At Boarding School with the Tucker Twins Read online

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE MIGHTY HUNTER.

  The pictures were soon taken and we were on our way to the low country.Everyone carried a gun but me. Uncle Peter brought up the rear with awheelbarrow laden with the "'visions."

  It was a long walk but such a delightful one that we never once thoughtof getting tired. Our way lay through a pine forest and was up hill anddown dale. Tweedles and I were as well able to take the walk as any ofthe male persuasion, although it took some time to make Mr. Kentunderstand that we could get along without his assistance. He would helpDum over a worm fence, much to Dee's and my amusement, as we knew thatDum could vault it with one hand, just as we did.

  "I never saw such independent young ladies as you three," he confessedafter a daring leap we had made over a gulch. "The girls I know in NewYork expect to be assisted over every gutter."

  "Maybe that's their town manner, and if they were turned loose in thecountry they might help themselves as well as we can," I suggested. "Totell the truth, it makes me fall down if anyone helps me."

  "Do you know," whispered Dee to me, "I verily believe that Reginald Kentperson is getting stuck on Dum? I hope he won't shoot her. I don'tbelieve he ever carried a gun before in his life. He handles it like awalking stick."

  "He's real nice, don't you think?" I asked.

  "Oh, yes, nice enough, but I can't see why Dum lets him boost her overevery stick and stone. She's perfectly able-bodied. She looks to me asthough she rather liked to be treated like a boneless vertebrate," andDee looked very disgusted. The fact was that Dum was taking the helpingjust as she was taking the compliments: in a perfectly natural, girlishway.

  "Fond of the country?" asked Mr. Tucker, glancing with an amusedtwinkle at Mr. Kent's nonchalant manner of holding his gun.

  "Oh, yes, fond enough, what I know of it. I've had to stick pretty closeto Broadway all my life. I spent a summer down here with the Winns oncewhen I was a kid and that's about the only country I've known."

  "Haven't you hunted before?" questioned Dum, jumping back from thebarrel of Mr. Kent's new gun that was pointing ominously at her.

  "Well, I've shot the 'shoots' at Coney Island, and have practiced athitting the bull's-eye in the galleries at that gay resort until I canring the bell every time, but that is the extent of my experience," andMr. Kent looked a little wistful. "I'd be mighty glad of some pointersfrom any of you that have had more."

  "Well, point your gun, barrel down," tweedled the twins.

  "Ah, so, I see," he said, grasping his gun in a more sportsmanlikemanner, and all of us breathed a sigh of relief. I had been in terrorfor fear he might ring a b-e-l-l-e or hit some eye not in a bull eversince we left Aunt Rosana's cabin. "I'm awfully green," continued theyoung man, modestly. "I cut a poorer figure turned loose here in thecountry than old Uncle Peter would on the Great White Way."

  "Not a bit of it," said Mr. Tucker kindly. He seemed rather impressed byMr. Kent's frankness and modesty. Indeed, the young New Yorker could notcut a poor figure anywhere. He was well grown and sturdy and had anathletic swing to his walk due not only to much work in a gymnasium butto the "magnificent distances" he had been compelled to walk in NewYork.

  I have noticed that town-bred persons as a rule walk much better thancountry-bred. When they get on rough ground they walk as though it weresmooth, while country people when they strike pavements look as thoughthey were still getting over plowed ground. Reginald Kent, if he did notknow how to carry a gun, knew how to carry himself. With shoulders back,chin in and head well up, he stepped along like a West Pointer; whileJo Winn slouched with shoulders bent and head forward.

  We chatted away very merrily until we came to the creek where the partywas to separate. There was not much chance of any game, big or little,with such a crowd tramping through the woods. It was agreed that Father,Mr. Tucker and Jo Winn should cross the creek and go on to the river,where they were to take a skiff, owned by old Uncle Peter and keptmoored at a certain spot, known to Father; from there they were to gointo the marshes; and, later on, come down the river and join us at themouth of the creek. We were to keep on straight down the creek withUncle Peter and Mr. Kent, who earnestly desired to stay and "take care"of the ladies.

  "I'm going to change my loads for rabbits," said Dee, suiting the actionto the word. "This big shot would tear a rabbit all to pieces and Ibelieve we are more apt to see rabbits than deer."

