Marmaduke now demanded and received a brief explanation of affairs.

Seeing a way out of the difficulty, he pointed obliquely over the injured man’s shoulder, and said, “Will, there is a plump and sweet partridge in that tree;—no, lower[356] down;—further on;—hadn’t you better shoot it for him?”

After a moment’s deliberation the man who loved a good silver ring agreed to be satisfied with the partridge.

Yet an evil smile curved his lips—a smile that foreboded mischief to something—perhaps to the partridge.

Will had no sooner fired than a howl of awful agony burst from the man’s lips, and having spread his huge hands over the region where the ignorant suppose their vitals are situated, he bowed his body downwards, and there passed over his face a look of suffering that, in sublime tragedy, almost equalled the frightful spasms so graphically portrayed in our patent medicine almanacs.

Almost—nothing can quite come up to the patent medicine almanacs in that respect.

With a voice that was appalling in its unrestrained vehemence, he fell to delivering hideous ecphoneses,—too hideous, in fact, to be repeated here,—and then gasped faintly, “You’ve done it now!”

Poor Will! He was nearly crazed with grief.

“Oh!” he groaned, “have I killed him? Have I taken a fellow-creature’s life? Has my hastiness at last had a fatal result?”

“Oh,” Marmaduke murmured, “how could Will’s ball glance so as to enter that man’s body?”

For several seconds the two unlucky hunters stood perfectly still, held to the spot by devouring horror and anguish.

During this time, the forester seemed to be undergoing exquisite pain; but presently, with an effort worthy of a hero, he struggled to an erect posture, and said, with a faltering tongue: “Young men—perhaps—I’m, I’m gone.—I—can’t blame—you, sir;—a man—can’t tell—how his ball—may glance.—Go,—both of you,—go—and get a—doctor.—Bring a—doctor—you,” to Will; “and you—” to Marmaduke, “go east—from—from here—half a-mile—to my—father’s.—I—I—can stay—alone.”

“Poor, poor fellow,” said Will, with tears in his eyes. “Can you stay here alone and suffer till we come back?”

“Yes,” groaned the wounded man. “I can—stay-till—the other—fellow—finds my—father.—It won’t—be long.”

[357]

“Let me at least see your wound before I go,” Will entreated. “Perhaps I could ease you, or even save your life.”

“Go! oh go!” urged the wounded man. “I’ll—hold out—if you are—quick.”

Then the two hunters strode sorrowfully away in their different directions—Will with a vague notion that the nearest surgeon lived several miles to the south—Marmaduke thinking that the “peasants” of his country are a hardy and noble race.

They were barely out of sight on their errands of mercy when a change most magical came over the sufferer’s face. Two minutes before, and his features wore the tortured look of an invalid “before taking our prescription;” now they wore the happy smirk of a convalescent, relieved from all pain, “after taking our prescription.”

Then, villain-like, he muttered: “I hardly expected to make so much out of the two fools—a whole deer! That’s striking it pretty rich! I don’t shoot a deer in a month; but this is just as good, for I can make off with this one at my leisure. Well, I reckoned that little ‘wound’ would work.”

A horrible chuckle escaped from his lips, he sprang to his feet as sound in health as a person could expect to be, walked up to Will’s deer, and coolly began to drag it away into the depths of the forest. All that part of the forest was known to him, and he soon dragged his prey into a place of concealment where its rightful owners would hardly find it.

“There,” he muttered, “I guess I have dragged the old feller far enough. He’s safe enough here till I can take him home. Now, they haven’t been gone long, and if they keep on, they may get lost; and it’s mean to have ’em get lost on a fool’s errand. Perhaps this’ll bring ’em back on a keen run. How they will hunt for me and the deer!”

As the thief spoke he retraced his steps a little way, discharged a pistol concealed on his person, and then slunk back to his hiding-place. Yes, he was so humane[358] that he did not wish the two deluded hunters to bring succor to a man who did not need it.

The report of his pistol had the desired effect. Both Will and Marmaduke heard it; and fearing that the poor wretch was attacked by some foe, human or otherwise, they hastened back to the scene of bruises and wounds, meanness and trickery.

Of course they found nothing, and, although they were heroes, they were unable to track the knave to his hiding-place. Will was furious. He had felt so grieved at having wounded a fellow-creature; so proud, a moment before, of having been the first to kill a deer; and now he naturally and correctly concluded that the “wound” was a mere ruse on the rogue’s part, in order the more surely to get possession of the deer.

“Will, I took the fellow to be a very fair example of our peasants; an honest, ingenuous and hardy forester. How bitterly I am deceived.”

Will replied: “Well, I took the fellow for a hypocrite and a downright knave from the first. It isn’t so much the deer,—though that is really a great loss for me,—but the depravity that the man has shown, that grieves me. And I was just going to give him a new dollar gold piece to squander his affection on! But, Marmaduke,” with a flash of his old jovialness, “don’t talk about peasants and peasantry, for free America knows no such word. Marmaduke, I’m afraid your trip to Europe in the summer filled your mind with some ridiculous notions. Shake them off, and be yourself again.”

“Well, Will, you are in the right. Now, suppose that we look for the partridge, for I believe your ball killed it.”

“No, Marmaduke. I missed it, for I saw it fly away untouched, just as that man doubled himself up and began to howl.”

“Then you took it for granted that he received the ball?&rd............