The next afternoon Muskrat and Fine Bow went hunting.They hid them-selves in some brush which grew beside an old game trail that followed the river,and there waited for a chance deer.
Chickadees hopped and called,"chick-a-de-de-de"in the willows and wild-rose bushes that grew near their hiding-place;and the gentle little birds with their pretty coats were often within a few inches of the hands of the young hunters.In perfect silence they watched and admired these little friends,while glance or smile conveyed their appreciation of the bird-visits to each other.
The wind was coming down the stream,and therefore the eyes of the boys seldom left the trail in that direction;for from that quarter an approaching deer would be unwarned by the ever-busy breeze.A rabbit came hopping down the game trail in believed perfect se-curity,passing so close to Fine Bow that he could not resist the desire to strike at him with an arrow.Both boys were obliged to cover their mouths with their open hands to keep from laughing aloud at the surprise and speed shown by the frightened bunny,as he scurried around a bend in the trail,with his white,pudgy tail bobbing rapidly.
They had scarcely regained their compo-sure and silence when,"snap!"went a dry stick.The sharp sound sent a thrill through the hearts of the boys,and instantly they became rigidly watchful.Not a leaf could move on the ground now--not a bush might bend or a bird pass and escape being seen by the four sharp eyes that peered from the brush in the direction indicated by the sound of the breaking stick.Two hearts beat loudly as Fine Bow fitted his arrow to the bowstring.
Tense and expectant they waited--yes,it was a deer--a buck,too,and he was coming down the trail,alert and watchful--down the trail that he had often travelled and knew so well.Yes,he had followed his mother along that trail when he was but a spotted fawn--now he wore antlers,and was master of his own ways.On he came--nearly to the brush that hid the hunters,when,throwing his beautiful head high in the air,he stopped,turning his side a trifle.
Zipp--went the arrow and,kicking out behind,away went the buck,crashing through willows and alders that grew in his way,until he was out of sight.Then all was still,save the chick-a-de-de-de,chick-a-de-de-de,that came constantly from the bushes about them.
Out from the cover came the hunters,and with ready bow they followed along the trail.
Yes--there was blood on a log,and more on the dead leaves.The arrow had found its mark and they must go slowly in their trailing,lest they lose the meat.For two hours they followed the wounded animal,and at last came upon him in a willow thicket--sick unto death,for the arrow was deep in his paunch.His sufferings were ended by another arrow,and the chase was done.
With their knives the boys dressed the buck,and then went back to the camp to tell the women where the meat could be found--just as the men do.It was their first deer;and pride shone in their faces as they told their grandfather that night in the lodge.
"That is good,"War Eagle replied,as the boys finished telling of their success."That is good,if your mother needed the meat,but it is wrong to kill when you have plenty,lest Manitou be angry.There is always enough,but none to waste,and the hunter who kills more than he needs is wicked.To-night I shall tell you what happened to OLD-man when he did that.Yes,and he got into trouble over it.
