"Shook with the buck fever," admitted the boyish sergeant, with a laugh. "I'm not joking, either. I didn't expect to get back to camp alive, for it was growing dark in here under the trees, and I knew I couldn't depend on my shooting. I'm almost afraid I closed my eyes as I fired and kept firing. But, anyway——"
Hal stopped, holding his torch so as to show the carcass of another male bear. Not many yards away lay two females.
"An antelope and five bears!" gasped Lieutenant Prescott. "Sergeant Overton, you've qualified for the sharpshooter class in two minutes!"
"I don't claim any credit for the last three bears," insisted Hal. "I simply don't know how I hit 'em. It wasn't marksmanship, anyway."
"Nonsense!" spoke Prescott almost sharply. "It was clever shooting and uncommonly brave work."
"Brave, sir?" retorted Hal, laughingly. "Lieutenant, do you note how my teeth are still chattering? I'm shaking all over, still, for that matter."
"Talk until morning light comes, and you can't throw any discredit either on your shooting or your nerve, Sergeant Overton. If you won't take a young officer's word for it," answered Mr. Prescott, "then ask any of the old, buck doughboys in this outfit."
"It's a job an old hunter'd brag about," glowed one of the soldiers.
Forgetting, for the time, their hunger, the men wandered from one carcass to another, examining them to see where the hits had been made.
"If you men are not going to get together soon, to pick up these animals, I'll have to tote 'em all myself," Prescott reminded them. "Terry, will you swing on under this bear with me?"