“Oh! did we get him, Thad?” he cried; for possibly the smoke of the double discharge had interfered with his vision, and he did not know whether the deer had dropped, or sped unharmed out of sight, even before the alert Thad could give him the contents of his second barrel.
“Looks like we’ll have venison for supper to-night, anyway,” laughed Thad.
And then, Step Hen, looking more closely ahead, saw a slight movement on the ground, which he realized must be the last expiring kick of their quarry.
His spirits arose at once, and he gave a wild whoop of joy.
“Bully! bully!” he exclaimed, as he still ran forward after his chum; “we did get him all right, didn’t we, Thad? And I’d just like to see any woods’ thief try to hook this deer away from us. Don’t you let ’em do it, Thad, will you, even if we have to fight for it?”
“Don’t worry,” said Thad, as they came to a halt over the fallen buck; “we’re not going to have any trouble–not from that source, anyway.”
If Step Hen had been less excited he might have noticed that the words of his companion seemed to admit of their having trouble of another kind; but just then the tenderfoot was too much wrapped up in other things.
“Oh! that’s too bad, Thad!” he remarked.
“What is?” asked the other; “both of us hit him, all right; for there’s the place your bullet went in; and these smaller holes show where my buckshot struck.”
“But look at his antlers, would you, Thad?” the other went on; “why, this is only a two-year-old, I sure reckon, because he’s got only two prongs on his horns.”