“There came pretty nearly not being time enough to do anything,” went on Jack. “It was touch and go, Bert, old man. Tom, here, fired just in time.”
“Was it really as close as that?” asked the lad with the camera.
“It certainly was,” Jack assured him. “That deer had it in for you. I guess he thought you were trying to pot his mate with a new-fangled gun, and he made up his mind to stop you.”
“Well, Tom stopped him all right,” spoke George. “Say, it’s a fine specimen!” and he gazed admiringly at the head and horns. “It will make a fine trophy for your room, Tom.”
“I wasn’t thinking so much of that when I fired,” was the modest answer. “I was wondering whether I could bowl him over before he reached Bert with those business-looking horns.”
“And you did, old man. I shan’t forget that!” exclaimed Bert, fervently. “I’ll do as much for you some day, only I’m not as good a shot as you, so don’t take any chances. If a deer or a bear comes after you, run first, and get in a safe place. Then wait for me to shoot at it.”
“It was more luck than anything else that I got him,” Tom said. “If I had stopped to think, I’m sure I’d have had a touch of ‘buck-fever,’ and I wouldn’t have been able to hold my gun steady. But I just up and blazed away.”
“Well, now we’ve got it, what are we going to do with it?” asked Jack. “Shall we trail after the one that got away—the one Bert took a picture of?”
“What’s the use?” asked Bert. “She’s miles away from here now.”