"Wish you fellows luck!" said Owen.

It was the next morning. Breakfast had been dispatched, and there was still a distinct odor of bacon and coffee in the air.

All of them were getting ready for the duties laid out for the day; and this remark of Owen's had been intended for Max and Steve.

Eager to indulge in a hunt, with the dim prospect of bringing home a fine deer, Steve had begged Trapper Jim to let him go. This was on the evening before, while they sat by the blazing fire in the cabin.

Now Old Jim had, of course, sized up impulsive Steve pretty well before now. He liked the boy very much, for he knew Steve was warm-hearted and a true comrade. But he hardly fancied having so impatient a lad go off by himself.

Accordingly, he had told Steve that if he could get Max to keep him company on a little hunt, he would post them with regard to where they were most likely to run across game.

And Max had only too gladly agreed.

He had a new magazine 30-30 repeating rifle. It was a small bore, but by using the soft-nosed bullets that mushroom out upon striking even the flesh of an animal, it would prove just as powerful as a heavier gun.

And Max was secretly just wild to try it on a deer, though he did not show his feelings the same way Steve would have done.

Both boys were ready to start out when the others left to make a round of the traps. They had received final instructions from Trapper Jim.

"Got your compass, Max?" asked his cousin.

"It's O.K.," replied the other, touching his pocket, suggestively.

"D-d-don't forget your g-g-grub," said Toby.

"Both of us got the snack of lunch stowed away," Steve made answer, as he pointed to the bulging side of his khaki hunting coat that had a game pocket running all the way around inside, "big enough almost to stow a deer in," Steve had laughingly declared.

"But I hardly think Max would ever need a compass," Bandy-legs observed. "You know he never yet was lost in the woods."

"Glad to hear that, son," remarked Trapper Jim.

"Sure thing," Bandy-legs went on to say, "Max, he can tell the points of the compass by the bark or the green moss on the trees, by the way the trees lean, and lots of other ways; can't you, Max!"

But the other only smiled, as though he thought there was no need of his wasting breath when, as Steve declared, he could have a loyal chum "blow his horn" for him.

"All ready here, Max," announced Steve, anxious to start.

So, with a few parting words the two hunters left the vicinity of the cabin in the forest. The others were just about ready to start out to learn what the various traps contained.

"Don't forget about that bear, Uncle Jim!" shouted Steve.

"I sure won't," answered the old man, waving his hand.

"If he's been back over that trail you'll lug out Old Tom and give him a chance to earn his keep, won't you!" pursued Steve.

"That's right, I will."

Satisfied with the answer, Steve followed after Max.

Now, although Steve had shot quail and ducks, rabbits and squirrels, he was not a big-game hunter. As yet he had to secure his first deer. And as the sporting instinct was coming on very markedly in the boy, he was anxious to be able to say he had shot a "lordly" buck.

It was always that, with Steve, whenever he boasted of the great things he intended doing on a projected hunt. No ordinary doe seemed ever to enter into his calculations at all.

"And a five-pronged buck, too," he declared. "I wouldn't waste my precious time with anything less."

Knowing that Max had had more or less experience in the line of hunting, Steve was secretly pleased to take lessons. There might be times when Steve was inclined to boast that he knew it all; but when out with Max he felt that this style of bluff would not go.

They headed in the direction the trapper had laid out for them. Since the old man had spent many years around this region it stood to reason that he ought to know a good deal concerning the places where game was most likely to be found.

"Think we'll get one, Max?" asked Steve, after they had been walking for nearly a full hour through the forest.

"It's a toss-up," replied the other; "hunting always is, because you never know whether the game is there or not. And even if you are lucky enough to start something, perhaps you'll fail to bring it down."

Steve laughed incredulously.

"Trust me to do that same," he avowed, "if only I can get my peepers on a five-pronged buck. Think of what I've got in the barrels of my gun, Max, twelve separate bullets in each shell, and propelled by nearly four drams of powder. Wow! I'd sure hate to be the luckless deer that stood up before all that ammunition."

"Especially when the keen eye and sure hand of Steve Dowdy is back of it all," chuckled Max.

"Oh, well, I don't want to boast, you know, Max, 'cause I might happen to make a foozle out of it. I was only speaking of the hard-hitting qualities of this little double-barreled Marlin of mine, that's all."

"Well, we must wait and see," said Max. "Perhaps you'll make good right in the start; and then, again, something might throw you down. The proof of the pudding's in the eating of it, they say."

"Oh, I do hope we get a deer, even if it doesn't fall to my gun," Steve continued to say. "It'd be too bad now if we spent a whole two weeks up here with Trapper Jim and never tasted any game besides measly squirrel, rabbit, or maybe partridge, if they're still to be had."

"You forget musquash," added Max.

"Bah! I wanted to forget it," declared the other.

"Suppose we knock off talking for a while, Steve," suggested Max. "We're coming to one of the places he said we might find deer. And they've got pretty sharp ears, let me tell you right now."

"But you said we were always hunting up against the wind, so our scent wouldn't be carried to the game," Steve observed.

"That's true enough, Steve, but even then good deer hunters seldom talk above whispers when they expect to run across game. This is one of the times when we can apply that old maxim we used to write in our copy books at school."

"Sure, I remember it well," chuckled Steve, "'speech may be silver, but silence is gold.' I'm dumb, Max."

And for a wonder, not another word did Steve utter for over half an hour. As he was usually such a talkative fellow, this keeping still must have been in the line of great punishment to Steve.

But, then, there are times when the sporting instinct sways all else. And Steve understood that still hunting deer meant a padlock on the lips.

After all, disappointment awaited them.

They put in a solid hour looking over all the territory first mentioned by Trapper Jim, but without starting a single deer.

"They've been around," Max finally observed, "and not long ago either, because you can see the tracks as fresh as anything; but it must have been yesterday, because they're not here now."

"Looky!" exclaimed Steve, "here's where a five-pronged buck must 'a' rubbed himself against this tree, because there's a big bunch of red hair sticking to the rough bark. Glory! Wouldn't I like to have been about over there by the log when he was doing it. Oh, such a shot!"

"You could hardly have missed him from there," laughed Max.

"What next?" asked the disappointed one.

"The sun's getting up pretty near the top of its range. That means it's near noon time," remarked Max.

"And time for grub, eh?" cried Steve. "Well, I won't be sorry, believe me, for several reasons. First place, I'm hungry as all get-out. Then, again, I'm tired of toting all this stuff around. Say when, Max."

"Oh, we'll keep on for half an hour more till we come to a stream where we can get a drink. Then in the afternoon we'll circle around some, so as to reach the other promising section Jim told us about. Come on, Steve."

Nothing rewarded their search; and chancing upon a gurgling creek about the end of the half hour, the two boys found a log to sit down upon.

After eating they rested for quite a spell.

Finally Steve could stand it no longer, but urged his companion to "get a move on him." So once again the two hunters walked on.

Steve was beginning to complain of being nearly done up, when Max asked him not to talk again only in a whisper, as they were now close upon the other feeding ground of the coveted deer.

And this caused Steve to brighten up immediately. In his eagerness to find game his pains were forgotten.

Max arranged that they separate and advance along parallel lines, so as to cover more territory.

He had been going on himself some little time when suddenly he heard Steve's gun roar. A second shot followed fast on the heels of the first, and Max, excited, ran in the direction of the sounds. A few minutes later he heard the lusty voice of Steve calling out:

"Take care, Max, he knows you're coming! Run for it! He's starting for you! Get a tree, Max, get a tree! He's a holy terror!"