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.
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