Hans came down the path, carrying his rifle like a veteran sportsman. He was looking for game, and he found it. His eyes widened like saucers when he saw the deer standing in the bushes by the tree.
“Shimminy Gristmas!” he gurgled. “Id don’d seen me, eidher! Uf dot deer don’d shood me, I like to know vot vos der madder mit me, anyhow! You pet me, I pud a palls righd t’rough ids head und ids liver. A veller can shood a teers dot don’d ged any horns, I subbose, mitoudt giddin’ arresded py dose game vardens! I vill shood him, anyhow, uf I can. Yaw! You pet me!”
He dropped to his knees, then began a stealthy approach, for the purpose of putting himself within what he considered good shooting distance. He was less than eighty yards from the game when he first saw it, but he knew so little about rifles that he doubted if his gun would carry so far. It is not easy for a fat boy to crawl stealthily sixty yards on his hands and knees, dragging a gun along the ground, but that was the task that Hans Dunnerwust now set for himself.
Merriwell, hidden in the bushes, shook with laughter, as Hans began this cautious advance. When half the distance was passed, Hans rose to a half upright posture and stared hard at the deer. This was an opportunity for which Merriwell had been waiting. He drew down on Hans the camera, but scarcely able to sight it accurately for laughing. The picture caught, showed Hans all a-tremble with eagerness, his mouth wide open, his eyes distended and staring.
Assured that his game was still in position by the tree, Hans got down on his hands and knees again and made another slow advance.
When no more than twenty yards separated him from the deer, he lifted himself very cautiously and drew up the gun to take aim. He was shaking so badly he could hardly hold the weapon. Merriwell focused the camera on him at this instant and caught another view of this great hunter of the Moosehead country.
As he took the camera down, he saw Hans trying to shoot the gun without having cocked it. Again and again Hans pulled the trigger, without result.
“If only some of the other fellows were here!” Merriwell groaned, fairly holding his sides. “He’s shaking so I’m afraid he won’t hit the deer, after all.”
He had arranged the deer so that the slightest touch would cause it to fall.
Hans put down the gun and anxiously turned it over. Then Merriwell saw his puzzled face lighten. He had found out why the weapon would not go off.