Part 9 (1/2)

Steve was beginning to complain of being nearly done up, when Max asked him not to talk again only in a whisper, as they were now close upon the other feeding ground of the coveted deer.

And this caused Steve to brighten up immediately. In his eagerness to find game his pains were forgotten.

Max arranged that they separate and advance along parallel lines, so as to cover more territory.

He had been going on himself some little time when suddenly he heard Steve's gun roar. A second shot followed fast on the heels of the first, and Max, excited, ran in the direction of the sounds. A few minutes later he heard the l.u.s.ty voice of Steve calling out:

”Take care, Max, he knows you're coming! Run for it! He's starting for you! Get a tree, Max, get a tree! He's a holy terror!”

CHAPTER VII.

THE UNWELCOME GUEST.

Max saw what had happened in that one glance he took.

Steve had met his deer at last; and sure enough it was a st.u.r.dy buck that had five p.r.o.ngs to his antlers, showing his years.

Whatever upset Steve could only be guessed; but although he had certainly sent in two shots he had failed to bag the game.

Perhaps he wounded the deer with the first shot and the animal had fallen. Flushed with triumph, Steve had given a yell and started to hasten toward his quarry with the intention of bleeding it, as he understood should be done.

Then, when the buck scrambled to his feet, and charged straight at the young hunter, Steve had been so rattled that he missed entirely with his second shot.

After that it was run or take to a tree for Steve.

And sheltered behind an oak, around which he had been chased again and again by the angry buck, Steve had seen his chum appear in sight.

It was then he shouted his warning.

Max had no intention of picking out a tree for himself, as Steve suggested; at least not so early in the game. Time enough for that when he found he had made as bad a bungle of the affair as his chum seemed to have done.

Here was the fine chance to try his new rifle that he had been hoping would come along.

”Look out!”

Max hardly heard this last warning, cry from the boy who looked out behind the friendly oak. He had dropped on his right knee and raised his gun.

The buck was coming on pretty fast, considering the fact that he seemed to limp and be losing blood from the wound Steve had given him.

Max knew he had a difficult task to place his bullet where it was calculated to do the most good. There was little of the deer's breast exposed as with lowered head he charged toward this new enemy. But Max had all the necessary requisites that go to make up the good hunter--a quick eye, a sure hand, and excellent judgment in a pinch.

He took a quick aim, and meant to fire while the buck was still a little way off. This was to give him a chance to pump a new cartridge into the firing chamber of his gun in case the first shot failed to do the work.

After that--well, of course, there still remained the tree Steve recommended, and Steve ought to know a good thing when he saw it, since he had been saved from those really dangerous-looking antlers by a sheltering tree.

But, then, Max did not mean to register a miss.

He pressed the trigger at just the right time as the buck was rising in the air. And when he saw the deer crash to the ground, although he felt a thrill of satisfaction, cautious Max was not like Steve, rus.h.i.+ng headlong forward to bleed his game.