Whatever upset Steve could only be guessed; but although he had certainly sent in two shots he had failed to bag the game.
Perhaps he wounded the deer with the first shot and the animal had fallen. Flushed with triumph, Steve had given a yell and started to hasten toward his quarry with the intention of bleeding it, as he understood should be done.
Then, when the buck scrambled to his feet, and charged straight at the young hunter, Steve had been so rattled that he missed entirely with his second shot.
After that it was run or take to a tree for Steve.
And sheltered behind an oak, around which he had been chased again and again by the angry buck, Steve had seen his chum appear in sight.
It was then he shouted his warning.
Max had no intention of picking out a tree for himself, as Steve suggested; at least not so early in the game. Time enough for that when he found he had made as bad a bungle of the affair as his chum seemed to have done.
Here was the fine chance to try his new rifle that he had been hoping would come along.
"Look out!"
Max hardly heard this last warning, cry from the boy who looked out behind the friendly oak. He had dropped on his right knee and raised his gun.