, I suppose I must say good-night. Shall we take another trip down the river next Saturday?"
"I'll tell you what I'd like to do," replied Oscar. "I'd like to make an effort to recover the gun the professor lost when his boat upset. He said it was a borrowed piece, and a very valuable one, too."
"I am with you. We'll take the decoys along, and then if the ducks happen to come our way, we shall be all ready for them. Good-night! I think I was quite safe in saying that I wouldn't trouble Leon anymore," said Sam, as he opened the front door and entered the house, "for the lesson I gave him a few days ago will teach him that he had better keep his slanderous tongue still. A ball-club is a pretty hard thing to push against a fellow's ribs—that's a fact—and I'll not do it any more. I'll use my fist next time."
If Oscar had overheard this soliloquy, he would have been compelled to acknowledge that he had not gained much by the promise he had extorted from his friend Sam.
The young taxidermist walked homeward with a light heart. There was nothing now to prevent him from taking his mother into his confidence, which he proceeded to do as soon as he had entered the house.
Mrs. Preston listened attentively to his story, and when it was finished, she said, with something like a sigh:
"If that committee should decide to send you away from Eaton, I should be very lonely, for you are all I have now; but if you and Mr. Chamberlain think it is to your interest to accept this offer, I have nothing to say against it. I shall not throw a single obstacle in your way."
The boy was overjoyed to hear this. He had been afraid that his mother might not be quite so well pleased with his prospects as he was, and it would have been a sore disappointment if she had raised any objections to the plans he had determined upon.
Oscar did not settle down into a state of chronic inactivity, as many boys would have done who had a clear hundred dollars a month in prospect.
Money was needed at once to pay part of the principal and all the interest that was due Mr. Simpson, and Oscar went manfully to work to earn it in the only way that was open to him.
He spent four days of that week in the woods with Bugle, and every night a good-sized bunch of grouse, quails, and hares was shipped to Calkins & Son, who, on every second day, sent him a check for his money.
The young hunter had never known game to be so abundant as it was that year, and it was no more trouble for him to secure it than it would have been to sit in the house and do nothing.
He read and studied diligently every evening, and made regular visits to the post-office, hoping to find there the letter the professor had promised to write him; but it did not come.
When Friday afternoon arrived, Oscar walked down to Mr. Simpson's office and paid him one hundred dollars on the mortgage and thirty dollars for interest at six per cent.
He felt better after that, and told himself that the old sharper's chances for gaining possession of his mother's house and lot were by no means as good as they had been. As he was about to enter the gate, he found the farmer who supplied his mother with wood just driving out of the yard.
"Howdy, Oscar!" exclaimed the man, drawing up his team with a jerk. "Folks say you know all about varmints and things, and I'd like to have you tell me if a black fox is wuth more'n any other kind."
"I should say he was!" answered Oscar. "Have you got one?"
"Got him! No, I aint, and that there is just what's the matter of me and my hens. He won't leave one of 'em, that there feller won't, if you and Bugle don't come up to my house and shoot him. We aint got no dogs wuth their salt, and my boys can't somehow do nothing with him. They've tuk after him a time or two; but laws! they can't somehow get him to stick his foot into a trap nuther, 'cause he's smarter than chain-lightnin', that there fox is."
Oscar became interested at once. He was always on the lookout for such chances as this, for they gave him an opportunity to try his skill and Bugle's.
He knew there were many good hunters and dogs in the farmer's neighborhood, and an animal that could outwit them all must be cunning indeed.
And then he was a black fox! Oscar remembered hearing the professor say that he would be willing to give something handsome for one of that species.
"Have you ever seen him, Mr. Bacon?" he asked.
"Seen him every morning fur a hull week," was the reply, "and shot at him a time or two; but, laws! he's blacker'n that there nigh hoss of mine, that fox is, all except the tip end of his tail, and that's whiter'n snow."
"He must be a beauty!" exclaimed Oscar. "I wish I had him."
"Well, come up there and shoot him, you and Bugle, why don't you? Save the rest of my hens by knocking that there feller over, and I'll give you as good a dinner as you ever eat in a farmhouse."
