In such critical moments events come and go with startling rapidity.  
Bob Budd was never in greater than when fleeing from the that was to kill him. It was not only able to run much faster than he, but he was practically powerless to defend himself, since his gun was empty, and though he might face about and deliver one blow, it could effect nothing in the way of or checking the animal.
 
In his terror the did the best thing possible without knowing it.
 
He caught sight of a large oak that had been blown down by some violent , the trunk near the base being against the ground, which sloped gradually upward and away from the earth to the top, which was a dozen feet high, held in place by the large limbs and partly broken beneath.
 
Without seeing how this shelter was to prove of any help to him, he ran for it.
 
Fortunately it was but a short distance off, or he never would have lived to reach it.
 
As it was, at the moment he gathered himself to spring upon the sloping trunk the pursuing buck reached and gave him a lift, which more than the fugitive wished, for instead of landing upon the trunk, he was boosted clean over, and fell on the other side.
 
Striking on his hands and knees, with his gun flying a rod from him, Bob crawled back under the tree, where he in mortal terror.
 
The animal stopped short, and, rearing on his legs, brought his front together, and banged them downward with such force that they sank to the fetlocks into the earth.
 
His intention was to deliver this fearful blow upon the body of the boy, and had he succeeded in doing so it would have his body as fatally as the downward sweep of a guillotine.
 
The interposition of the trunk saved Bob, but so close was the call that the sharp hoofs grazed his clothing.
 
In his panic lest the infuriated beast should reach him, Bob through so far that he passed from under the sheltering tree.
 
Quick to see his mistake, the buck leaped lightly over the trunk, and, landing on the other side, again rose on his hind legs, placed his front hoofs together and brought them down with the same terrific force as before.
 
Bob’s escape this time was still narrower, for his coat was cut by the knife-like hoofs, which shaved off several pieces of the shaggy bark.
 
But the young hunter kept moving and scrambled out of reach from that side just in the nick of time.
 
The buck bounded over again, but Bob was quick to see his mistake, and now shrank into the closest quarters possible, taking care that the solid roof covered him.
 
Then he forced his body toward the base of the leaning tree, until the narrowing space permitted him to go no further, and he was so compressed that he could hardly breathe.
 
Meanwhile he did not forget to use his lungs.
 
“Tom! Jim! hurry up or I’m lost! Where are you? Come, quick, I tell you! the buck is me!”
 
The appeal reached the ears it was intended for, and the two other Piketon dashed toward the spot, though not without , for the wild cries of their imperiled comrade warned them of the likelihood of running into danger themselves, and neither was ready to go to that extent to save their leader.
 
Tom Wagstaff was the first to reach the spot, and he paused for a moment, bewildered by the scene.
 
He saw the buck bounding back and over the tree, rising on his hind legs and bringing down his front hoofs with vicious force, occasionally lowering his antlers as he endeavored to force the fugitive out of his refuge.
 
At the first Tom could not locate Bob, whom he expected to see on his feet, against a tree and swinging his clubbed gun with all the power at his command.
 
The frantic shouts, however, enabled him to discover his friend, and he called back:
 
“Keep up courage, old fellow! I’m here, and will give the beast his finishing touch!”
 
The buck fever had vanished, and Tom’s nerves were as steady as could be wished, though he was naturally by the stirring situation.
 
Bringing his gun to his shoulder, he aimed directly at the beast, which could not have offered a better target, and pulled both triggers.
 
But no report followed.
 
“Confound it!” he muttered, “I forgot that the old thing wasn’t loaded! Can’t you stay there, Bob, for a day or two, till I go down to Piketon and bring forty or fifty people to pull you out?”
 
“No; I’ll be killed,” called back the furious Bob; “the buck will get at me in a minute more!”
 
“All right—”
 
“No, it aint; it’s all wrong!” interrupted............