“I’ll stay with them,” volunteered Nat. “I’ve had my share of good shots lately. Let Will have a show. You and he go ahead, Jack.”
Jack did not want to leave Nat, but his chum insisted that some one had to stay with the animals, and he wanted to do it. So Will and Jack started off alone to trail the deer.
They went on about a mile, the trail becoming fresher at every step, until Will, who was close behind Jack, gently touched his companion on the arm and pointed to the left.
There, framed in a little opening of the trees, pawing the snow off the grass in a little glade, stood a noble buck mule deer, the largest Jack had ever seen. The animal had not heard nor scented them.
“Take the shot, Will,” urged Jack. “You may never get another like that.”
“No, I’d rather you would.”
“Nonsense. I’ve shot several of ’em. You take it.”
“I’d rather you would.”
“Go on,” urged Jack in a whisper. “Wait, though, we’ll move forward a bit, and you work off to the left. You’ll get a better shot then. The wind’s just right.”
They went forward a few feet cautiously, until they stood just on the edge of the clearing. Then Will, stepping a few paces to the left, raised his rifle. No sooner had he done so than, to his surprise and regret, his arms began to shake violently. He had a severe touch of “buck fever.”