"I'll try him on Monday, if nothing happens to keep me at home; but if he can get away from such hunters as I know your boys to be, no doubt he will get away from me, too. Do you know anything about his runways?"
"What's them?" asked Mr. Bacon.
"Why, a fox has regular courses which he always follows when he is started by a hound, and they are just as plain to him, and to a hunter who knows the country and understands the habits of the animal, as this road is to you. Those courses are called runways. You can't keep up with a fox when he is running before the dogs, and so you must get ahead of him and shoot him as he passes along one of these runways."
"Mebbe there's sunthin' in that there idee of your'n," said Mr. Bacon, after reflecting a moment. "I have always noticed that fox, when he crosses from one side of the holler to the other, takes to my medder and jumps the brook about thirty yards below that bridge in my lane. The dogs always start him on that sugar-loaf hill east of my house—I reckin he's got a den up there—and when he gets tired of foolin' around that hill, he crosses over to the west side of the holler, jumpin' the brook where I told you, and that's the end of the hunt, for them wuthless dogs of our'n can't never find that fox agin that day."
"I thank you for the information," replied Oscar. "You have given me a start, and I can find out the rest for myself."
"All right. Don't you forget to come up to my house and get sunthin' to eat."
Mr. Bacon cracked his whip and drove off, and Oscar went into the house. He put the string out of his window before he went to bed, and at an early hour Sam awoke him by upsetting the chair.
Everything was ready for the start, and as soon as Oscar had made a cup of coffee, and a hasty breakfast had been disposed of, the boys set out for the river.
As before, they took the wheelbarrow with them, and this time it contained, in addition to the decoys, sail, and oars, an iron drag, with four long curved teeth, which Oscar had ordered made at the blacksmith's.
This drag was made fast to a strong rope, forty feet in length, and was to be used in recovering the gun the professor had lost in the river just a week before.
The boys could not have wished for better luck than they had that day. They shot several ducks on their way down the river, and when they arrived off the head of Squaw Island, and had made up their minds where it was that the professor's boat had been capsized, Sam, who sat in the stern, threw the drag overboard, while Oscar pulled the skiff about in circles.
The water was only about twenty feet deep—the boys wished the weather was warmer, so that they could dive for the lost fowling-piece—and the bottom was composed of smooth, flat rocks, over which the sharp teeth of the drag passed almost as easily as they would have passed over a floor.
Of course they would catch hold of something occasionally, and stop the progress of the boat, and then Sam would overhaul the rope very carefully, only to find, when the drag came to the surface, that there was nothing on it.
At the third cast, however, his efforts were rewarded. The drag struck against some object that offered but a very feeble resistance as Sam tugged at the rope. He hauled in slowly and cautiously, and in a few seconds brought to light the missing gun, suspended by its trigger-guard from one of the teeth of the drag.
Sam greeted it with a series of frightful yells, flourishing it in triumph over his head, then rubbed it briskly with an oiled rag, which he drew from his game-bag, all the while making running comments upon the general appearance of the weapon, and finally he passed it over to his companion.
"Isn't it a beauty?" cried Oscar, holding it off at arm's length and giving it a good looking over. "If it shoots as well as it looks, it is certainly a valuable gun. We have saved somebody a hundred and fifty dollars."
"Yes, and more," remarked Sam. "It was made by Joe Manton, the fashionable gun-maker of England—you can see his name on the barrels—and never cost a cent less than three hundred."
When Oscar had admired the gun to his heart's content, he picked up the oars again, and pulled toward the island.
There were still a powder-flask and shot-pouch somewhere on the bottom of the river (the professor had told Oscar that with the gun he had lost all the equipments), but these articles could be replaced for so little money, and the chances of picking them up with the drag were so few and far between, that the boys did not think it worth while to waste time in looking for them. They had recovered the gun, and the owner would certainly be satisfied with that.
Arriving at the head of the island, the decoys were set out, and the boys took their positions behind the blind, where they remained until three o'clock that afternoon.
The shooting was all they could desire, and when they returned home that night, Oscar had thirty-one and a half brace of ducks to ship to the city, after Sam had taken out all he wanted for his own use. The extra duck Oscar carried home for his next day's dinner, and the others were duly forwarded to Calkins & Son.
