"Guess I've had quite enough sport for to-day," Jerry remarked, as he
bent over the mutilated deer; "there's quite as much meat here as I can
carry home. In fact, I've a good mind to hang most of it up out of reach
of wild animals. We could come for it another time. From the looks of the
sky that storm Jesse spoke about must be coming right along."
So he determined to make haste. While something of a novice at the art of
cutting up a deer, he had a general inkling as to how it should be done.
Accordingly, after half an hour's work he managed to swing the better
part of the meat, fastened up in the skin, to a limb that he made sure
was sound.
"Now for home with my trophies. Say, perhaps the boys won't open their
eyes when I show these four tails, and get Toby to cook some of _my_
venison! This has been a red letter day in my calendar. What was
that--thunder, I do believe. Perhaps--"
Jerry did not even wait to finish his sentence, but started off on a
lope.
But the gloom under the heavy timber increased. He found difficulty in
telling the points of the compass. And finally it became absolutely
impossible for him to make more than a half-way decent guess as to the
quarter where the camp in all probability lay.
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