"From the excitement of the thing," remarked Max. "Of course, and anybody would have been about the same. But lend a hand here and let's turn our deer over, Steve. I want to see where you hit him."
This they speedily accomplished; and then Steve, who had been pondering over something, broke loose again.
"Max," he said, with a little quiver to his voice, "I noticed just now that you said our deer. Do you mean to let me claim a share in this thing, then?"
"Why, of course," replied the other, as if in surprise; "we both shot him. See, here's where a buckshot from your gun struck him in the side. They must have scattered more than you thought they'd do at such a short distance."
"Yes," said Steve; "looks like it. But, Max, it was you who killed him."
"Oh, I ended him, that's right," said Max, who was nothing if not generous, "but only for you holding him here after wounding him, where would I have come in? Why, I'd never have had the first sight of the buck."
"Yes, that's so," said Steve, smiling grimly, "I held him all right, didn't I? But when he was chasing me around that old tree so lively, Max, somehow I didn't happen to look at it that way. Fact is, I thought the plagued buck was holding me."
"All the same," declared Max in a tone that settled it, "we got him, and both of us gave him a chance to bleed. You weakened him at first, you know."
"Oh, did I?" remarked Steve, feeling of his ribs, as if to make sure none of them were broken. "Well, you see, I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me if the old beast hadn't been weakened, just like you say."
That was too much for Max. And, besides, having coaxed the whole story from his chum now, he thought it would not matter very much if he did indulge in a good laugh.