.

Their coats, like those of the smaller deer, were of a brown which
seemed to have caught its dye from the autumnal tints surrounding them.
In shape they justified Dol's criticism; for they certainly were not
unlike cows of the Alderney breed, save for the widely branching horns.

Of the strength of these antlers the hidden spectators got sudden,
startling proof, as the two largest caribou drew off from the rest, and
charged each other in a real or sham fight, the battle-clang of their
meeting horns sounding far away to the hill-top.

"Them two bulls are having a big time of it. Look at 'em now, with the
small one. That's a stranger in the herd," hummed Herb into the ear of
the boy next to him, his voice so light and even that it might have been
but the murmur of a falling leaf. "It's an all-fired pity that we're
jest too far off for a shot."

The "stranger," which the woodsman's long-range eye had singled out, was
of a smaller size and paler color than the other caribou; and Herb--who
could interpret the forest pantomime far better than he would have
explained the acting of human beings on a stage--told his companions in
whispers and signs that it was in distressed dread of its company.

The attentions which the rest paid to it seemed at first only friendly
and facetious. The two big bulls, after trying their mettle against each
other for a minute, separated, and moved towards it, prodded it lightly
with their horns, and playfully bit its sides, a sport in which the
other members of the herd joined.

"They're playing it, like a cat with a mouse; but I guess they'll murder
it in the long run if it's sickly or weak. Caribou are the biggest
bullies in these woods--to each other," whispered Herb.

"By the great horn spoon! they're doing for it now," he gasped, a minute
later. "Sho!... if I only had my old Winchester here, I'd soon stop
their lynching. Try it, you, Cyrus! You're a sure shot, an' you can
creep within a hundred yards of 'em without being scented. Try it, man!"

The guide's flashing eyes and quick signs conveyed half his meaning; his
excited sentences were so low that Garst only caught fag-ends of them.
But they were emphasized unexpectedly by a faint bleating sound rising
from the valley,--the helpless bleat of a buffeted creature.

"We want meat, and I'm going to spring a surprise on those bullies,"
muttered Cyrus, setting his teeth.

Still lying flat, he shot his eyes down the hill-slope, formin