Nevertheless, it quickly became apparent that the animal had taken the path on the left, and was approaching the impatient hunter, who had stationed himself behind the trunk of a large oak, with his gun at full cock, ready to let fly with both barrels the instant he saw the chance.
Each of the trails to which I have alluded were traversed so rarely that they showed only dimly, and were overhung by the luxuriant undergrowth and branches growing beside them. This prevented Tom seeing very far along the path, so that his ear gave him knowledge of the whereabouts of the animal before the eye located him.
The youth was still striving desperately to get the mastery of the buck fever, when he heard the crashing tread of the game, which was advancing along the trail, and unless he wheeled aside would pass within twenty feet of where he stood.
Suddenly a commotion was discernible among the vegetation, and the next instant Tom caught sight of the antlers of a noble buck, who was sailing along with such speed that the next second his shoulders and body burst into sight.
He was running fast with that peculiar lope natural to the animal, and no doubt was panic-stricken by the baying of the hound, not far behind and gaining fast.
The sight of the royal game intensified Tom’s nervousness. He compressed his lips and held his breath, with the resolve to calm his agitation or die in the attempt.
But finding it utterly beyond his power, he deliberately stepped from behind the tree, and when the buck was no more than fifty feet away, and coming head on, he let fly with both barrels.
Had the animal been perched in the topmost branches of the beech-tree on the left he would have received a mortal hurt, but as it was, he was not touched by a single pellet of the numberless shot that were sent hurtling and rattling among the leaves.
“Confound you!” muttered Tom, aware of his absurd failure; “I’ll club you to death.”
And swinging the butt of his weapon over his shoulder he rushed savagely at the beast.