The first thing Oscar did after he had eaten his supper was to take the recovered shot-gun into his shop and give it a thorough overhauling.
The loads were drawn (Oscar laughed when he saw how small they were—they would scarcely have ruffled the feathers of a mallard at ten paces), the breech-pins were unscrewed, the locks taken to pieces, and every part was oiled and rubbed until it shone like silver.
He worked upon it until ten o'clock, and when he put it together again no one would have supposed that it had lain for a whole week at the bottom of the river. It could not have been in better order when it first came from the hands of the man who made it.
Oscar was up long before daylight on Monday morning, and, having eaten breakfast, he set out with his gun on his shoulder and Bugle at his heels, to try his luck with the black fox.
Now, Reynard, be on the alert. Bring all your cunning into play, and make use of every artifice known to you, for you have no tyros to deal with to-day.
Mr. Bacon's farm was eight miles from the village, by the road, but by following a short cut across the hills three miles of this distance could be saved.
Of course, Oscar took the nearer way, for his experience had taught him that in foxhunting, when one is sometimes obliged to run a mile or two through a thick wood in order to reach a runway before the game passes, every step counts.
Bugle, much to his disgust, was kept at heel all the way, for his master's heart was set upon securing a black fox, and he had no time to waste with hares, grouse, or common red foxes.
Just as the sun was rising, the young hunter came to a standstill upon the brink of a high bluff, and saw below him the "hollow" in which Mr. Bacon's farm was situated. He had no difficulty in finding the sugar-loaf hill, for he knew right where to look for it.
When he reached it, the hound was ordered to "hunt 'em up!" and he was only too glad to do it. He disappeared in the bushes, while Oscar climbed slowly up the hill for a short distance, and walked leisurely around it in a direction opposite to that taken by the dog.
Finally, as he did not hear from Bugle, he stopped in a little open space, where he could command a view of an acre or two of the hillside, and sat down to rest and await developments.
Ten minutes passed, and then a long-drawn bay, which was so faint and far off that it was scarcely audible, and which was repeated by the echoes, until it seemed to sound from the hills on the other side of the hollow, came to his ears; whereupon Oscar arose to his feet, placed his back against a tree, and, cocking both barrels of his gun, held the weapon across his breast in such a position that it could be brought to his shoulder in an instant.
He did not get behind the tree and look around it, for he knew that if he did he would surely be discovered by the fox, should he chance to come that way. He stood out in plain sight, and that was the proper thing to do.
The hill proved to be a great deal larger than Oscar thought it was, for more than an hour passed before Bugle came around to him; but that he had struck a trail, and a warm one, too, was evident, judging by the way he gave tongue.
At last, his deep-toned bays began to ring out louder and clearer, and then Oscar brought his gun to his shoulder, and standing as motionless as a figure carved out of stone, kept his eye moving about the clear space below him; but the fox did not break cover.
He must have passed that way, however, for in a few minutes more Bugle dashed around the base of the hill, giving tongue at every jump, and started for another hour's run around the sugar-loaf.
As soon as he was out of hearing, Oscar put down the hammers of his gun and ran across the open space at the top of his speed.
"I was on the right track," thought he, "but not quite far enough down the hill. Now, I wish I knew where that fellow turns off when he makes up his mind to cross the hollow and go over to the hill on the other side. Ah! Here is where he passed. If he tries that trick again he is my fox."
The exclamations were called forth by the discovery of a well beaten path which ran diagonally toward the summit of the hill.
A short examination of it showed the hunter that it had been made by Mr. Bacon's sheep; and his experience told him that the fox had followed that path in the hope of throwing off the hound.
Crossing newly ploughed fields where the scent will not lie, walking on the top-rail of fences, wading in shallow brooks, and running about among a flock of sheep, or following a road along which they have recently passed, are stratagems to which a cunning old fox will frequently resort to throw off the dogs that are pursuing his trail; but Bugle was much too smart to be deceived by any such tricks, and he had followed the fox up the path without the least trouble.
