Going in a bee line, as led by the sagacious trapper, who knew the
woods like a book, the little company did not spend more than an hour
on the way.
"Thar's yer three oaks, son; now tell us jest whar ye was when ye shot
that deer."
As he spoke, Jesse pointed ahead. All of them could easily see the
landmark now.
"It was an old tree, and there ought to be broken branches underneath.
Yes, if you look over yonder you'll see it. And isn't there something
that looks yellow from here?" asked Jerry, proudly.
"Just what! The dog story was founded on solid facts, then!" exclaimed
Frank, hurrying forward, with the others at his heels.
"It was a true tale," chimed in Will, from the rear.
They found the dogs just as Jerry had left them. The big yellow brute lay
under the rotten tree, with his head mangled from the discharge of the
gun at close quarters; the dingy white one farther off, and presently
Jerry led them to where he had dispatched the others.
"And there's my package of vension, all right, hanging up yonder. I was
afraid some prowling lynx might get away with it," he remarked,
composedly; while his two admiring chums were whacking him on the back
admiringly, and insisting on proudly shaking hands with him over and
over again.
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