CHAPTER IX

THE MESSAGE FROM CROSS-EYED PETE

The shells shot by the rifles belonging to the two chums were .44-.50, while those of the Wilder boys were .30, so that it would only be possible to tell whether the boys from Ohio had proved better marksmen than the Westerners.  Yet the boys were eager to settle the question.

Chaffing each other good naturedly, they tramped along, and when they saw the size of the antlers and body of the second buck they forgot all rivalry.

“He’s a beauty!” cried Horace.  “I’m glad it wasn’t he that made a jump for me.  His prongs stick out a yard.”

Though this was an exaggeration, the branches of the antlers were, indeed, surprisingly long.

“And there are fourteen of the prongs,” ejaculated Tom, who had been counting the sharp points.

“Which makes him fifteen years old,” asserted Bill.  “Just look at their spread; they must be all of four feet.”

“Easily,” said his father.  “He’s the biggest buck I ever saw.  Ah, here’s the bullet-hole, right back of the shoulder.  It certainly was a splendid shot.”  And as he bent closer to examine it, the others awaited his decision as to which party the trophy belonged.

“Ohio wins!” he declared at last.

“Then Tom probably got him.  He’s a better marksman that I am,” asserted Larry.

Though the Wilder boys were naturally disappointed, they made the best of it, and Bill exclaimed: 

“Come on, Larry.  Let’s go into the woods and search.  I’m positive I hit a deer the first time I fired.  Can we go, father?”

“Surely, only don’t get lost.  It will take me some time to dress the two bucks.  If you are not back by the time I am finished, come to the plateau.  We’ll wait for you there.”

Promising not to wander far, the elder boys entered the woods while the others assisted in dressing the monster buck.

After skinning the animal, the ranchman cut out the most savory parts and placed them in the pelt.

“Shall we take the antlers?” asked Horace.

“They’d be fine to have mounted, but they’ll be awfully in the way while we’re hunting.  What do you think, Mr. Wilder?” And Tom appealed to him as to their proper disposal.

“They will be awkward to carry, that’s a fact,” assented the ranchman.  “If you want them very much, though, we can leave them here and then stop on our way home.  They’ll be safe enough till we get back.”

Readily Tom agreed, and he and Horace were just stooping to pick up one end of the hide, containing the deer meat, when Horace let out a cry.

“Oh, what’s that thing up by my buck?”

“It looks like a tiger,” exclaimed Tom, and then added:  “But you don’t have tigers out here, do you?”

“No.  That’s a mountain lion, which is almost the same thing, though,” answered Mr. Wilder.  “Now’s your chance to show your marksmanship, Horace.  Take a good aim and see if you can’t knock him over.”