“Let’s try for another,” answered Harry, and pulling out an old pistol he had brought along he aimed it at the big buck and fired.
His aim was only partly true, and the buck was struck a glancing blow in the left foreleg. He slipped down on his knees, but soon arose again. In the meantime the unshot deer fled to the forest with a speed that can better be imagined than described.
While Harry was shooting at the buck Joe had started to reload his rifle. Harry dropped his empty pistol and pulled out his hunting knife, thinking to rush in and cut the buck’s throat.
“Look out for him, or he’ll gore you!” yelled Joe, and his warning came none too soon, for just then the buck leaped forward and rushed at Harry with lowered antlers. The young pioneer knew he could not withstand such a shock and leaped to one side.
“He has got lots of fight in him yet, even if he is clipped,” panted Harry, rushing to the top of some rocks. “Look out for him, Joe!”
“I mean to look out,” was the answer, as Joe continued to load with all possible speed.
The retreat of Harry caused the wounded buck to pause for an instant. But it was only for an instant; then his gaze turned to Joe, and with a snort of rage he hopped rather than leaped forward, as if to prod Joe to death on the spot.
CHAPTER XIII
PERILS OF THE YOUNG HUNTERS
It was a moment of extreme peril, and none could have realized it better than did these two young pioneers. They had often heard of the rage of a wounded buck, and had heard of how one old friend of Harry’s family had once been gored to death in scarcely more time than it takes to tell it.
“Run, Joe, run!” came from Harry. “Don’t let him strike you!”