Of a sudden he made a lunge forward, his head down, his great spread of antlers looking as if they were many yards wide, dashing straight at Buster Billings!
Buster became frightened for the moment. He darted from behind the tree and made for another, yelling loudly as he went.
Frank’s rifle spoke, the bullet went true to the hind flank of the moose. It reared high in pain and turned back toward Frank. Buster for the moment was out of danger.
Angrier than ever, fighting mad, red eyes dancing, head swinging from side to side, nostrils fairly blowing fire out into the cold air, the King of the lake country made a lunge at Jack Eastwick, whose position was to the right of Frank.
Jack, behind a tree, calmly took bead on the great beast and pulled the trigger just as the moose threw his head downward. The shot missed the point at which it was aimed, and, instead, struck the moose in the shoulder.
Into the air he reared, again that loud bellow of anger or of pain, perhaps both, and the big body came down against the tree with such mighty force that the trunk broke off, the tree falling sharply away.
Frank gasped, for it seemed that Jack Eastwick was caught behind it. But Jack, as he saw the animal throw its entire weight at the tree, had leaped away quickly enough to be out of reach.
As the tree went over, the animal went with it, falling to its knees.
In that instant three of the boys had their guns on it, and each one fired. But the shots must have missed in the hurry, for there came no cry of pain as there had been before. Instead, the snarl was strictly one of anger as the moose came quickly back to his feet, wheeling to attack.
Straight at Buster once more he went, full head on, his antlers close to the ground, his effort being to toss the boy as he had tossed that moose a few days before.