Twang! The arrow flew. The next instant, with agility born of long training, he dropped sideways and backward. He was not a second too soon. The terrible impact of that powerful head, the awful rending of those spiked antlers; what chance had a boy against these?
With all the force and fury of a crazed elephant, the moose went thundering straight on.
With his senses reeling, the boy fought his way into a standing position in the tangle of briars and young trees, then drew another arrow.
It was well that he found himself so prepared, for the moose, having checked himself in his mad career, turned and charged again. This time, only Providence could have saved him. Enmeshed as he was in the underbrush, he was in no position to dodge. A small tree, directly between him and the charging terror, saved him.
Blinded by rage, the moose charged straight into the tree. The sound of the impact was like the dropping of a pile driver. The stout tree snapped off at the roots. But the great beast was stopped.
It was enough. Again the bow twanged. A moment later the giant moose lay beating the brush in his death throes.
“Well,” Johnny said, turning to the girl, who by this time had climbed down from the tree, “that’s what I call close.”
The look on her sunbrowned face was deeply serious. “Yes, it was. I am sorry to put you in such grave danger.”
“Oh, that!” he said, shrugging. “It wasn’t great. I could have climbed a tree. Then there would have been two of us.” He laughed.
“But you didn’t.” The look on the girl’s face was still serious. “I have to thank you for that.”