Chapter 16 - Page 2

far away and that the water was falling from
his muzzle. When I opened my jack we were close upon him. His
eyes gleamed. I shot high above the deer that went splashing

ashore before I had pulled my trigger. After the roar of the gun had
got away, in the distant timber, Tip mentioned a place abhorred of
all men, turned and paddled for the landing.

'Could 'a killed 'im with a club,' said he snickering. 'Guess he must
a looked putty tall didn't he?'

'Why?' I asked.

'Cos ye aimed into the sky,' said he. 'Mebbe ye thought he was a
bird.'

'My hand trembled a little,' said I.

"Minds me of Bill Barber,' he said in a half-whisper, as he worked
his paddle, chuckling with amusement.

'How's that?' I asked.

'Nothin' safe but the thing he shoots at,' said he. 'Terrible bad shot.
Kills a cow every time he goes huntin'.'

Uncle Eb was stirring the fire when we came whispering into
camp, and Gerald lay asleep under the blankets.

'Willie couldn't hit the broadside of a bam,' said Tip. 'He don't take
to it nat'ral.'

'Killin' an' book learnin' don't often go together,' said Uncle Eb.

I turned in by the side of Gerald and Uncle Eb went off with Tip
for another trip in the dugout. The night was chilly but the fire
flooded our shanty with its warm glow. What with the light, and the
boughs under us, and the strangeness of the black forest we got
little sleep. I heard the gun roar late in the night, and when I woke
again Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor were standing over the fire in the
chilly grey of the morning. A dead deer hung on the limb of a tree
near by. They began dressing it while Gerald and I went to the
spring for water, peeled potatoes, and got the pots boiling. After a
hearty breakfast we packed up, and were soon on the road again,
reaching Blueberry Lake before noon. There we hired a boat of the
lonely keeper of the reservoir, found an abandoned camp with an
excellent bark shanty and made ourselves at home.

That evening in camp was one to be remembered. An Thomas, the
guide who tended the reservoir, came over and sat beside our fire
until bedtime. He had spent years in the wilderness going out for
nothing less important than an annual spree at circus time. He eyed
us over, each in turn, as if he thought us all very rare and
interesting.

'Many bears here?' Uncle Eb enquired.

'More plenty 'n human bein's,' he answered, puffing lazily at his
pipe with a dead calm in his voice and manner that I have never
seen equalled except in a tropic sea.

'See 'em often?' I asked.

He emptied his pipe, striking it on his palm until the bowl rang,
without answering. Then he blew into the stem with great
violence.