Part 10 (1/2)

”Oh, now, looky here, you're mistaken, Max, sure you are. I wasn't afraid right then, only somewhat rattled.”

”From the excitement of the thing,” remarked Max. ”Of course, and anybody would have been about the same. But lend a hand here and let's turn our deer over, Steve. I want to see where you hit him.”

This they speedily accomplished; and then Steve, who had been pondering over something, broke loose again.

”Max,” he said, with a little quiver to his voice, ”I noticed just now that you said _our_ deer. Do you mean to let me claim a share in this thing, then?”

”Why, of course,” replied the other, as if in surprise; ”we both shot him. See, here's where a buckshot from your gun struck him in the side.

They must have scattered more than you thought they'd do at such a short distance.”

”Yes,” said Steve; ”looks like it. But, Max, it was you who killed him.”

”Oh, I ended him, that's right,” said Max, who was nothing if not generous, ”but only for you holding him here after wounding him, where would I have come in? Why, I'd never have had the first sight of the buck.”

”Yes, that's so,” said Steve, smiling grimly, ”I _held_ him all right, didn't I? But when he was chasing me around that old tree so lively, Max, somehow I didn't happen to look at it that way. Fact is, I thought the plagued buck was holding me.”

”All the same,” declared Max in a tone that settled it, ”we got him, and both of us gave him a chance to bleed. You weakened him at first, you know.”

”Oh, did I?” remarked Steve, feeling of his ribs, as if to make sure none of them were broken. ”Well, you see, I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me if the old beast hadn't been weakened, just like you say.”

That was too much for Max. And, besides, having coaxed the whole story from his chum now, he thought it would not matter very much if he did indulge in a good laugh.

To his surprise Steve joined in. Evidently the realization that he had actually helped kill a genuine five-p.r.o.nged buck, fulfilling his wildest dream, caused Steve to be less ”touchy” than usual.

”But we must manage to get him home some way, Max,” he remarked after a while, when they had grown weary of admiring their prize.

”Think we could tote several hundred pounds four miles?” demanded Max.

”If it was a little doe, now, I might be willing to tie the legs along a pole and try it; but I balk at this big chap.”

”Then what shall we do?” asked Steve.

”I'm going to cut it up the best way I know how,” his chum replied. ”All we want to take along is one hind quarter. Plenty on that for two meals.

And like as not we'll find the old chap pretty tough.”

Accordingly the boys set to work. Steve knew next to nothing about such things, but was willing to do whatever his comrade asked of him. And while Max professed to be a clumsy butcher, he certainly did his work in a way to draw out words of praise from the delighted chum.

”There, that job is done,” said Max, when the sun was nearly halfway down the western sky, ”and I'm glad of it, too.”

”We can take turns carrying the hind quarter,” remarked Steve, hefting it; ”after all, it doesn't seem so very heavy.”

”I'm going to wrap it in the skin, which I removed the first thing,” Max continued.

”But it's too bad to leave all the rest of our fine buck,” sighed Steve.

”Oh, don't think I mean to let the foxes and other animals make way with the rest of the venison! I've got this rope here around my waist; you know it comes in handy sometimes.”

Steve laughed.

”For pulling silly fellows out of quicksand and bog holes,” he remarked.