But Jim had a good double-barrelled gun in his hands, and he was so close to the buck that it seemed to him he ought to be able to riddle him with shot. Besides, Jim had not a particle of the buck fever which incapacitated Tom, but which does not attack every amateur hunter.
“The best thing I can do is to climb this tree,” he added, looking upward at the limbs, “and then if I miss, why the buck can’t get at me, for he don’t look as though he’s built for climbing trees.”
At this juncture the buck was on the further side of the prostrate oak, trying to root out Bob from his shelter. Since he could not reach him with his hoofs, he seemed to believe that a vigorous use of his antlers would accomplish his purpose.
It looked as if he was about to succeed, for one of the blunt points gave Bob such a vigorous punch in his side that he howled with terror.
At the same moment, while staring about as best he could for the tardy Jim, he caught sight of his white face peering around the tree behind which he stood.
“Why don’t you shoot, Jim?” he yelled; “do you want to see me killed? The buck is ramming his antlers into my side! The next punch he gives me they will go clean through.”
At this instant another party arrived on the scene.
CHAPTER XXIII—A BRILLIANT SHOT
The new arrival was Hero the hound. He came on the scene with a rush and proceeded straight to business.
He did not need to pause to take in the situation, but with a faint whine and short yelp he bounded for the savage buck, which did not see him until they collided. But the old fellow was game. Though he had fled in a wild panic when the baying of the dog rang through the woods, yet now that he was at bay he fought like a Trojan.