"That’s so," said Bill, although he said it gloomily. They advanced in silence another hour, and then Phil, who was a little in advance, stopped suddenly. He had seen the gleam of water, and he pointed it out to his comrade. "A spring," said Bill Breakstone, "and it’s been trampled around the edges by many hoofs and paws." He stooped and tasted the water. Then he uttered a mighty sigh of satisfaction. "A salt spring, too," he said. "We’re in luck, Phil. I see our breakfast coming straight toward us at this spring, walking briskly on four legs. The wild animals always haunt such places, and if we don’t have savory steaks before the sun is an hour high, then I’m willing to starve to death. We must find an ambush. Here it is! Luck’s a funny thing, Phil. It goes right against you for awhile, and nothing seems able to break it. Then it turns right around and favors you, and no fool thing that you do seems to change it. But I guess it evens up in the long run." They found a dense clump of bushes about twenty yards from the salt spring, and sat down among them. "There’s no wind at all," whispered Bill Breakstone, "so I don’t think that any animal eager for his salt drink will notice us. I’ve got my heart set on deer, Phil, and deer we must have. Now which of us shall take the rifle and make the shot? The rifle is yours, you know, and you have first choice." But Phil insisted upon the older and more experienced man taking the weapon, and Breakstone consented. Then they lay quiet, eagerly watching every side of the spring. The darkness soon thinned away, and the bushes and trees became luminous in the early morning light. "Something will come soon," said Breakstone. They waited a little longer, and then they heard a rustling among the bushes on the far side of the spring. The bushes moved, and a black-tailed deer, a splendid buck, stepped into the opening. He paused to sniff the air, but nothing strange or hostile came to his nostrils. The deadly figure, crouching in the bushes with the loaded rifle at his cheek, might have been a thousand miles away, for all the deer knew. Phil and Bill Breakstone might have admired the deer at another time, but now other emotions urged them on. The deer stepped down to the water. Breakstone looked down the sights, and Phil trembled lest he should miss. He tried to look along the barrel himself and see what spot Bill had picked out on the animal’s body. Then he watched the marksman’s finger curl around the trigger and at last press hard upon it. The flash of flame leaped forth, the report sounded startlingly loud in the clear morning, and the deer jumped high in the air. But when the big buck came down he ran into the forest as if he had not been touched. Phil uttered a gasp of despair, but Bill Breakstone only laughed.