Through Forest and Fire Part 19

The imperiled lad drew a deep respiration, poised himself on his advanced foot, and, swinging to one side, with a view of avoiding the full force of the charge, he brought down the stock of his gun with the utmost strength he could command.

It descended with great power--so far as a ten-year-old boy is concerned--but it was not sufficient to throw the buck off his base nor to interfere with his plan of procedure.

He struck the lad with tremendous force, sending the gun flying from his grasp and knocking Nick fully a dozen feet. Never in all his life had the boy received such a terrific shock, which drove the breath from his body and sent him spinning, as it seemed, through twenty yards of s.p.a.ce.

Poor Nick believed half his bones were broken and that he was mortally hurt; but the result of the charge was most extraordinary.

As the antlers of the buck struck him he was thrown like a limp dummy toward the fallen tree, and, in reality, his greatest peril was therefrom. Had he been driven with full momentum against the solid trunk, he would have been killed as if smitten by a lightning stroke.

But his feet were entangled in some way and he fell headlong, his forehead within a few inches of the bark, and his head itself was driven under the trunk, which at that point was perhaps a foot above the ground.

Instinctively the nearly senseless lad did the only thing that could save him. He crawled under the trunk, so that it stood like a roof over him.

His head was toward the base, and he pushed along until the lessening s.p.a.ce would not permit him to go further.

Thus he lay parallel with the uprooted tree, his feet at a point where the bark almost touched his heels, the s.p.a.ce growing less and less toward his shoulders, until the back of his head rested against the s.h.a.ggy bark and his nose touched the leaves.

He had scarcely done this when he heard a thud at his elbow: it was made by the knife-like hoofs of the buck, who, rearing on his hind legs, gathered his two front ones close together and brought them down with such force that, had they fallen on the body of the lad, as was intended, they would have cut into him like the edge of a powerfully driven ax.

As it was, the s.h.i.+elding tree trunk prevented it, and, grazing the bark, they were driven into the yielding earth half a foot deep.

The buck immediately reared and repeated the terrible blow several times, missing the body of the lad by what may be called a hair's breadth.

The animal was in a fury, and, believing his foe was at his mercy, he showed him none.

Nick heard the first thump of the sharp hoofs as they cut their way into the earth, and then his head seemed to spin, as though he had been whirled around with inconceivable velocity; innumerable stars danced before his eyes, he felt as if shooting through s.p.a.ce, and then consciousness left him.

The buck could know nothing of this, and, had he known it, his actions would not have been affected. He continued his rearing and plunging until he saw he was inflicting no injury. Then he stopped, backed off several paces, and, lowering his head, tried to dislodge the lad from his place of refuge.

But the breadth of his antlers prevented success, which would have placed Nick just where he could finish him. The oak barred his progress, stopping the head and horns when they were almost against the body.

Then the buck reared and struck again, trying all manner of maneuvers which his instinct suggested, but providentially none of them succeeded.

All this time Nick Ribsam, who had been so badly bruised, was oblivious of the efforts against his life. Had he possessed his faculties, he could not have done anything more for his protection than he did, by lying motionless, extended along and below the trunk of the oak.

But the l.u.s.ty, rugged nature of the lad soon a.s.serted itself, and he began rallying from the shock. A reaction gradually set in, and slowly his senses returned.

It was a considerable time, however, before he realized where he was and what had befallen him. His head was still ringing, as though the clangor of a hundred anvils were sounding in his ears, and, when he drew a deep breath, a pain, as if made by a knife, was in his side.

He listened, but heard nothing of his enemy. Then, with a great labor and more suffering, he pushed himself a few inches backward, so as to give some freedom to his body and to enable him to move his head.

Turning his face, he peered out on his right: the buck was not visible in that direction.

Then he did the same toward the left: his enemy was invisible on that side also.

"He is gone," said the lad to himself, still afraid to venture from the s.h.i.+elding trunk that had been the means of saving him from the fury of the enraged deer.

Nick believed he was close at hand, waiting for him to make a move that would give another chance to a.s.sault him.

After several more minutes, the lad hitched farther backward, so that he was able to raise his head a few inches. This extended his field of observation, and, with a feeling of inexpressible relief, he still failed to catch sight of the game.

"I guess he got discouraged and left," said Nick, startled at the evidences of the buck's wrath so near him.

Finally the lad backed clear out from under the tree, and climbed to his feet; it was climbing in every sense, for he nearly cried with pain several times, and, still fearful that he had been seriously injured, he examined himself as best he could.

A few minutes convinced him that none of his bones was broken, although he afterward declared that he suspected his head had been fractured.

He now looked about for his gun and found it within a short distance, much scratched by the hard treatment it had received, but without any real injury.

Throwing the weapon over his shoulder, he started in the direction of the appointed rendezvous, and, as he did so, observed that it was already grown dark in the woods. Night had come, and he had quite a long distance to walk.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE CAMP FIRE.

But Nick Ribsam was full of grit, and, though every step he took caused him pain, he persevered with that grim resolution that was a part of his nature from his very birth.

After walking some distance he found the soreness and stiffness leaving him, and he straightened up with something of his natural vim and elasticity of spirits.

"There's one thing certain," he added, recalling his encounter with the buck, "I didn't have any one to help me out of that sc.r.a.pe, except the One who always helps him that helps himself; but I never wanted a friend more than then, and, if it hadn't been for that oak, it would have been the last of Nicholas Ribsam."

"There is another thing I have learned," he added, with that glimmer of humor which was sure to show itself, "I know considerable more than I did yesterday; I have a good idea of how it feels when a wounded buck _raises_ you, and, after this, I won't shoot one of the creatures unless I'm sure of making a better shot than I did a while ago--hallo!"

Well might he utter the last exclamation, for at that moment he came upon the dead body of the buck, lying as he had fallen on the earth, when at last he succ.u.mbed to the wound received at the hands of Nick himself.

The boy stopped to examine it, for he was much impressed by the discovery.

"That came very near ending in the death of us both: nothing but the oak saved me. I wonder whether I am going right."

He raised his head from his examination, and looked about him, but he was without the means of judging whether he was following the proper direction or not. When leaving the scene of his encounter with the deer, he had taken the course that seemed to be right, without pausing until he could make himself certain in the matter.

This is pretty sure, in a majority of cases, to lead one astray, but it so happened with Nick that he headed in a bee-line for the camp, where the impatient Sam Harper was awaiting him.

But the error came afterward: he toiled forward without any guide, and soon began to turn to the left, so that he was in reality moving on the circ.u.mference of a large circle, without suspecting how much he wandered from the true course.

This peculiar mistake is made by many who are lost in the wilderness, and is supposed to be due to the fact that everybody is either right or left handed, instead of being ambidextrous as we all ought to be.

One side of the body being stronger than the other, we unconsciously exert the limb on that side the most, and swerve from a straight line, unless we have something to direct in the shape of a landmark or guiding-post.

It was not until Nick had gone a long ways out of the right course that he suspected his error: the appearance of the camp fire which Sam Harper had kindled, was what led him to stop and make the best investigation he could.

There was little else he could appeal to, and he was in doubt as to whether that had not been kindled by some other party; but fortunately, while he was debating the matter, he caught the faint but distinct signal of his friend, who was on the point of starting out to look for him.

Nick replied, and in the course of half an hour had joined Sam and Herbert by the fire.