"By and by," Harry continued, "Webster heard a smashing in the underbrush. It kept coming nearer, but it wasn't in the least like the sound a bear makes or a jumping deer. You don't know they're around unless they're badly scared. Anyway, Webster sat still wondering what it could be, until he saw a man crawling on the ground. He was coming along very cautiously, but you couldn't have heard him more than half a mile away. By and by he disappeared behind a big tree, and as there hadn't been a deer about for a week Webster wondered if the man was mad, until there was a blaze of repeater firing in the bush. Then Fremont, his logging ox, came out of it like a locomotive and headed for the range so fast that Webster couldn't see how he went. He grabbed his logging handspike, and found a sport abusing another for missing in the bush. "'What in the name of wonder are you after?' he asked. "'We've been trailing a deer two hours,' one of them declared. 'A mighty big deer. Must have been an elk.' "'An elk, sure. I saw it,' added the other. "'There isn't a blamed elk in the country,' said Webster. "'You'll see,' persisted the other. 'I tell you I pumped the cylinder full into him.' "'Quite sure of that?' Webster asked. "The other man said that he was, and Webster waved his handspike. "'Then it's going to cost you sixty dollars, and I'll take a deposit now,' he said. 'It's my ox Fremont you've been after.'" "Did they give it to him?" Frank broke in. "Five dollars," Harry answered. "Webster looked big and savage, and they compromised on that." "But had they hit the ox?" Harry chuckled. "Give a man who isn't a hunter a repeater and he'll never hit anything--unless it's what he isn't shooting at." "Anyway, it's better to stick to the single shot at first," Mr. Oliver remarked. "Then you take time and care, and it's more likely that when you shoot you kill. No humane person has any use for the man who leaves badly wounded beasts wandering about the woods." He rose, and shook out his pipe. "We'll be getting back," he added. "There's only one way of making it easy to rise at sun-up." They walked toward the house together, and it seemed to Frank that there was a good deal to be said for this rancher's views. He did not tell tall stories and boast of what he had shot, but Frank had seen enough to realize that it was most unlikely that he left any sorely wounded animal to die in misery. It was not often that Mr. Oliver molested the beautiful wild creatures of the woods, but when he fixed the sights on one of them he killed it clean. CHAPTER V THE MYSTERIOUS SCHOONER