"We'll have a story or two to tell, when we get back to Oak Hall," continued Dave. "I wish we could have had one of the deer stuffed for the museum." "Too late now. But maybe we'll get another," answered Phil. All of the boys were tired, yet it was nearly ten o'clock before any of them felt like turning in. As the night wore on the place seemed to become more lonely. "Might as well go to bed," said Dave, at last. "We need a good rest." "Anybody going to stay on guard?" asked the senator's son. "Do you think it necessary, Roger?" "I don't know." "What do you say, Phil?" "I am too sleepy now to remain on guard," answered Phil. "You can do so if you wish." "Oh, what cheek!" murmured Roger. "All right, we'll all turn in and chance it." "Let's fix the fire first," said Dave. "A blaze usually helps to keep away wild beasts." "Oh, if any come, I reckon the horses will give us warning," said Phil. "We can tie them close by." And this plan was carried out. Some cedar boughs had been strewn on the floor of the tent, and on these the chums laid down, and did their best to go to sleep. Dave dropped off first, and was presently followed by Roger. But Phil was restless and turned from one side to the other. "Oh, pshaw! why can't I sleep?" murmured the shipowner's son to himself in disgust, and then out of curiosity he looked at his watch. By the glare from the campfire he saw that it was nearly one o'clock. He was just straightening out again when a peculiar rustling among the horses caught his ears. He listened for a moment, then sat up straight. "Something doesn't suit them," he reasoned. "Wonder what it can be?" He hesitated, then turned over on his hands and knees and crawled to the opening of the tent and peered around outside. The campfire had burned rather low, so that objects a short distance away were indistinct. He saw that the horses were huddled together and had their heads turned toward a clump of bushes at one side of the shelter. "Something must be over yonder," reasoned the youth. "Wonder if I had better arouse the others?" He looked at Dave and Roger. Both were sleeping so peacefully Phil hated to disturb them. He reached for his gun and looked out again. There was a brushing aside of the clump of bushes and a pair of eyes glared forth, glistening brightly in the firelight. The eyes were those of some wild beast, but what, Phil could not tell. The animal was not looking at Phil, but at the carcass of the deer, which had been hung up in a low tree not far from the clump of bushes. Stealthily the animal came into the opening, and with the ease of a cat, leaped into the tree. "It's a wildcat--or something like it," thought Phil, and raised his gun to fire. Then of a sudden he commenced to shake from head to foot, so that to aim was entirely out of the question. He had what is commonly called among hunters "buck fever," a sudden fear that often overtakes amateur hunters when trying to shoot at big game.