Being fully satisfied that he had found the right place at last, Oscar stationed himself in front of a large tree that stood a short distance up the path, and in such a position that he could look over the tops of the bushes that surrounded it and command a view of the trail for twenty yards on each side, and patiently waited for Bugle to drive the fox around to him again.
It was a long time before he heard from the hound—longer than before—and then he heard but a few faint bays, after which all was silent again.
The fox had left the sugar-loaf and taken to another hill standing half a mile further down the hollow. After playing around there for half an hour, he came back to the hill he had left, and started around it in a direction opposite to that he had at first followed.
Oscar's ears told him all this (he could distinctly hear the hound whenever he rounded the base of the hill nearest the hollow), and he prepared to act accordingly. He moved a little further around his tree, and, keeping his gaze directed up the path, cocked both barrels of his gun and drew it to his shoulder.
He had not occupied this position more than five minutes before the fox came in sight. It was the one he was looking for, as sure as the world, for there was that white tip on the end of his tail, and the rest of him was as black as jet.
He was taking matters very coolly, trotting down the path as though he had no particular business on hand, and the first thing that told him of the hunter's presence was the report of the gun which sent a charge of heavy shot into his head and breast. He bounded high into the air, and when he struck the ground again he rolled rapidly down the hill, sending the twigs and withered leaves in every direction.
He struggled desperately to get upon his feet and continue his flight, but he was too hard hit.
Oscar dashed down the hill after him, and when he came up with the fox, he found him lying motionless on a little pile of leaves, which the winds had heaped against the side of a fallen log. He had robbed his last henroost.
The boy picked him up and looked at him. It was the first black fox he had ever seen; but he had read and heard enough about the species to know that they were very rare and valuable, and he was not a little elated over the success that had attended his hunt.
After loading his gun, Oscar placed his prize on the ground, where he could have a fair view of him, and sat down on the log to admire him and wait for Bugle.
It was an hour or more before the hound appeared, and his long absence accounted for the slow and deliberate movements of the fox. The cunning animal had doubled on his trail, and, by making use of extra speed, had placed such a distance between himself and his pursuer that haste was no longer necessary.
If left to himself, he would probably have curled up in some warm spot and rested until the hound came within hearing, when he would have jumped up and continued his flight.
When Bugle arrived on the ground, he did not attempt to bite the fox, as he generally did. He simply smelt it, wagged his tail vigorously in response to his master's caresses and words of praise, and then stood off and looked up at him, as if awaiting further orders.
"We'll have something to eat, old fellow, before we do any more hunting," said Oscar, who always talked to his favorite as if the animal could understand every word he said. "We have earned a good dinner by this morning's work, and we'll go and get it. I declare, it is ready now. I had no idea it was so late. Let's hurry up!"
Oscar knew that dinner was ready, because he heard signals exchanged between Mr. Bacon's house and the field. First, a shrill female voice shouted:
"Hooppee!"
The call was repeated two or three times, and then an answering "Yeep!" uttered in deep, masculine tones, arose from the field below.
Oscar, followed by Bugle, hurried down the hill, clambered over the fence, and joined Mr. Bacon and his two broad-shouldered sons, who had been at work repairing a stone wall. They were on their way to the house, but they stopped when they saw him coming, and Mr. Bacon, discovering the prize he carried over his shoulder, brought his hands together with a loud clap, and shouted out a cordial welcome.
"Well, you done it, didn't you?" he exclaimed. "That's the feller, 'cause I'd know him two mile off, if I could see him that fur. I told the boys I reckoned mebbe that was you a-shootin' up there, an' I had half a notion to send one on 'em up to see. Come on now, and get the dinner I promised you—you and Bugle. We'll fill him so full of meat that he won't do no more huntin' this day, that there hound-dog won't."
"Not meat, please!" said Oscar; "it spoils a dog's nose. Bugle has little besides corn-bread and vegetables at home, and he is entirely satisfied with his diet."
"Well, I reckon mebbe Johnnycake'll do him, won't it? Wife always has Johnnycake on Monday, 'cause it's wash-day, you know."
