“No, I didn’t,” was the simple answer. “It was all I could do. It was either that or let him gouge me, and I didn’t want to do that. Did you shoot him?”
“Yes, and it was close work, too, for your head was almost in the way.”
“But you did it!” exclaimed Fenn, enthusiastically. “You saved my life, Bart, and—” but Fenn could say no more. The nervous shock was too much for him, and he put out his hand and silently clasped that of his friend.
“Oh, it was easy once I made up my mind to fire,” went on Bart. “I drew a bead on him, and I thought of the game laws, but I knew I was justified.”
“It was a corking good shot,” exclaimed Fenn, admiringly. “You’re a wonder with the rifle, Bart.”
“Oh, not so much, I guess. But how about you? Can you walk?”
“Yes, I’m all right. I got scared there for a while, especially when that brute got his leg down inside my belt. I thought it was all up with me.”
“So did I. You shouldn’t have fired at him.”
“I know it, but I let her go before I thought. I’m done with hunting for a while.”
“Nonsense, you’ll be at it again in a few days. But, if you can walk, let’s get back to camp, and get the other fellows. Then we’ll come after our meat. We’ll have enough venison for a month.”