The first sounds of the hound showed that he was over the mountain crest, and within the following minute it was apparent to all that he was approaching, his baying rapidly growing more distinct.
This confirmed what his owner had said: he had held his peace until beyond the wild animal, so that the latter, when he awoke to the alarming fact that the hound was after him, naturally turned in the opposite direction, and was, therefore, coming toward the three hunters, though, of course, it must remain undecided for a time which trail he would take.
The baying of Hero continued at brief intervals, and drew near so fast that each of the three hunters knew the game was sure to pass near him, and one of them was to be favored with a shot before he was a quarter of an hour older.
Which would it be?
“I think I’m to be the lucky chap,” reflected the delighted Tom, over on the left, “and I’ll show Bob, who thinks he knows so much, that some things can be done as well as others. What the mischief is the matter with me?”
This impatient inquiry was caused by Tom’s discovery that a singular nervousness had taken possession of him and was rapidly increasing. The belief that a wild animal was bearing down upon him and would soon break cover affected him as he had never been affected before.
He found himself trembling in every limb, while his teeth rattled as though he were shaking with the ague. Angered at his weakness, he strove desperately to overcome it, but, as is the rule at such times, though he was able to check himself for an instant, he was powerless to master his strange weakness.
I suppose I hardly need tell you that Tom was suffering from that peculiar nervousness known as “buck fever.”
Experienced hunters laugh at amateurs when they see them overtaken by the exasperating disease (if it be proper to call it that), which never attacks them.
“Confound it!” muttered Tom, “I wonder whether Bob or Jim is affected this way; if I don’t get better, I hope the deer won’t come in sight of me.”