When the farmer and his sons had examined Oscar's prize to their satisfaction, and had told some remarkable stories of the skill he had exhibited in eluding his former pursuers, Mr. Bacon led the way toward the house.
His wife was loud in her praises, and made Oscar laugh by declaring that she "knowed that there fox was gone up when she heard that him and Bugle was goin' to get after him."
Having performed his ablutions, Oscar was shown to a seat at the table, which fairly groaned under the weight of the good things that were piled upon it.
Mrs. Bacon was sorry she hadn't something better to offer the successful sportsman, but Oscar could see no necessity for any apologies. It was not a "picked-up" dinner, if it was washing-day. He thought the farmer must have an idea that fox-hunters were blessed with more than ordinary appetites, for the plate that was passed over to him was filled so full that not another thing could have been placed upon it.
The meal was enlivened with conversation on various topics, and when it was finished, and the farmer had smoked his after-dinner pipe, Oscar picked up his fox and gun, thanked Mrs. Bacon for the good dinner she had given him, and accompanied the three men to the field. There he took leave of them and struck out across the hills toward home.
He was in no hurry now, so he walked along very leisurely, and picked up quite a respectable bag of game on the way. Bugle drove three hares around to him, and twice as many grouse fell to his double-barrel.
At length, when the increasing gloom of the woods told him that the day was drawing to a close, Oscar tied his game together in a bunch with a strong cord he always carried in his game-bag for that purpose, called Bugle to him, and set out at a brisk walk.
As he was working his way through a dense thicket on Mr. Parker's hill-farm, he came suddenly upon two boys, who, just as he appeared in sight, disappeared, dropped a bundle of something behind a log and took to their heels. One of them glanced over his shoulder as he ran, and finally halted and faced about.
"Don't be afraid, Jeff," he shouted to his retreating companion; "it's nobody but Oscar Preston."
Jeff stopped as soon as he could check his headlong flight, and when he had satisfied himself as to the identity of the approaching hunter, he came slowly back.
Oscar knew the two boys, but he never had had anything to do with them. They lived near the river, and belonged to what the order-loving portion of the villagers called a "hard crowd."
"What have you been up to?" asked Oscar, as soon as he came within speaking distance. "Something mean, I'll warrant."
"No, we haven't!" answered both the boys in concert. "We haven't been up to anything."
It was only necessary that Oscar should use his eyes to detect the falsehood. One glance around explained everything. The snares which Leon had worked so hard to build were all ruined. Oscar knew that they were Leon's snares, for no one else would be likely to build them on his father's grounds.
"You are a contemptible couple!" said he indignantly; "although I don't know that one can expect you to be anything else. What made you do it?"
"Well, what made Leon shoot my tame pigeons the last time he was down to the river?" whined one of the boys. "He knowed they was mine, but he plumped 'em over all the same. I said I'd spile something of his'n some day, to pay for it, and I've done it."
"That's a pretty way to get even with him, isn't it?" said Oscar. "I've the best notion in the world to take you both by the neck and knock your heads together. Did you find any birds in these snares?"
"Nary one; and no rabbits neither."
"What did you do with the triggers and strings?"
"We heaved 'em into the bushes as fur as we could, and it's too dark to find 'em again. Say, Oscar, you won't tell nobody about this, will you? That's a good feller."
"No blarney, now. I'll tell you this much," was Oscar's angry reply; "if I catch either of you in an act of this kind again, I'll give you a shaking that will do your hearts good. Now, remember it!"
So saying, he walked past the young vandals, who took care to give him all the room he wanted, and disappeared in the thicket which covered the other side of the hill.
The two boys did not move or speak until they were certain that he had really gone, and then one of them hurried to the fallen log, snatched up the bundle that was lying behind it, and ran off in a direction lying at right angles with the one Oscar had taken, his companion following close behind him.
The bundle, which seemed to be about as heavy as the boy could conveniently manage, was made up of quail, grouse, and hares, rightfully belonging to Leon.
If Oscar had not been in such haste to reach home and prepare his black fox for mounting, if he had taken a little time to look into things, as he afterward wished he had done—a certain incident we have already recorded never would have happened.
