Just beyond was an oak which had been upturned by some wrenching tornado
or storm. The roots protruded upward and from the sides, the dirt still
clinging to them, so that the bottom spread out like a fan.

The base of the trunk lay flat on the ground, but the branching limbs
supported the top to that extent that it was raised five or six feet
from the earth. Consequently, it sloped away in an incline from the
crested summit to the base.

Such a sight is not unusual in any forest, for it is the general fashion
of trees to fall that way; but Nick was struck by the evident fact that,
although the oak was uprooted, as it is termed, yet enough connection
with the ground remained to afford nourishment, and to keep life within
it.

He started toward it, but had moved only a few steps when a slight
rustling in the undergrowth arrested his attention. Stopping short he
looked about him, and, with an amazement which can hardly be imagined,
saw the buck within fifty feet of him.

He was in a clump of undergrowth, and was browsing on some tender
shoots. His position was such that his side was toward Nick, who first
caught sight of his antlers above the bushes: and it was a remarkable
thing that he did not detect the approach of the young hunter, despite
the caution he used.

The sight was so unexpected that Nick was taken aback, and had a spasm
of that nervous affection which sometimes seizes the inexperienced
hunter, and is known as "buck fever."