"Anyhow," remarked Steve, cheerfully, "I can bat right or left handed, and I can shoot a gun the same old way; so this little accident won't knock me out of the running. But I'd be happier if I hadn't just ruined that skin."
"Well, better lug him home, anyway, if you feel able to," advised Max. "Uncle Jim will be glad if he recognizes the crafty old thief of last winter in this cat you knocked down."
"Guess I will," Steve remarked, "though he'll be a load to tote. We'll wait and see how you come on with the venison."
"Oh, don't bother about that," said Max. "Toby and myself will look out for all we want to take with us."
"But those antlers—I promised to decorate my room with those, Max!"
"That's all right," declared Max. "Come for them before we leave here. You know the place, and by that time the foxes will have cleaned them nicely for you."
And so things were arranged.
An hour later and the three lads headed for camp again. Each one toted his share of the burden. But long before the cabin was reached Steve began to feel sorry that he had determined to display the wildcat to the others in order to prove his story, and also let Trapper Jim see whether the victim of his double shot was the same despised and hated bobcat that had given him so very much trouble in the preceding year.
Nevertheless Steve was a most determined boy. And having started in to accomplish anything he could hardly be influenced to give it up just because his back ached and his lame shoulder protested.
Max insisted on changing loads with him when they were halfway home.