To his surprise Steve joined in. Evidently the realization that he had actually helped kill a genuine five-pronged buck, fulfilling his wildest dream, caused Steve to be less "touchy" than usual.
"But we must manage to get him home some way, Max," he remarked after a while, when they had grown weary of admiring their prize.
"Think we could tote several hundred pounds four miles?" demanded Max. "If it was a little doe, now, I might be willing to tie the legs along a pole and try it; but I balk at this big chap."
"Then what shall we do?" asked Steve.
"I'm going to cut it up the best way I know how," his chum replied. "All we want to take along is one hind quarter. Plenty on that for two meals. And like as not we'll find the old chap pretty tough."
Accordingly the boys set to work. Steve knew next to nothing about such things, but was willing to do whatever his comrade asked of him. And while Max professed to be a clumsy butcher, he certainly did his work in a way to draw out words of praise from the delighted chum.
"There, that job is done," said Max, when the sun was nearly halfway down the western sky, "and I'm glad of it, too."
"We can take turns carrying the hind quarter," remarked Steve, hefting it; "after all, it doesn't seem so very heavy."
"I'm going to wrap it in the skin, which I removed the first thing," Max continued.
"But it's too bad to leave all the rest of our fine buck," sighed Steve.