"Make for the clump of hemlocks," whispered Dave. "You ought to get a fine shot from there."
Rodney did as directed, and in a few seconds more was in a position to draw an excellent "bead" on the deer, that was feeding as peacefully as ever.
It must be admitted that Rodney's hand trembled slightly as he raised his long rifle and gazed along the shining barrel. There was a brief pause, during which Dave also brought up his weapon. Bang! went Rodney's piece, and up into the air leaped the deer, shot through the shoulder.
"Good!" shouted Dave. "You've got him, Rodney."
"I—I don't know about that," was the quick reply. "See, he is trying to run away."
"I'll finish him, but he's your game," was Dave's answer, and an instant later his own weapon spoke out, and the deer leaped once more, and then fell dead in its tracks.
Hurrying up, the young hunters surveyed the haul with interest. The deer was of good size, but rather lean, for the winter had been severe, and food was scarce.
"I'm glad we got him," said Rodney, with a quiet smile. "Mother was wishing for fresh venison only yesterday. He's not as fat as he might be, but that can't be helped. Do you think there are any more around?"
"If there were, they ran off at the shots," answered Dave. He walked a few feet away. "See here, Rodney!"
"What is it?"