“Keep up courage, old fellow! I’m here, and will give the beast his finishing touch!”
The exasperating buck fever had vanished, and Tom’s nerves were as steady as could be wished, though he was naturally flustered by the stirring situation.
Bringing his gun to his shoulder, he aimed directly at the beast, which could not have offered a better target, and pulled both triggers.
But no report followed.
“Confound it!” he muttered, “I forgot that the old thing wasn’t loaded! Can’t you stay there, Bob, for a day or two, till I go down to Piketon and bring forty or fifty people to pull you out?”
“No; I’ll be killed,” called back the furious Bob; “the buck will get at me in a minute more!”
“All right—”
“No, it aint; it’s all wrong!” interrupted the terrified lad; “load your gun as quick as you can and shoot him!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do—good-bye!”
At that juncture the buck seemed to decide there was a better chance of reaching Tom than there was of getting at Bob, so leaving him alone for the moment, he rushed at the former.