When the grouse and hares he had shot that day had been prepared for market and placed in the hands of the express agent, Oscar ate his supper, started a fire in his shop, and set to work to skin the black fox and prepare it for mounting.
He intended that it should be his first contribution to the Yarmouth museum, and he was anxious to make it the finest piece of work he had ever put up.
It was long after eleven o'clock when he went to bed, but at daylight he was in the woods with Bugle, and by nine o'clock three grouse, and twelve out of a flock of fifteen quails he flushed just before reaching Mr. Parker's hill-farm, had found their way into his game-bag.
During his excursion of the previous day, Oscar had found that birds were unusually abundant in Mr. Bacon's neighborhood, and he was slowly working his way in that direction, when Bugle suddenly jumped a hare from a laurel thicket close in front of him.
Oscar, who was thinking busily about something else, was caught napping that time, and before he could bring his gun to his shoulder, the game had disappeared.
By running in a zig-zag manner and making long leaps from side to side, he succeeded in dodging the hound in the thick bushes. But Bugle very soon found out what his tactics were, and set to work to follow him up in a methodical and scientific way.
Knowing that a hare always runs in circles at the beginning of his flight, Oscar sprang upon a fallen log that lay close at hand, and waited for Bugle to bring the game around to the point from which he started.
He had scarcely settled himself to his satisfaction, when the report of a gun rang through the woods, followed by a doleful yelp from Bugle.
Oscar stood motionless with astonishment. His first thought was that somebody had shot at the hare and hit the hound instead. But a moment's reflection showed him that such an accident could not possibly happen under the circumstances.
The game had a good start, and the dog could not have overtaken him in so short a time. Beyond a doubt the concealed hunter, whoever he was, had shot Bugle on purpose.
With an exclamation of anger, Oscar sprang down from his log and ran through the woods in the direction from which the report sounded.
When he had gone about a hundred yards, he saw Bugle coming to meet him. The animal seemed to be greatly excited, for he bayed loudly, and now and then he would stop and shake his head violently, or sit down and scratch his ears.
Discovering his master, he ran up to him, laid his chin in his outstretched hand, at the same time whining piteously, and calling attention to his injuries by rubbing his paw over his head.
"I didn't suppose you had an enemy in the world, old fellow," said Oscar, trembling all over with indignation. "I know who did it. It was those two river boys who destroyed Leon's snares. Now we'll have a settlement with them, if we can find them. Why, Bugle, you are more scared than hurt after all."
While he was speaking, Oscar made a hurried examination of his favorite's wounds, and to his great delight discovered that but two shot had struck him, and they had passed through one of his huge ears without touching his body at all.
Leon had not done as good shooting that morning as he usually did. No doubt he was in a great hurry to have it over with, and became nervous when he thought of the consequences that might follow his rash act, or else the hound moved a little out of range just an instant before he pulled the trigger.
At any rate the shot was not as effective as Leon meant it should be; but the wounded member bled profusely, and his master's indignation increased while he looked at it.
Having satisfied himself that the hound was not seriously injured, Oscar shouldered his gun again and set out at the top of his speed to overtake the bushwhackers.
A few minutes' run brought him to the thicket in which Leon's snares were placed, and there he stopped, dropped the butt of his gun to the ground, and finally walked over and seated himself on the very log on which Leon and his cousin had been sitting a short time before.
He had different opinions now regarding the identity of the bushwhackers. It was plain enough to him that the river boys had nothing to do with the shooting. Here were Leon's snares—which had been completely destroyed the day before—all in order, and ready to catch the first thing that came within their reach.
He knew very well that the boys he had seen there on the previous day had not come back and repaired the mischief they had done; they would be the last ones to think of such a thing. It followed, then, that Leon must have repaired the snares himself, that very morning; and, beyond a doubt, it was he who shot the hound.
Oscar's indignation gave way to a feeling of sadness.
"We'll not look any further, Bugle," said he.
And the hound, which had stretched itself out at his feet, and seemed to have forgotten all about the trifling injuries he had received, rapped the leaves with his tail when his master spoke.
