Max saw what had happened in that one glance he took.

Steve had met his deer at last; and sure enough it was a sturdy buck that had five prongs to his antlers, showing his years.

Whatever upset Steve could only be guessed; but although he had certainly sent in two shots he had failed to bag the game.

Perhaps he wounded the deer with the first shot and the animal had fallen. Flushed with triumph, Steve had given a yell and started to hasten toward his quarry with the intention of bleeding it, as he understood should be done.

Then, when the buck scrambled to his feet, and charged straight at the young hunter, Steve had been so rattled that he missed entirely with his second shot.

After that it was run or take to a tree for Steve.

And sheltered behind an oak, around which he had been chased again and again by the angry buck, Steve had seen his chum appear in sight.

It was then he shouted his warning.

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 sheltering tree.

But, then, Max did not mean to register a miss.

He pressed the trigger at just the right time as the buck was rising in the air. And when he saw the deer crash to the ground, although he felt a thrill of satisfaction, cautious Max was not like Steve, rushing headlong forward to bleed his game.

On the contrary, his first act was to go through the rapid action that placed his rifle in serviceable condition again.

"Take care, Max," yelled Steve, seeing the buck struggling, "that's how he fooled me, the sharp dodger! He's the tricky one, all right, you bet! Watch him climb up again, now! Take that big tree right alongside you, Max!"

But instead of doing this Max advanced toward the spot where the buck had fallen. He was ready to send in another shot should it be needed. But there was no necessity.

The buck gave one last violent kick and then lay still.

"All over, Steve; you can come along," said Max, beckoning toward the other.

Steve stopped to pick up his gun, examined it with apparent solicitude, as if to make sure it had not been injured, and then carefully replaced the discharged shells with fresh ones.

"You never can tell what them there old five-pronged bucks will do," he said, as he came up to where Max stood, surveying their prize; "and it's best to be on the safe side; so that's why I waited to load my gun."

"And I reckon, Steve," said Max, with a smile, "that if you'd waited before to see if your buck got up again, you'd have downed him for keeps with that second barrel, and then you wouldn't have had to hunt up the safe side of a tree."

"Guess that's all to the good, Max," replied the other, humbly.

"Pretty fine-looking buck, ain't he, Steve?"

"Well, I should say yes," was the answer. "And just to think he's the very five-pronged old boy I've been talking about this long while."

"My, but he acted as though he was mad at you!" Max went on, anxious to hear some of the particulars of what had happened.

"That's straight goods, Max, and he had reason to be mad at me. I plunked him with that first shot and he went down. I thought I had him and started to run in, when, shucks, he got up again!"

"Then you fired again, but so rapidly that you missed; was that it, Steve?"

"Oh, I admit I was some rattled," replied the other.

"And then after you missed him, Steve?"

"Huh, after that things commenced to happen. They came so fast they kind of got me twisted," and Steve made a comical face with this statement that almost set the other off into a roar of laughter.

But he knew that if he gave way it might offend Steve and cause him to bottle up his explanation; so Max held in.

"And then?" he went on.

"Oh," said Steve, "I saw a tree and headed for it kerslam. But the old buck he seemed to be on the high-speed gear himself. First thing I knew he bumped me for fair, and then came back to stick me with his horns. But I didn't just care for knowing him any closer, and I rolled out of the way."

"You managed to get your tree after that, didn't you, Steve?"

"Seems like I did, Max, though honest to goodness, now, if you asked me how I did it I couldn't tell you. Reckon I must have just flown."

"Yes," laughed Max, "they always say fear has wings."

"Oh, now, looky here, you're mistaken, Max, sure you are. I wasn't afraid right then, only somewhat rattled."

"From the excitement of the thing," remarked Max. "Of course, and anybody would have been about the same. But lend a hand here and let's turn our deer over, Steve. I want to see where you hit him."

This they speedily accomplished; and then Steve, who had been pondering over something, broke loose again.

"Max," he said, with a little quiver to his voice, "I noticed just now that you said our deer. Do you mean to let me claim a share in this thing, then?"

"Why, of course," replied the other, as if in surprise; "we both shot him. See, here's where a buckshot from your gun struck him in the side. They must have scattered more than you thought they'd do at such a short distance."

"Yes," said Steve; "looks like it. But, Max, it was you who killed him."

"Oh, I ended him, that's right," said Max, who was nothing if not generous, "but only for you holding him here after wounding him, where would I have come in? Why, I'd never have had the first sight of the buck."

"Yes, that's so," said Steve, smiling grimly, "I held him all right, didn't I? But when he was chasing me around that old tree so lively, Max, somehow I didn't happen to look at it that way. Fact is, I thought the plagued buck was holding me."

"All the same," declared Max in a tone that settled it, "we got him, and both of us gave him a chance to bleed. You weakened him at first, you know."

"Oh, did I?" remarked Steve, feeling of his ribs, as if to make sure none of them were broken. "Well, you see, I can't help but wonder what would have happened to me if the old beast hadn't been weakened, just like you say."

That was too much for Max. And, besides, having coaxed the whole story from his chum now, he thought it would not matter very much if he did indulge in a good laugh.

To his surprise Steve joined in. Evidently the realization that he had actually helped kill a genuine five-pronged buck, fulfilling his wildest dream, caused Steve to be less "touchy" than usual.

"But we must manage to get him home some way, Max," he remarked after a while, when they had grown weary of admiring their prize.

