Max stooped and picked up the shotgun. Then he laughed.
"It's all as simple as pie," he said.
"Do you mean I was that excited I pulled both triggers at once?" cried Steve.
"Well, both hammers are down, and," breaking the gun as he spoke, "you can see for yourself the shells are empty."
"Glory! No wonder I blew that old cat away, then!" cried Steve. "With all those two dozen buckshot chasing through him the poor critter must have been nearly torn to pieces. And there my fine door mat goes a-glimmering!"
Investigation proved that Steve's fears were realized. The terrific discharge at such close quarters had so riddled the skin of the wildcat that it was not worth attempting to save.
"What a shame!" said Steve, as he got up again after examining the dead beast. "He was a jim-dandy, too. If I'd only had a crack at him thirty yards away instead of ten feet, I'd have saved that lovely pelt."
"But it was a corking good shot, I tell you, Steve," declared Max, warmly.
"That's j-j-just what it was," added Toby, who had parted company with the friendly tree, now that the danger seemed a thing of the past.
"To hit a tiger cat sitting on a limb is considered a good enough showing," continued Max; "but to knock holes through him while he is in the air jumping deserves high credit. Think of that every time your shoulder hurts."