"I don't want to see that boy, for I might say or do something spiteful. I can't understand it at all, for I am sure I never did anything to Leon that should cause him to take such a revenge on me. It can't be that he has anything against you, Bugle, for you never troubled him or anybody else, did you? I can't understand, either, how Leon happens to be in the woods to-day, for I know his father never lets him stay away from school to go hunting. Let's go down to the brook and take a bath, Bugle."
Leon and his cousin had not eluded pursuit so effectually as they thought they had, for Oscar could have overtaken and confronted them in less than thirty minutes after the shooting was done, had he felt so inclined.
He heard the reports of the shot-gun and rifle which brought down the squirrels that supplied the runaways with a portion of their dinner, and that was the way he found out that Leon was not alone.
Oscar knew that the other boy could be none other than Frank Fuller, but he never thought of him in connection with the shooting, for he did not believe that Frank had courage enough to perform an act of that kind. He knew, further, that he had only to follow up the stream, on the banks of which he spent half an hour in washing the blood from the hound's head, to find the two boys, for he saw the smoke of their camp-fire rising above the tops of the trees.
But for the sake of the father who had been so kind to him, Oscar was perfectly willing to overlook this unkindly act on the part of the son. He saw that Bugle had forgotten all about it, and he would try to forget it, too.
After the hound's head had been bathed a few times, the animal seemed to be himself again; and when his master led him back to the place where he had been shot he took up the trail of his own accord, and followed it with all his usual energy and zeal.
Oscar went back to his log, and had scarcely taken up his position upon it when the frightened hare broke cover and was neatly stopped.
Oscar continued to hunt through the woods in the direction of the hollow in which Mr. Bacon lived, but at one o'clock he turned and retraced his steps, with both nets of his game-bag completely filled, and as large a bunch of birds and hares as he wanted to carry slung over his shoulder.
The game was left at the depot in time to be placed upon the evening's train for Yarmouth, and on his way home Oscar stopped at the post-office, where he found two letters waiting for him.
One was from Calkins & Son, enclosing a check to pay for the grouse and hares he had sent them the night before, and the other, to his joy, proved to be from one of the committee who had charge of the money which was to be expended in founding the university museum.
The letter was short and to the point, and there were no Latin or Greek words in it to bother him. It contained an invitation for him to visit the city at as early a day as possible, bringing with him some specimens of his skill as a taxidermist. If he would drop the writer a line by return mail, telling him on what day and at what hour he might be expected to arrive in Yarmouth, some member of the committee would meet him at the depot with a carriage.
Then came the following postscript:
Professor Kendall desires me to ask if you think there is any way in which he can recover his gun, which was lost when the president's boat was capsized? It is an imported weapon, costing over three hundred dollars, and as it was a present from a very dear friend he cannot bear the thought of giving it up. His college duties have prevented him from visiting Eaton in regard to the matter.
"I wonder what Sam Hynes will have to say now?" thought Oscar, as he put the letter into his pocket. "If he doesn't come around to-night, I must go over to see him. He is as much interested in my success as I am, and I must keep him posted. Now, what ought I to take with me besides that black fox, and when shall I tell them to look for me?"
Oscar kept his mind on these matters all the way home. He could have started for the city the very next day, if it had not been for the fact that the committee wished to see some of his specimens.
Those he decided to take with him must all be mounted over again, and that was very particular work and could not be hurried. The birds must all be perched in trees, and the standards that supported the trees, as well as the board on which the black fox was placed, must be painted and covered with moss and leaves preserved in paraffine, to make them resemble the ground in the forest.
After that, neat boxes must be made in which to pack the specimens for transportation; and when Oscar had thought it all over, he decided that the work could not be done in less than a week.
He told his correspondent so in the letter he wrote to him as soon as he reached home, and set the following Wednesday for the start. He added a piece of information that must have delighted Professor Kendall.
He said that the gun had been recovered with but very little effort; that it was safe in his (Oscar's) hands, and that, in order to save express charges, he would take it with him when he went to Yarmouth, if its owner would consent to wait so long for it.
When the letter had been dropped into the office, Oscar went home again and resumed his work upon the black fox. While the specimen was growing into shape under his skilful hands, he was suddenly startled by a loud scream of terror, which sounded from the street, and was immediately followed by angry bays and growls from Bugle.
