"Oh, don't think I mean to let the foxes and other animals make way with the rest of the venison! I've got this rope here around my waist; you know it comes in handy sometimes."
Steve laughed.
"For pulling silly fellows out of quicksand and bog holes," he remarked. "Oh, yes, don't think I've forgotten what happened in that Great Dismal Swamp. But do you mean to yank the carcass up in a tree, Max? Is that the way you expect to use the rope?"
Max nodded in reply.
They soon accomplished this.
Max seemed to know just how to go about it, and presently the balance of the deer swung there in space, six feet or more from the ground, and as many below the strong limb over which the rope had been thrown.
"Think it'll be safe, do you?" asked Steve, puffing from the exertion of pulling such a weight upward.
"From every kind of animal but a bobcat. If one of that tribe happens along and is hungry, of course he could drop down on the upper part and munch away," was the reply Max made.
"Which happens to be the fore quarters of the buck, the part we don't care about so much," said Steve.
"Oh, I had that in mind when I fixed the rope, Steve."