Double Challenge Part 27

John Wilson resumed sitting in the easy chair. Before Ted washed the dishes, he stole a glance at Al's note.

Ted; I got enuf. Don't send Tammy agen til deer seson ends. I wish your sport luk. I saw one of the big buks on burned mountin today.

Gess you'll find both.

Your dad

Ted nodded, satisfied. If Damon and Pythias were still on Burned Mountain, he knew exactly where to go. He touched the note to the flame, waited until it burned to ashes, swept them into a wastebasket and joined his guest.

John Wilson, looking at the dying embers in the fireplace, asked quietly, "Got your campaign mapped, General?"

"Only the first skirmish. I know--That is, I'm pretty sure that Damon and Pythias are still on Burned Mountain."

"Then at least we'll know where to find them."

"I believe so. Do you mind if I carry a rifle?"

"Why, I hope you do."

"I won't shoot either Damon or Pythias, even if I should get a shot,"

Ted promised. "But I would like to get a buck. It helps a lot on the meat bills."

"By all means get one. Pretty warm for this time of year, isn't it?"

"Too warm. Some snow would be a great help."

They exchanged more hunting talk, then went to bed.

An hour before dawn the next morning, after ordering Tammie to stay in the house, Ted closed the back door behind him and started up Hawkbill with his guest. He walked slowly, for Hawkbill was a hard climb for a young man, even in daylight. Though John Wilson was by no means doddering, neither was he young. Ted stopped to rest at judicious intervals.

The darkness lifted slowly, but it was still a thick curtain of gray when, in the distance, a fusillade of shots rang out. Ted grimaced. Some fool, who couldn't possibly see what he was shooting at, had shot anyhow. That was one way hunters managed to kill each other instead of game.

As daylight became stronger, shots were more frequent. Some quite near and some far-off, the sounds were a ragged discord, with now four or five hunters shooting at the same time, then a single shot or succession of shots, then a lull with no shooting. Hunters were seeing deer and shooting, but definitely not all of them were connecting. As Ted knew, many a deer, many a herd of deer, had emerged unhurt after a hundred or more shots were fired at them.

Ted mounted the crest of Hawkbill and turned to offer a hand to his panting guest. John Wilson wiped his moist brow.

"Whew! Why didn't you tell me we were going to climb the Matterhorn?"

Ted grinned sympathetically. "You're up it now, and we can see what there is to be seen."

Ted b.u.t.toned his jacket. The weather was unseasonably warm, but here on Hawkbill's summit, little fingers of cold that probed at his exposed nose and throat told of chillier things to come. While the temperature made no difference, snow would increase their chances a hundred per cent. He studied Burned Mountain.

Spread out in a thin skirmish line, a party of red-clad hunters were about halfway up it. A deer fled before one of them and the man stopped to raise his rifle. There sounded the weapon's sharp bark, but the deer ran on and disappeared in some brush.

John Wilson said, "He should have had that one with a slingshot."

"Wonder if he could tell whether it was a buck or doe. I--There he is!"

"There who is?"

"One of those big bucks! See him?"

"No."

"A quarter of the way below the summit. Look a hundred yards to the right of that light-colored patch of ground and thirty yards down slope."

"I still don't--Oh, my gos.h.!.+"

He uncased his binoculars, put them to his eyes, focused and stared for a full three minutes. When he took the gla.s.ses down, there was a gleam of purest ecstasy in his eyes and at the same time a little awe.

"There isn't a buck that big!" he murmured breathlessly.

"Look again," Ted invited. "Wonder where the d.i.c.kens the other one is."

He searched the briers, a little puzzled. Damon and Pythias were known as such because, except during the rutting season, they were never far apart. But definitely only one of the two huge deer was on Burned Mountain now. It was very unusual.

Ted shrugged. There was no unchangeable rule that said the two big bucks must always be together. Maybe the sound of shooting or the hunters going into the woods had caused them to separate, or perhaps they had parted for reasons of their own.

The shooting continued spasmodically, and not too far away came the outlandish cacophony of shrieks and shouts that meant a hunting party was staging a deer drive. A thin voice screamed, "He's coming your way, Harvey!"

As Ted continued to watch the big buck, John Wilson became restless.

"Let's go after him."

"Wait a bit," Ted advised. "It isn't going to be that easy."

The climbing hunters, about a hundred and fifty yards apart, broke out of the forest and into the briers. Two of them were so placed that, unless he moved, they would pa.s.s the big buck at almost equal distances.

But the buck let them pa.s.s without so much as flicking an ear. He knew very well exactly where both hunters were, but he was no fawn to panic because men were in the woods. The buck had a good hiding place, knew it, and he had eluded hunters this time merely by doing nothing.

"He's smart, all right." John Wilson had appreciated the strategy, too.

"What do you suggest, Ted?"

"I'm going over to flush him out. You stay here and let me know what he does."

"But--What good will that do?"

"Deer are pretty much creatures of habit. He's in that bed now because he likes it. If he doesn't become too frightened today, the chances are good, both that he'll go into the same bed tonight and that he'll do the same thing when he's flushed out of it tomorrow. Only you'll be waiting for him."

John Wilson nodded. "That listens all right."

"Wave your red hat when he goes," Ted directed. "I'll see that and wait for you, and we can figure our next move afterwards."

Unenc.u.mbered by an older companion, Ted half-ran down the opposite slope of Hawkbill and started swiftly up Burned Mountain. He had no hope of seeing the buck, but just going to the bed where it had been lying was within itself no easy task. Viewed from the summit of Hawkbill, various parts of Burned Mountain had various distinguis.h.i.+ng characteristics. But once on the mountain itself, everything looked alike. Ted emerged from the forest into the briers, crashed a way through them, and when he thought he was very near the place where the buck had bedded, he turned to see John Wilson waving his hat.

Ted sat down for what he was sure would be a long wait. He had climbed to this place in twenty-five minutes, but he was eighteen years old.

An hour later, he heard John Wilson's, "Hall-oo!"

"Here!" Ted yelled.