Oscar, wondering what could be the matter, ran out into the yard with all haste, and was greatly amazed to see Sam Hynes standing in front of the gate holding fast with both hands to the loose, thick skin on the back of the hound's neck.
The animal had reared himself upon his hind legs, and was struggling desperately to reach Leon Parker and his cousin, Frank Fuller, who stood a little further down the sidewalk, trembling with fear and begging Sam not to let go his hold upon the enraged brute.
They knew that the hound recognized them, and was determined to take revenge on them for what they had done that morning.
Had they taken to their heels, the animal would have become more determined than ever. Their safest course was to stand still and trust to Sam's grip.
Oscar had never before seen his favorite in such a fury. Strong as Sam was, it was all he could do to hold him.
In half a dozen jumps Oscar reached the gate, and seizing Bugle around the body under his forelegs, he dragged him into the yard with Sam's assistance and closed the gate upon him.
Leon and his cousin felt perfectly safe now. They came slowly up the sidewalk, their pale faces showing that they had sustained something of a fright.
"What makes your dog act so?" asked Leon, in a trembling voice, at the same time moving toward the outside of the walk, as he saw Bugle's white teeth gleaming between the pickets. "Is he mad?"
"Mad!" repeated Oscar, who stood on the inside of the fence to keep the hound from jumping over it. "I shouldn't wonder if he was. Wouldn't you be mad if somebody should send a charge of bird-shot at your head?"
The two boys opened their eyes and tried to look surprised; but they only succeeded in looking guilty.
"You don't mean to say that somebody shot him, do you?" exclaimed Leon.
"Yes, I do; and you were not far away at the time, either."
"It's false, every word of it!" cried Frank, with well-feigned indignation. "We haven't seen him before, to-day."
"Look here, Towny," said Sam, "you can't take that back any too quick."
As he said this, he placed his hand on the latch and opened the gate, which Oscar promptly closed again, holding fast to it with one hand, while he restrained Bugle with the other. He had two obstinate and determined ones to manage now.
"I mean he is mistaken, for we didn't do it," said Frank, who saw that it would be no trouble at all to get into business then and there.
"That sounds better," replied Sam. "Now you keep still. Nobody was saying a word to you when you chipped in."
Frank said no more, and neither did Leon. They stood silent for a moment, and then with a common impulse walked toward home.
Oscar was glad to see them go, and so was Bugle, who speedily became his own friendly self again; but Sam stood with his hands on the gate, watching them, and wishing that he had not allowed Oscar to keep him in the yard so easily.
"Come into the shop," said Oscar. "I've got something there that will put you in good humor again. Now, as we walk along, tell me how this trouble was brought about."
"Bugle started it," said Sam. "When I opened the gate, he came out to meet me. I saw there was something the matter with his ear, and while I was examining it, he happened to look down the street and saw Leon and Frank coming. In an instant he was the maddest dog I ever saw. He stuck up the hair on his neck, gave a growl, and charged through the gate. Of course I didn't know what the matter was, for I had never seen him act so before; but knowing that he intended to use the teeth he showed so plainly, I made a grab at him as he went through the gate, and, by the merest chance, caught one of his hind legs. Did you hear Frank scream? I had no idea that a hound was so heavy and strong," added Sam, looking at his hands. "You came just in time, for he would have slipped away from me in a minute. Hey!"
Sam, who was on the point of seating himself on the work-bench, had just caught sight of the black fox. Having never seen an animal like it before, he examined it with the greatest interest.
Oscar had a good budget of news for his friend, for the two last days were big with events.
Taking them in order, he described all the incidents connected with his hunt after the prize he was then engaged in mounting, and gave the particulars of his encounter with the two boys who destroyed Leon's snares.
He told all about the shooting of the hound, gave a list of the game he had sent away during the afternoon, and finally handed out the letter he had received from the committee.
To say that Sam was delighted with the letter, would but feebly express his feelings. He could not say enough in praise of Oscar's good fortune, although he talked about it until almost dark.
When he saw his friend making preparations to light the lamp over his work-bench, Sam said good-night and started for home.