Max had no intention of picking out a tree for himself, as Steve
suggested; at least not so early in the game. Time enough for that when
he found he had made as bad a bungle of the affair as his chum seemed to
have done.

Here was the fine chance to try his new rifle that he had been hoping
would come along.

"Look out!"

Max hardly heard this last warning, cry from the boy who looked out
behind the friendly oak. He had dropped on his right knee and raised his
gun.

The buck was coming on pretty fast, considering the fact that he seemed
to limp and be losing blood from the wound Steve had given him.

Max knew he had a difficult task to place his bullet where it was
calculated to do the most good. There was little of the deer's breast
exposed as with lowered head he charged toward this new enemy. But Max
had all the necessary requisites that go to make up the good hunter--a
quick eye, a sure hand, and excellent judgment in a pinch.

He took a quick aim, and meant to fire while the buck was still a little
way off. This was to give him a chance to pump a new cartridge into the
firing chamber of his gun in case the first shot failed to do the work.

After that--well, of course, there still remained the tree Steve
recommended, and Steve ought to know a good thing when he saw it, since
he had been saved from those really dangerous-looking antlers by a