“take your stations,” added bob budd, excitedly; “we’re going to have the tallest kind of fun; i’ll stay here, and you—”
but his friends did not wait for further directions. tom wagstaff sprang up, gun in hand, and went threshing among the trees and through the undergrowth toward the path on the left (as they faced the mountain ridge), while jim mcgovern was equally prompt in hurrying to the trail on the right.
within a few seconds after the first baying of the hound fell upon their ears bob budd found himself alone.
“they’re such lunkheads,” he said to himself, “that the two together don’t know enough to hit the side of a barn ten feet off. i hope the deer will take the middle path so that i can show them how the thing is done, which reminds me that it is time to take another drink.”
meanwhile the dog hero was getting in his work in brilliant style.
the first sounds of the hound showed that he was over the mountain crest, and within the following minute it was apparent to all that he was approaching, his baying rapidly growing more distinct.
this confirmed what his owner had said: he had held his peace until beyond the wild animal, so that the latter, when he awoke to the alarming fact that the hound was after him, naturally turned in the opposite direction, and was, therefore, coming toward the three hunters, though, of course, it must remain undecided for a time which trail he would take.
the baying of hero continued at brief intervals, and drew near so fast that each of the three hunters knew the game was sure to pass near him, and one of them was to be favored with a shot before he was a quarter of an hour older.
which would it be?
“i think i’m to be the lucky chap,” reflected the delighted tom, over on the left, “and i’ll show bob, who thinks he knows so much, that some things can be done as well as others. what the mischief is the matter with me?”
this impatient inquiry was caused by tom’s discovery that a singular nervousness had taken possession of him and was rapidly increasing. the belief that a wild animal was bearing down upon him and would soon break cover affected him as he had never been affected before.
he found himself trembling in every limb, while his teeth rattled as though he were shaking with the ague. angered at his weakness, he strove desperately to overcome it, but, as is the rule at such times, though he was able to check himself for an instant, he was powerless to master his strange weakness.
i suppose i hardly need tell you that tom was suffering from that peculiar nervousness known as “buck fever.”
experienced hunters laugh at amateurs when they see them overtaken by the exasperating disease (if it be proper to call it that), which never attacks them.
“confound it!” muttered tom, “i wonder whether bob or jim is affected this way; if i don’t get better, i hope the deer won’t come in sight of me.”
nevertheless, it quickly became apparent that the animal had taken the path on the left, and was approaching the impatient hunter, who had stationed himself behind the trunk of a large oak, with his gun at full cock, ready to let fly with both barrels the instant he saw the chance.
each of the trails to which i have alluded were traversed so rarely that they showed only dimly, and were overhung by the luxuriant undergrowth and branches growing beside them. this prevented tom seeing very far along the path, so that his ear gave him knowledge of the whereabouts of the animal before the eye located him.
the youth was still striving desperately to get the mastery of the buck fever, when he heard the crashing tread of the game, which was advancing along the trail, and unless he wheeled aside would pass within twenty feet of where he stood.
suddenly a commotion was discernible among the vegetation, and the next instant tom caught sight of the antlers of a noble buck, who was sailing along with such speed that the next second his shoulders and body burst into sight.
he was running fast with that peculiar lope natural to the animal, and no doubt was panic-stricken by the baying of the hound, not far behind and gaining fast.
the sight of the royal game intensified tom’s nervousness. he compressed his lips and held his breath, with the resolve to calm his agitation or die in the attempt.
but finding it utterly beyond his power, he deliberately stepped from behind the tree, and when the buck was no more than fifty feet away, and coming head on, he let fly with both barrels.
had the animal been perched in the topmost branches of the beech-tree on the left he would have received a mortal hurt, but as it was, he was not touched by a single pellet of the numberless shot that were sent hurtling and rattling among the leaves.
“confound you!” muttered tom, aware of his absurd failure; “i’ll club you to death.”
and swinging the butt of his weapon over his shoulder he rushed savagely at the beast.
in doing so, he ran into a peril of which he did not dream, for nothing is truer than that “a deer at bay is a dangerous foe,” and he would have been practically helpless against an assault of the animal.
had the latter been wounded there is little doubt that he would have lowered those beautiful antlers and charged directly at the ardent hunter, who would have been caught in a most unpleasant dilemma; but the fact that he was unharmed, added to the terrible baying coming closer every minute, drove all idea of fight from the buck, which wheeled sharply to one side and went crashing through the undergrowth toward the path where bob budd was waiting for him.
tom wagstaff was carried away by the excitement of the moment, and with his gun clubbed started in frantic pursuit of the fleeing game, resolved to help bring it down, even if he could not shoot it.
he doubtless would have chased the animal a considerable distance had the route been favorable, but beside the rocks and boulders there was no end to the wiry, running vines, one of which wrapped itself about his ankle in a fashion peculiar to its species, and tom sprawled headlong on his face, his gun flying a half-dozen feet from his hands.
still determined to keep up the pursuit, he hastily scrambled to his feet, and catching up the weapon, tore ahead with the same frantic haste as before.
unfortunately for him, however, when he fell he was partly turned around, and his ideas were so confused that he started back over his own trail without a suspicion of the fact, not awaking to his blunder until too late to correct it.
in the meantime the buck was making matters lively not only for himself, but for the other parties.
the report of tom’s gun readied the ears of bob and jim as a matter of course, since they were quite near, but bob knew that the shot had failed to bring down the game, since he was heard plunging through the wood toward the path beside which bob budd was excitedly awaiting his approach.
it would have been strange if bob had not felt something of the nervousness that had played the mischief with tom, but it was to a much less extent, so that he did not doubt his ability to fire as coolly and effectively as when practicing at a target.
it is a thrilling experience even for the veteran hunter when a noble buck breaks cover within easy gunshot, and the sight of the animal, as his leathery sides, proud head, and spreading antlers burst upon his vision, stirred the pulses of bob budd as they had not been stirred since his encounter with the widow finnegan, a couple of nights before.
“you’re my game!” he exclaimed, aiming at the animal and discharging the two barrels in quick succession.
he did better than tom wagstaff, though he failed to drop the buck in his tracks, as he expected to do.
in fact, it seems to be one of the impossibilities to kill any of the cervus species instantly—that is, so as to cause him to fall at once, like many other animals when mortally hurt.
i once sent a bullet straight through the heart of a deer that was running broadside past me. he kept straight on with unabated speed for a dozen yards, when he crashed directly against the trunk of a tree and fell all in a heap. but for the tree in his way he would have run considerably further.
bob lost his head very much as tom had done a minute before, for observing that the buck did not fall, he clubbed his gun and rushed forward with the intention of braining him.
but from this point forward there was no parallelism in the flow of incidents.
the buck had been slightly wounded, just enough to rouse his anger. it is not impossible, also, that the sight of a second hunter and the sound of the baying hound near at hand convinced him that he was caught in close quarters and must make a fight for it.
so when bob rushed to meet him, instead of fleeing, the buck lowered his antlers and rushed to meet bob.
“jewhilakens!” exclaimed the terrified youth, “i didn’t think of that!”
and wheeling about, he fled for his life.
where to go or precisely what to do except to run was more than the fugitive could tell.
accordingly he sped with all the haste at his command, running, it may be said, as never before. his terror was irrestrainable when he cast a single glance over his shoulder and saw that the buck was in savage pursuit.
“fire! murder! tom and jim! where are you? come to my help, quick, or i’m a goner!” shouted bob, dodging to the right and left like a digger indian, seeking to avoid the rifle shots of a pursuing enemy; “why don’t you help me? the buck has got me and is going to chaw me all to pieces!”
