“That’s a pretty dog,” laughed Herbert; “he is making fools of us all.”

“There isn’t any need of that so far as you are concerned,” retorted Nick, losing patience with the slurs of their companion.  “You had better wait till you find out what it means before you condemn Bowser.”

Herbert made no answer, for the dog was now so close that the interest of all was centered on his actions.

“My gracious, what a terrible racket he makes!” exclaimed Nick; “there must be something unusual to excite Bowser like that.”

The dog was not heard for several minutes, but the crashing through the undergrowth sounded nearer and nearer, and, as Sam declared, showed that Bowser had steam up and was going for something.

Suddenly the bushes parted only a short ways from where the three wondering lads stood, and, instead of the hound, some kind of a wild animal came toward them on a dead run.

The group were too amazed to think of the guns they held, and only stared in mute wonder.

The game did not see them until within a hundred feet, when he whirled at right angles and plunged away with arrowy speed.

As he did so, he exposed his flank to the young hunters, who could not have been given a better opportunity to bring him down, for the throwing forward of the foreleg, opened his most vulnerable part to the bullet.

But none was sent after him; at that instant he was recognized as a fine buck deer, with branching antlers thrown back so that they seemed to rest on his spine, while his legs were flung straight in front and then backward, as he took his long graceful leaps.

The boys had set out to hunt a bear, and were astounded that, when they dared not hope they were anywhere in his vicinity, a splendid deer should spring up and dash by them.

Before they could give utterance to their amazement, Bowser came along with his nose to the ground and baying hoarsely.

Just as he turned to follow the deer, Herbert Watrous raised his breech-loader to his shoulder and fired point blank at him.

“What did you do that for?” demanded Sam Harper, striding threateningly toward him with his fist raised.

“Why—­why—­I declare!  I thought it was the bear!” exclaimed the abashed Herbert; “I never dreamed it was the dog.”

Sam was not disposed to believe this story, and he stood irresolute, strongly inclined to punish the city youth who had fired at his hound; but Nick compelled his angry friend to laugh by saying: 

“You shouldn’t be mad, Sam, for Bowser is safe so long as Herbert aims at him.  I don’t think he came within twenty feet.  If he should hit him you can make up your mind it is an accident.”

Herbert hardly knew how to answer this remark, for he saw that he had not done a very creditable thing, view it as he might, so he made a radical turn in the conversation.

“Who would have thought it, boys?  We’ve got not only a bear, but a deer to hunt, and I say, may the best fellow win!”