The Boy Hunters of Kentucky. Ellis Edward Sylvester

but before he could make his aim sure his father spoke sharply-

      "Take the black one on the tree beyond."

      It was a long and difficult shot, but Jack's nerves were steady, and a few seconds after he raised his rifle he pressed the trigger. The gun "hung fire" scarcely a moment, when a jet of flame shot from the muzzle, and Mr. Gedney, who had his eyes fixed on the squirrel, saw it vanish over the limb, and then come tumbling and overturning through the branches to the ground.

      "Fetch it here," commanded his father.

      Without moving a step, Jack deliberately began re-loading his piece, never pausing until the powder was poured in the pan and the hammer let down in place. The father half smiled, for he had expected his boy to forget in his natural excitement the rule about re-charging his gun.

      Having finished, Jack walked forward to the foot of the tree, picked up the small furry body where it lay among the leaves, and brought it to his parent. The latter took it from his hand, glanced down, and then flung it aside, tossing the hickory after it.

      Shall I tell you why he cut that stick just before his boy fired at the squirrel? When he looked at the little animal he saw that its head had been shot off. Had the bullet missed the head and struck any other part of the body he would have plied that stick about the legs and back of his boy until he yelled for mercy. He had done it more than once, and he, like many another Kentuckian, considered that that was the right way to train his child how to shoot.

      "Bark that one up there," said Mr. Gedney, pointing at another of the creatures that was skurrying along one of the upper limbs, its bushy tail spread out like an angry cat.

      Crack!

      As the sharp report rang out among the trees the squirrel at which the boy fired flew up nearly a foot above the limb along which it was running, as though thrown aloft by a steel spring, and then it dropped through limbs and leaves to the ground, where it lay stone dead.

      An examination showed no wound upon it. The bullet had been sent directly beneath the body so as to chip off some of the bark, which flew against the squirrel with such force as to knock the life out of it. This is called "barking," and is sometimes practised for the fun of the thing by skilful marksmen.

      Having viewed the work of his boy, Mr. Gedney could find no fault. Indeed, he did not expect him to do so well, knowing his agitation over his present. He did not seem to think it worth while to praise Jack, but, with a twinkle of his eye, he merely said-

      "You'll do; off with you!"

      And without another word, Mr. Gedney, with his heavy rifle slung over his shoulder, strode off to his cabin, leaving his boy to spend the day as he chose, well knowing how he would pass it.

      As I have told you, the nearest neighbours to Mr. Gedney were the Burton family, who lived about a mile to the eastward. Mr. Burton was more fortunate than Mr. Gedney in the way of children, for he had two boys, William and George, the one a year younger and the other a year older than Jack, while Ruth, the daughter, was a sweet girl of seven years.

      It was natural that the two families should become fond of each other, and that there should be much visiting on the part of the parents as well as by the children. There was hardly a night that Jack was not at the Burton cabin, or his friends were not at his own home. They did a good deal of hunting together, and the Burton boys were skilful with their guns, each one owning a weapon light enough to be handled by its youthful owner. I must add, however, that neither of them was the equal of Jack, as was proven in many contests between them.

      Now Will and George Burton had known for several weeks of the present that was to be made to Jack, and they were as pleased as they could be over his coming good fortune. What could be more natural, therefore, than that Jack should set out for the home of his young friends, that they might rejoice with him over the prize that had fallen to his lot?

      It was a bright sunshiny day in October when the proud boy set out over the winding but well-worn path that led to the cabin of the Burtons a mile away. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn yellow and red before, aflame with the beauties of autumn, they fluttered to the ground. It was a royal time for hunting, for the deer, bears, buffaloes, and indeed all kinds of game, were in prime condition. The heart of the boy beat high with the thought that many of these prizes must fall before that splendid weapon of which he had just become the owner.

      I am sure you would have said that Jack Gedney was a fine fellow, could you have seen him as he strode along the path through the Kentucky forest a hundred years ago. In the first place, he was rather large for his years, and erect, sturdy, and strong. His brown eyes sparkled with high health, and his round cheeks glowed like the pulpy fulness of a red apple. The life that the young pioneers led was one that was sure to make them strong, rugged, and vigorous.

      If you had met Jack in the streets of London or New York you would have been struck by his dress. His cap was formed by the deft fingers of his mother. It was of brown thick cloth, without any forepiece, soft, warm, and able to stand a great deal of wear. Its make and pattern were such that no matter how it was put on its head, it was in place.

      His coat was of the same material, and it was intended to last a good long time. In some respects it resembled the suits often worn by bicyclists of the present day, having a band that enclosed the body just below the waist, while the skirt was only a few inches in length. The coat was buttoned down the front, and contained several pockets within. Underneath the coat was the homespun shirt, made by the spinning-wheel, under the guidance of his mother.

      The resemblance of the dress to the bicycle suit of to-day was made more striking by the trousers ending at the knee, below which were the thick woollen stockings and heavy shoes. During very cold weather the stockings were protected by leggings, reaching from the knee to the shoes. I suppose you know that the fashion of the trousers worn by you was altogether unknown during the days of your great-parents.

      Now, I am sure that none of us can blame Jack if, on this beautiful October morning, when he slung his pretty rifle over his shoulder, he threw his head a little farther back than usual, and stepped off with a prouder step than he had ever shown when carrying the heavy gun of his father.

      "Ain't she a beauty?" he asked himself, stopping short and bringing the weapon round in front, so that he could admire it. "Father thought when I aimed at that first squirrel that I couldn't knock his head off; and," he added, with a smile, "I had some doubt myself, but I noticed that he cut a bigger stick than usual, and I didn't want it swinging round my legs. I never clipped off a squirrel's head more neatly, though I barked the next one just as well. I wouldn't mind now if I should meet a bear or a deer."

      He had resumed his walk, and he looked sharply to the right and left among the trees, but no game worthy of drawing his fire was to be seen, and he kept on along the path, as alert and vigilant as ever.

      About half-way between Jack's home and the cabin of his friends the path descended into a slight hollow, through the bottom of which wound a brook or small creek. It was some ten feet in width, and hardly half as deep. For a short time after a violent rainfall this stream was swollen to three or four times its ordinary volume, but for a number of years it had not risen high enough to carry away the bridge by which people crossed the stream.

      This bridge was simply the trunk of a tree which had been felled so as to lie with the stump across the stream. While this could not give as secure a footing as you would like in passing over it, yet it was all that was wanted by those who had to use it. Had the means and all the necessary materials been at their command, they would probably not have taken the trouble to put up a better one.

      CHAPTER III.

      THE MEETING ON THE BRIDGE

      Jack Gedney walked down the slight descent, and stepping upon the fallen tree, moved to the other bank. As he came up again to the general level, he still looked around for some game, but nothing met his eye.

      "There's one thing certain," he added: "I'm not going any farther without shooting off this gun."

      A hundred yards ahead he saw the whitish trunk of a spreading beech which grew near the path. A patch of the bark about as big as his hand was stained a darker colour than the rest, as though some object had rubbed