Reader, do not turn faint with disgust at these heart-rending details, nor imagine that the writer is a half-reclaimed desparado all the way from “bleeding Kansas;” for this is just as it happened to those hunters in the[371] flesh. But if he ever attempts to narrate a true story again, he will tone it down as well as touch it up.

“Let us be thankful that it is no worse,” Mr. Lawrence said. “We have had a narrow escape; for if Steve’s tube hadn’t exploded immediately, George would certainly have struck his, and then we might all have been hurled into eternity.”

“Do you think Steve will lose his thumb and fingers?” George asked, faintly.

“Oh, I hope not!” Uncle Dick said, fervently. Then dolefully: “I am afraid I shall have a heavy account to settle when I see your parents again.”

Then the sound hunters framed a rude litter, and laid Will on it gently. George and Henry were to take turns with Mr. Lawrence and Marmaduke in carrying him. And then the little procession passed solemnly through the woods, with but little of that sprightliness which had hitherto characterized the party.

“I think this hunt will last me for a lifetime,” Will groaned.

“I am afraid you will feel the effects of your hurt all the rest of your life,” Uncle Dick sorrowfully rejoined.

“There is one consolation,” said Steve, who was walking with his well arm linked in Marmaduke’s. “Next time we see a ‘dynamite’ we shall know what it is, and probably I shall not care to make a plaything of one again.”

After a weary march due east, they came to a small cleared space, in which stood a miserable hut. A faint line of smoke was curling out of the roof, but no person was in sight.

“Now, this isn’t another powder magazine,” said Steve; “therefore it must be a ‘wayside hut.’ My wounds have made me thirsty, of course, and we can probably get a drink here, whether any one is in or not, so I am going in.”

The others, also, felt thirsty; and Charles was advancing to knock at the door, when Steve softly called him back.

“Now, Charley,” he said, “I haven’t read romances for[372] nothing, and if there’s villainy any where in this forest, it’s here. Of course you’ve all read that villains have what is called a ‘peculiar knock?’”

“Yes,” whispered four out of the seven.

“Well, I’m going to give a ‘peculiar knock’ on that door, with my sound hand, and you must mark the effect it has. You needn’t grasp your weapons; but just keep your eyes and ears open. Then will you do whatever I ask?”

“We will,” they said, smiling at Steve’s whim.

Then the man who had not read romances for nothing stole softly to the door, and knocked in a peculiar manner.

Without a moment’s hesitation, a voice within said, “Well done!”

Steve faced the others and winked furiously, while he reasoned rapidly to this effect: “Evidently, here is a nest of knaves. The fellow on the inside thinks his mate is in danger, and knocks to know whether it is safe for him to enter.”

Then the voice within asked uneasily, “Jim?”

“Will,” said Marmaduke, leaning over the litter, “we are certainly on the track of the man who stole your deer!”

“Oh, I had forgotten all about the deer,” Will groaned.

Steve started, but collected himself in a moment, and whispered to Jim, “Come along Jim; this fellow wants to see you. Now be as bold as a lion; blow your nose like a trumpet; and observe: ‘By the great dog-star, it’s Jim; lemme in.’”

Jim managed to do this; but he basely muttered that he wasn’t brought up for a circus clown.

“Then come in; the door isn’t locked;” the voice within said harshly, but unhesitatingly.

Stephen flung open the door and strode proudly into the hut, closely followed by the others. One scantily furnished room, in a corner of which a man lay on a bed, was disclosed. This man’s look of alarm at this sudden entrance filled Steve with exultation.

“What does all this mean? What do you want?” the occupant of the bed demanded.

[373]

“A glass of water,” said Steve.

“Well, you can get a dish here, and there is a spring outside,” with an air of great relief.

“Is this the man?” Steve asked of Marmaduke.

Marmaduke sadly shook his head.

“I am very low with the small-pox,” said the unknown, “and those of you who have not had it, nor have not been exposed to it, had better hurry out into the open air.”

This was said quietly—apparently sincerely.

The hunters were struck with horror. It seemed as though a chain of misfortunes, that would eventually lead them to destruction, was slowly closing around them. Small-pox! Exposed to that loathsome disease! They grew sick with fear!

“Was it for this we went hunting?” Charles groaned.

For a few moments the hunters lost all presence of mind; they neglected to rush out of doors; they forgot that the sick man seemed wrapped in suspicion; they forgot that they had gained admittance by stratagem; Steve forgot that he was playing the hero.

A cry of horror from Jim roused them from their torpor.

“What a fool I am!” cried Henry, “I had the small-pox when I was a little boy; and now, to prove or disprove this fellow’s statement, I will run the risk of taking it again. The rest of you may leave the room or not, just as fear, or curiosity, or thirst, or anything else, moves you. I believe, however, that there is not the least danger of infection.”

“No, no; come out!” Mr. Lawrence entreated, not wishing to be responsible for any more calamities. “Come out, Henry, and leave the man alone.”

“Believe me, Mr. Lawrence, I run no risk,&r............