The male deer went down in a heap, actually turning a somersault, so great was its speed. And it came to rest, breathing its last, almost at Bert’s feet.
[CHAPTER XIII]
THE CHANGED SIGN
“Say, that was a shot!”
“That’s what! Just in time, too!”
Thus cried Jack and George. Bert was too surprised to utter a word, and Tom was too anxious to make sure he had bagged the first specimen of real game since coming to camp.
But there was no mistake about it. There lay the slain deer, and a fine specimen it was. The one Bert had photographed with his camera had, on the first alarm, darted into the underbrush, and was now far away, doubtless wondering what had happened to her mate.
“Say, why didn’t you fellows tell me what was going on?” asked Bert, as he whirled about and saw what had happened.
“We did,” spoke George.