Having issued these instructions, the old hunter moved on once more, and the boys followed. Each had his weapon ready for use, and each advanced with as little noise as possible.
The deer were in a little glade, cropping the tender grass around a small spring. They were six in number, including a fair-sized buck, who occasionally raised his head, as if on guard. But the wind, as Jed Sanborn had said, was blowing directly from the deer to the hunters, so nothing in the air gave the game the alarm until it was too late.
When the old hunter raised his hand, the boys knew it was a signal to halt. Jed Sanborn crouched low and wormed his way to some bushes fringing the glade, and the young hunters did the same.
It was a thrilling sight and it made the boys tremble in eager anticipation. Not a word was spoken, for they scarcely dared to breathe.
In a minute each hunter had his gun into position, Giant resting on a rock and Whopper in the crotch of a low tree.
"I'll take the buck," whispered Jed Sanborn. "Ready?"
"Yes."
"Then fire!"
Crack! went the several firearms, in a scattering volley, and the buck and one of the others pitched headlong, not to rise. Another deer was hit in the side, but leaped into the bushes and was soon lost to sight. Still another went limping off on three legs.
"After 'em! Finish 'em up!" yelled Jed Sanborn, and led in the chase, across the glade and into the brushwood beyond. Here they caught sight of the limping deer, and all of the boys gave it a shot, which finished it in short order.