But Ches was not to be denied. He danced around the pushing, tugging, straining storm-center, and the moment opportunity offered, slipped in and seized the buck by a hind leg.
If he had touched an electric battery, the effect could not have been more instant. The deer fanned that muscular hind leg, with its boy attachment, at the rate of seven hundred strokes to the minute. Poor Ches’ head was nearly snapped off his shoulders, and the breath was literally jerked out of his body, but he hung on, with all the strength that pulling the car had given him.
It was not much help, but it was a diversion. Jim gulped a lungful of air, gathered his powers and came down with all his might. Slowly the stubborn neck, bent—so slowly that Jim feared he would give out before gaining the mastery. As it yielded, his leverage increased, and at last, exerting every ounce of strength that was in him, he downed the foe and held him there, his leg over the front legs whose armament he had felt before, and was not desirous of feeling again.
But the deer gave up the struggle, and lay quiet, looking up with great pleading eyes.
“Yes, you devil!” cried Jim, “you look meek enough now, but if you weren’t a handful of hard luck ten seconds ago I never ran across one. You hurt, Ches?”
“I got a lovely t’ump on me smeller, but I’m in it yet—do I let go or don’t I?”
“Not on your life—wait a moment!” He worked his weight over on the deer’s body. “Now!” he said. “Quick! Jump loose!” Again the deer glanced up reproachfully, as though to say, “How suspicious you are!”
The instant Ches jumped clear, so did Jim. They watched their late antagonist, who sprang to his feet and went off with frisky leaps, apparently as fresh as ever.
Then they looked at each other. Ches was rubbing his stomach with his left hand, while he wiped the blood from his nose with the right. Jim’s coat and trousers were torn; he had a deep scratch across his chest, a gouge in his leg, and he trembled from the exertion.
“Well—Ches!” he panted, “we’ve—had—a—nice—rest—haven’t we?”