  Mr. Kent followed suit but Dum kept "loaded fur b'ar," as she expressedit. Dee soon got a rabbit, which she wept over.

  "She always does that," explained Dum. "She shoots things for the loveof shooting and then bawls because she has taken an innocent life."

  We had one of Jo's dogs with us. The other two had gone with the threemen to stalk the possible deer. Our dog started up several rabbits andMr. Kent joyously got two of them.

  "Gee, this beats clay pigeons and shooting galleries," he declared. "Ifeel like a man-eating lion now; since I have tasted blood, I'll neverbe content to go back to my quiet, uneventful life."

  We pitched camp near the mouth of the creek on a cliff overlooking theriver. Uncle Peter and I made a fire and skinned the rabbits, while theTuckers and the cavalier went off in search of more game. Under a greatledge of rock we found some snow left from a storm we had beforeChristmas, and after washing the rabbits well and letting them stand incold water long enough to get out the animal heat, we buried them in thesnow: "Ter git the fraishness out'n em," explained Uncle Peter.

  I always loved to mess around a campfire, and Uncle Peter proved a mostdelightful companion.

  "I like this a lot better than killing things, Uncle Peter," I said.

  "Sho, child, so do I. I've been a-huntin' all my life, but it ain't beenfer pleasure. I hunts fer a livin' an' I wouldn't shoot nothin' fer thelove er killin' any mor'n I'd go dig taters fer exercise. I digs tatersfer taters. I done tuck de libbuty of bringin' some sweet taters I madedis year fer ter roas' fer you-alls dinner," and the old man pulled abag from the wheelbarrow that held great sweet potatoes almost as big asmy head.

  "They's nothin' so 'lectable as sweet taters what is roasted in decam'fire. Jes' put 'em down in de ashes and kiver 'em over an' denfergit 'em, jes' fergit 'em. Dey can't cook too long 'kase de mo' deoutside burns de mealier de inside is go'nter git," and Uncle Peterpiled on more brushwood and raked the hot ashes over the yams.

  Every now and then we heard a shot off in the direction of the Amazonsand their so-called protector. I did hope the girls were having goodluck and would come back with game of some sort. Uncle Peter and I gotout the "'visions" and began to prepare for the hunters who, experiencetold us, would come along soon, hungry as wolves.

  "Killin's a mighty ap'tizin' spo't," laughed Uncle Peter, "an' victualscooked in de open seems ter be mo' tasty-like dan de ones in kitchens."

  First we fried the bacon and then put it in a covered pan to keep hot,and used the bacon grease to fry the rabbits, which we had seasoned veryhighly and rolled in flour. I filled the coffee pot with fresh waterfrom a bubbling spring near by, and, resting it on two stones about sixinches apart, I raked out hot coals, and soon it began to heat up. I hadjust completed this culinary feat when Uncle Peter whispered to me:

  "Look, chile, down yander by the ribber!"

  The cliff where we had pitched our little camp overlooked the river, andabout a hundred yards from the base of our cliff was a graveled ford,or shallows. The scrub growth was close down to the water's edge butstretching out into the stream was a little sandy beach. Beyond thescrub growth rose the dark pines, and an occasional oak with its greatbare branches towered above all meaner trees. From the underbrush hadstepped a young buck. He was picking his way daintily across the pebblesto the water's edge. How beautiful he was! I wanted our guests to havegood sport, but I longed with a longing that was almost a prayer that noone with a gun was seeing what Uncle Peter and I were seeing. What windthere was came from his direction so he got no scent of us, and he drankhis fill with unconcern, as though he
lived in the "forest primeval."Then he proudly raised his antlered head and stood a moment sniffing theair.

  "Bang!" rang out a shot, whizzing close to my ear, and "Bang!" came theecho from the cliff. The young buck stood a moment as though sculptured,and not until the echo answered did he drop. It almost seemed that theecho had been the good shot that had laid low this possible futureleader of herds.

  "Oh, the pity of it! The pity of it!" my heart cried out. Turning, I sawmy friends on a ledge of rock farther down the river; Dum, with hersmoking gun still raised to her shoulder, an exalted look on her faceand her black hair with the coppery lights tumbling all about her, anAmazon, indeed; Dee, crumpled up in a little heap, her hands over herface.

