“There came pretty nearly not being time enough to do anything,” went on Jack. “It was touch and go, Bert, old man. Tom, here, fired just in time.” “Was it really as close as that?” asked the lad with the camera. “It certainly was,” Jack assured him. “That deer had it in for you. I guess he thought you were trying to pot his mate with a new-fangled gun, and he made up his mind to stop you.” “Well, Tom stopped him all right,” spoke George. “Say, it’s a fine specimen!” and he gazed admiringly at the head and horns. “It will make a fine trophy for your room, Tom.” “I wasn’t thinking so much of that when I fired,” was the modest answer. “I was wondering whether I could bowl him over before he reached Bert with those business-looking horns.” “And you did, old man. I shan’t forget that!” exclaimed Bert, fervently. “I’ll do as much for you some day, only I’m not as good a shot as you, so don’t take any chances. If a deer or a bear comes after you, run first, and get in a safe place. Then wait for me to shoot at it.” “It was more luck than anything else that I got him,” Tom said. “If I had stopped to think, I’m sure I’d have had a touch of ‘buck-fever,’ and I wouldn’t have been able to hold my gun steady. But I just up and blazed away.” “Well, now we’ve got it, what are we going to do with it?” asked Jack. “Shall we trail after the one that got away--the one Bert took a picture of?” “What’s the use?” asked Bert. “She’s miles away from here now.” “Besides,” added Tom, “we’ve got more meat here now than we can use in a week. No use killing for fun. I’ve got the head trophy I want, and it will be the turn of you fellows next. I won’t shoot any more deer, though I’ll bag a bear if I can. We don’t want to shoot female deer if we can help it.” “That’s right,” agreed Jack. “Now let’s decide what to do about this fellow. He’s a big one, and will take some cutting-up.” The boys were rather dubious about getting the deer’s head off, and taking the best part for food. But they were saved what might have been an unpleasant task by the arrival of Sam Wilson. “Hello!” cried the guide, as he saw his young friends. “Well, you have had some luck, haven’t you! Is that your first one?” “Yes,” answered Tom, as he related what had occurred. “Well, now, that’s the way to do!” Sam cried. “He’s a fine critter, too; good head and horns. I’ve got my pung just outside on the road. I’ll take him along, dress him for you and send the head to an Indian to be mounted. Old Wombo does pretty good work that way.” “I wish you would have it done,” Tom said. “And take some of the venison yourself. There’s more than we can use.” “Besides, we’re going to get more deer in a few days,” added George. “Oh, you are, eh? Well, nothing like being sure,” chuckled the old guide and hunter. “So far, though, you’ve done as well as the men who come up here, so I wouldn’t wonder but what you’d beat ’em. How have you been? Anything happened?”