Again there was a rush, and this time, instead of striking the bushes, the animal came pell-mell into the end of the tree branch. There was a quiver and a crash, and the branch snapped into pieces, hurling Harry backward almost against the tree trunk.
The buck could easily have followed Harry to the trunk, and have there finished him, but for one reason, and that was, when the crash came a part of the tree limb caught the animal directly in the mouth. This is a sensitive part, even in an old buck of the deer tribe, and the animal lost no time in pulling back to clear himself of this new difficulty.
But the buck still had his eye on Harry, and rushing around the broken tree branch he prepared for another plunge forward.
As soon as the animal turned from him to Harry, Joe lost no time in finishing the loading of his gun. With the weapon now properly primed he leaped around to a position where he could get a good shot at the buck.
Again the animal came forward, straight for Harry, who, in trying to leap to the opposite side of the tree, had slipped and fallen.
Crack! It was Joe’s rifle that spoke up, and this time the boy’s aim was all that could be desired. The buck received the ball straight in the heart and leaped high in the air. Down he came with a crash, directly at Harry’s side and lay still, stone-dead.
As the buck fell Harry tried to roll out of the way, thinking there might still be some life left in the animal. Joe drew his hunting knife and leaped in.
“Is he—he dead?” panted Harry.
“Yes,” was Joe’s slow answer. “That shot fixed him.”
For fully half a minute both youths stood by the side of the fallen game, surveying the animal with interest. Harry was trembling slightly, and Joe was several shades paler than his usual color.