"Take the one to the right, and I'll take the one to the left!" said Bob, in a low voice. "Ready? Then fire!"
Crack! bang! went the rifle and the shotgun, and both of the large goats were seen to leap up and back as though struck.
But neither was fatally wounded, and both started to run slowly around the lake shore, to the line of hills on the opposite side, with the kids following.
"Come, we had better go after 'em!" ejaculated Bob, and led the way, and Dave followed, both reloading as they ran.
It was no easy task to reach the lake front, and by that time the goats were rushing up the hills opposite.
"Fire again!" cried Dave, and blazed away, bringing his game to its knees. Bob also fired, but missed his mark. Then on they went again, over rocks and stubble and through a mass of trailing vines, to where Dave's goat had gone down. The animal was dead.
"Good for you!" cried Bob. "Now I must do as well!" and away he went again, with Dave at his heels, anxious, if possible, to add the kids to his bag.
At the top of the second line of hills the wounded goat made a sharp turn to the left.
On went the young hunters after him, never dreaming of the pitfall into which they were rushing.
They were now side by side, and Bob was on the point of blazing away at the wounded goat, in full view before him, when Dave clutched his arm.