Barely had he halted when a loud sneeze rang out from directly in front of him.

So sudden and so near was it that Horace cried out in fright.

At the same moment the antlers of a big buck appeared from the mist and then vanished as quickly, only to reappear a moment later, followed by its head and shoulders.

Whether the buck or the hunters were more surprised it would be hard to say.  For several seconds they stared at one another.

Larry, Tom and Horace were trembling like leaves, victims of “buck fever,” a species of stage fright which makes it impossible for any one to hold a gun steady, and Bill was in such a position behind the others that he could not aim his rifle unless he put it between the heads of the others.

The ranchman alone was where he could bring down the buck, and he hesitated, unwilling to risk a chance to get several other deer by dropping the one in front of him.

It was the buck himself that put an end to the remarkable situation.  Of a sudden, with a snort of rage, he lowered his sharp pronged antlers and charged at Horace.

With a yell of terror the boy turned to flee and stumbled.

In an instant the scene had changed from one of comedy to one of possible tragedy should the infuriated beast reach his victim.

But Mr. Wilder was equal to the occasion.  Throwing his rifle to his shoulder, he fired.

True was his aim and the buck threw up his head, staggered and then toppled over.

The sound of the shot had galvanized Tom and Larry into action, and with a lightning movement they both stooped, seized their friend and pulled him to them just as the body of the buck struck the ground.

So unnerved were they all by the narrowness of the escape that for several moments no one spoke.

Then Mr. Wilder rallied them by exclaiming: 

“See! see!  The mist has lifted.  There go three more deer up the valley.  Come on!  Let’s see who can bring one down.”

The chance for a shot brought even Horace out of his fright, and in a thrice the boys had sighted their rifles and fired.  But no deer dropped.

“I hit one, I know I did!” declared Bill.  “Let’s follow.”

“No, shoot again,” returned his father.  “We have the advantage here from being above.”

Again the rifles cracked, and this time one of the deer gave a bound in the air and dropped flat.

“Hooray!  We’ve got another!” cried the lads,

“Don’t fire any more.  The others are out of range,” declared the ranchman.

“Please, just one more,” begged Horace.

But his father refused, telling him that a good hunter never shot when there was no hope of bringing down his game.

“Never mind, we’ve got two,” said Larry.  “I call that pretty good luck.”

And speculating as to whom the credit of hitting the second belonged, they all hastened to where it lay.