Dick, however, believed that the moose bull must have made an involuntary movement just about that time. Roger’s hasty action, or the glint of the sun on the gun barrel, would be enough to bring such a thing about.
The one important fact was that, instead of killing his intended quarry on the spot, Roger had the chagrin of seeing the animal stumble and fall, to scramble immediately to his feet again, and make a vicious plunge forward in their direction.
Dick of course knew that it was his duty to get in the fatal shot. He thrust his rifle forward, and had it not been for an unfortunate movement on the part of his companion his bullet would have finished the monster.
In jumping back, however, Roger happened to knock against the leveled rifle just as his chum pressed the trigger. The result was a wasted bullet, and, with both their weapons empty and useless, a serious outlook faced the two young hunters.
“Jump to one side!” shouted Dick, realizing that the enraged moose was charging them, with lowered head, and threatening horns.
Both boys threw themselves back, and in this manner successfully avoided the passing danger.
They knew that a wounded stag is often a peril from which even veteran hunters shrink; and it stood to reason that this enormous animal, feeling the pain of his injury, would not run away in a hurry after having made one unsuccessful charge.
Both boys glanced hastily around, seeking a tree behind which to ward off an attack. Dick was fortunate enough to find one close at hand, but Roger met with his usual ill luck to start with.
The moose, as though sensing which one of his enemies had given him that burning injury, took after Roger, and the boy, hearing the trampling of his hoofs as he came rushing on, became a little confused.
“Run, Roger, run faster!” shrilled Dick, who began to fear for the safety of his cousin.