“I hope this new ground will give us better luck,” Bluff went on.
They continued to push on until half a mile had been traversed.
It happened that Bluff was a little in advance of his chum, when, without the least warning, there was a sudden crash in the thicket. Then he saw something dun-colored spring away.
“Oh! Frank! look, there he goes skipping out; and it’s a three-pronged buck, at that!” he shouted.
Then, realizing that he might be interfering with the other’s aim, being in line with the fleeing deer, Bluff dropped flat to the ground.
CHAPTER VIII—FUR AND FEATHERS
Crack!
That was Frank’s rifle, as Bluff well knew.
“Hurrah; he’s down, Frank; you got him that time! No, there he’s on his feet again, as sure as anything. Oh, why didn’t I have buckshot shells in my gun? There! That time you did drop him for keeps! Bully! bully! bully!”
Bluff immediately got upon his feet, and, as well as his burden would admit, started to run toward the spot were he had last seen the buck go down.