"Think we could tote several hundred pounds four miles?" demanded Max. "If it was a little doe, now, I might be willing to tie the legs along a pole and try it; but I balk at this big chap."

"Then what shall we do?" asked Steve.

"I'm going to cut it up the best way I know how," his chum replied. "All we want to take along is one hind quarter. Plenty on that for two meals. And like as not we'll find the old chap pretty tough."

Accordingly the boys set to work. Steve knew next to nothing about such things, but was willing to do whatever his comrade asked of him. And while Max professed to be a clumsy butcher, he certainly did his work in a way to draw out words of praise from the delighted chum.

"There, that job is done," said Max, when the sun was nearly halfway down the western sky, "and I'm glad of it, too."

"We can take turns carrying the hind quarter," remarked Steve, hefting it; "after all, it doesn't seem so very heavy."

"I'm going to wrap it in the skin, which I removed the first thing," Max continued.

"But it's too bad to leave all the rest of our fine buck," sighed Steve.

"Oh, don't think I mean to let the foxes and other animals make way with the rest of the venison! I've got this rope here around my waist; you know it comes in handy sometimes."

Steve laughed.

"For pulling silly fellows out of quicksand and bog holes," he remarked. "Oh, yes, don't think I've forgotten what happened in that Great Dismal Swamp. But do you mean to yank the carcass up in a tree, Max? Is that the way you expect to use the rope?"

Max nodded in reply.

They soon accomplished this.

Max seemed to know just how to go about it, and presently the balance of the deer swung there in space, six feet or more from the ground, and as many below the strong limb over which the rope had been thrown.

"Think it'll be safe, do you?" asked Steve, puffing from the exertion of pulling such a weight upward.

"From every kind of animal but a bobcat. If one of that tribe happens along and is hungry, of course he could drop down on the upper part and munch away," was the reply Max made.

"Which happens to be the fore quarters of the buck, the part we don't care about so much," said Steve.

"Oh, I had that in mind when I fixed the rope, Steve."

"I might have guessed it, because you're always thinking ahead, Max. And shall we start for home now?"

"Shortly. Let's get rested a bit more. And I want to fix directions straight in my mind so we'll hit the cabin first shot," Max answered.

"Four miles, you said, didn't you?" Steve asked, with a big sigh; for now that the excitement was over he began to feel tired again.

"That's what Uncle Jim said," remarked Max.

After a while they started on their way and trudged along nearly two miles in silence, Steve insisting on sharing the load, which Max had made possible by fastening the venison to a pole, so that each could grasp it.

"Max," said Steve about this time.

"Yes, what is it?" replied the other, as they changed places.

"Catamounts and lynx and bobcats like fresh meat, of course; but you don't think now, do you, Max, they'd hurt those beautiful five-pronged horns?"

"Of course not," replied the other, walking on again.

"Because we ought to get those to mount and keep in one of our rooms at home, Max."

"Your room, Steve; you're a thousand times welcome to my share in them."

"Oh, thank you, Max, that's awful kind."

After a wearisome march they approached the cabin. It was late in the afternoon, but no friendly smoke arose from the chimney.

The returned hunters saw this fact with astonishment.

"What does it mean!" Steve remarked, as they came to a halt and set their burden down upon the ground.

"Hi, fellows!" called a voice.

Some one stepped out of the bushes across the little clearing and waved his hand. It was Owen, and he seemed to be beckoning in the most mysterious manner possible.

Max and Steve exchanged puzzled looks.

"What in the dickens is up now!" exclaimed the latter.

"Owen wants us to cross over to where he is," Max went on to say; "and I reckon the quickest way to find out is to join him."

"Ginger, I can see Toby there, too; yes, and now I get a glimpse of Trapper Jim and Bandy-legs! They're all sitting in a row on that log, Max, and lookin' solemn-like at the cabin. What in the wide world is up? She ain't a-fire that I can notice."

"Come along; let's find out," said Max, stooping to his end of the pole upon which the hind quarter of venison was slung.

"I'll just bust if I don't know soon, because I hate mysteries," muttered Steve, as he copied the example of his chum.

When the two victorious hunters came upon the rest, Jim and Toby and Bandy-legs got up off the log. They even smiled a little, but Max thought there was something rather forced about this half grin.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"Yes," added Steve impetuously, "what are you all pulling such long faces for, just like it was a funeral or something; tell us that?"

"It is something nigh as bad as a funeral," said Trapper Jim, a twinkle appearing in his eye.

"We're certainly bereft—of our home," added Owen, making a wry face.

"What!" gasped Steve, looking from the speaker across to the cabin.

"It's not exactly a funeral, but an eviction," remarked Owen again.

"He means," said Bandy-legs, "we're kicked out of our cabin—that to-night we'll have to sleep on the cold, hard ground, with only the sky for a blanket. And what's worse, it was my turn to try that jolly old bunk. Hang the luck, why couldn't he stay where he belonged and leave us alone!"

"Say, if it's an animal that's got in, and is holding the fort, why, let's go up and cross-fire him from the windows," suggested impetuous Steve.

"Not on your life!" exclaimed Trapper Jim, catching hold of Steve before he could break away. "That's just what we don't want to do—disturb him too violently or kill him while he chooses to hold the fort there."

"But why are you so careful about his health, Uncle Jim?" asked the bewildered Steve.

"Because our guest happens to be a striped skunk!" was the appalling answer he received.