“You have it, sure enough!” said Glenn, coming up and viewing the scene with interest.
“Lash me if I haven’t!” said Joe, much excited. “Have you got any sort of a string about you?”
“No.”
“Please cut down a hickory withe, and peel the bark off for me, while I hold its legs.”
Glenn drew out his hunting knife, but paused when in the act of executing his man’s request, and turning, with a smile playing upon his lip, said—
“Perhaps, Joe, this is but another dream; and if so, it is folly to give ourselves any unnecessary trouble.”
“Lash me if it ain’t reality!” replied Joe, as the deer at length began to struggle violently.
Extricating its feet from his grasp, the doe bestowed a well directed kick on its foe’s head, which tumbled him over on his back. The animal then sprang up, but aware there was no chance of escape by running, faced about and plied its bony head so furiously against Joe’s breast and sides that he was forced to scamper away with all possible expedition.
“Has it bruised you, Joe? If so, this is certainly no dream,” remarked Glenn.
“Oh, goodness! I’m battered almost to a jelly. I’ll take my oath there’s no dreaming about this. Let me go after Ringwood and Jowler.”