A noble old stag was at bay, with a pack of hungry wolves trying their best to drag him down. Already had he placed two of the gray beasts on their backs, and several of the others seemed to have suffered from contact with the sharp points of his antlers.
They had succeeded in running him down; perhaps a wound in one of his legs had prevented the game old fellow from escaping as easily as he might have done under ordinary conditions. The boys never knew how it came about; but there the stag was, with lowered head, doing his best to defend himself against his foes.
No doubt, had the combatants been left to fight it out in their own way, the tenacious wolves would in the end have pulled the old stag down, and made a meal off his carcase; for he seemed pretty well exhausted by this time, and there were still half a dozen of the savage brutes able to fight.
But Roger could not stand such a spectacle. He sympathized with the gallant old buck, and, slipping from his horse, bow and arrow in hand, crept forward, meaning to put in a few "licks," as he called them, in favor of the animal that was outnumbered six to one.
Dick sat there, holding his rifle, and not wishing to waste any of his precious ammunition unless it seemed necessary. He knew he could depend on his comrade not to injure the brave buck, whose tough meat would be of little use to them for food. And, after the way in which he had fought the whole wolf pack, it seemed as though he deserved a better fate than being shot down.
The boy with the Indian bow succeeded in creeping close enough to get a good view of the performance. The actors in the forest tragedy were too excited and intent on their business to notice anything else. Even the usually wary pests of the timber were goaded to fury by this determined resistance on the part of their intended prey, and seemed wild to bring him down.
Roger never enjoyed anything more in his life than when he took a quick aim, and sent a feathered arrow flying toward the nearest of the pack. The beast went over in a heap, and Dick chuckled when he saw the end of the arrow projecting from that gray side.
Working like a machine Roger fitted another missile to his how, and again that fatal twang announced that the badgered stag had a new ally close by; for a second wolf rolled over, howling dismally.