He grew so anxious as the interval decreased that he trembled, and it was hard to fight off an attack of what is called "buck fever," and which is fatal to the best hunter; but by and by his nerves settled, and he became as cool and self-possessed as Hank Hazletine himself would have been under the circumstances.
It seemed improbable that the buck would wait where he was, even if not alarmed, for the time necessary to afford a good shot for his enemy.

It was some whim that had led him out upon the top of the towering bluff, where he was in view of the young hunters.

It is not to be supposed that his kind appreciate such a thing as beauty in a landscape or scene spread before them, and yet the action of the buck almost indicated something of that nature; for he stood motionless, minute after minute, as if absorbed, and suggesting a statue carved from the rock itself.
Foot by foot Fred Greenwood stole forward, crouching behind boulders, creeping beside immense rocks which shut him from the gaze of the watchful animal, until with a rapidly beating heart he whispered: "I'm near enough to try a shot." He was making ready, when he observed a well-screened point a few rods in advance, which impressed him as the right place.

Once there, he could ask no better opportunity to test his skill.

Was it safe to wait a minute or two longer?
Yes, he would make the attempt.
With infinite care, and holding his nerves in superb control, he worked his way to the spot without alarming the buck..