  "Hurrah!" shouted Reginald Kent, beside himself with excitement.

  Dee jumped up from her crumpled heap and clambered down the cliff, tearsstreaming down her face and great sobs shaking her body. She fortunatelyhad on waterproof boots, because she thought no more of water than shedid of land. She splashed right across the shallow ford and, kneelingdown by the poor deer, she buried her tear-stained face on his twitchingshoulder.

  Just then the skiff with Mr. Tucker, Father and Jo Winn came round abend in the river.

  "Hello! What's this?" called Mr. Tucker in some alarm, seeing hisdaughter kneeling on the sand by an expiring stag. "Where's Dum? What'shappened?"

  "It's just Dee, deedling," called out Dum. "I shot the deer and nowDee's breaking her heart."

  "O--h, O--h, but he recognized me just before he died!" sobbed Dee. "Icould tell by the way he looked at me."

  "It was a good thing he did 'recognize' you," grinned Jo Winn. "If hehad not, he might have gored you. An injured buck is a right dangerousthing to fool with."

  We comforted Dee as best we could and praised Dum for her shot. Soon wewere gathered around our campfire, and then Uncle Peter and I came infor our share of praise for the good dinner we had cooked.

  "We'll feast on venison to-morrow," said Father.

  "Ah, never!" shuddered Dee. "I couldn't, not after he recognized me."

  "Maybe Molly Cottontail, whose hind leg you seem to be enjoying so,would have recognized you, too, if she had ever seen you before,"teased Mr. Tucker. "Now, Miss Page, here, has such a tender heart shecan't eat rabbit that she has seen running in the woods but contentsherself with bacon."

  "Have you no pity, then, for the poor faithful hogs?" asked Father."They no doubt enjoy life as much as the deer or Bre'r Rabbit. That isperhaps bacon from one of old Sally's offspring; and, Page, you used toplay with those pigs when they were little as though they were kittens.I have no doubt all of the litter would recognize you. When we begin tosentimentalize about our food, we had better 'open our mouths and shutour eyes,' as there is no telling to what lengths it may lead us."

  "But, Doctor, you know 'Pigs is pigs,'" broke in Mr. Tucker, and thediscussion ended with a laugh.

  After dinner the gentlemen made another excursion across the river butcame back without having seen even a deer track. They got a fewpartridges, however, and some rabbits and were content. We started homethrough the pine forest a very happy, merry party.

  Mr. Reginald Kent stuck closer than a brother to Dum's side, and Mr.Tucker, who was walking with me, and I overheard this conversationbetween the infatuated young New Yorker and the ingenuous Dum:

  "Do you know, Miss Dum, you looked like Diana when you stood on thatrock and aimed at the deer? I wanted to paint you awfully bad and didclick the camera on you. I hope you don't mind."

  "Oh, no, I don't mind if it will help you any in your advertising. Areyou going to put me in the 'lasses ad, too?"

  "Oh, now, Miss Dum, quit your kidding! You know I didn't mean I wantedto paint you for advertising, I meant for myself." And then Dum blushed.

  Mr. Tucker frowned. He evidently did not relish his girls getting oldenough to be talked to that way.

  "Miss Dum, will you do me a great favor?" continued Mr. Kent. "I wantmore than anything in the world a lock of your hair. It is the mostwonderful hair I have ever seen. Sometimes it looks black, and then inanother light it is almost red. When it came down while you were aimingat the deer, it was like copper in the sun. Please give me just a littlelock to take back to New York with me."

  "I am afraid Zebedee would not like for me to cut my hair," answered Dumprimly. "But I tell you," she added generously, "I can save you thecombings, if you would like them."

  Mr. Reginald Kent looked rather nonplused and Mr. Tucker handed me hisgun to hold while he rolled in the leaves for very joy. As we werebringing up the rear, nobody saw this pantomime but me, and I was asglad as Dum's father that she was not going to be grown up for a whileyet.

  Mr. Kent was to go back to New York on the following day; in a littlemore than a week Dum would be in boarding school; and it would ofnecessity be many a day before the two could meet again. Perhaps thenext time they do meet, Dum will have grown to the age when she willknow that to offer a young man combings in lieu of a lock is notconducive to romance.