Straight for the icy river they made, plunged in, and,
making the crossing, were safe from their pursuing enemy. Cameron,
intent upon fresh meat, ran for McIvor's Winchester, but ere he could
buckle round him a cartridge belt and throw on his hunting jacket the
deer had disappeared over the rounded top of the nearest hill. Up the
coulee he ran to the timber and there waited, but there was no sign of
his game. Cautiously he made his way through the timber and dropped
into the next valley circling westward towards the mountains. The deer,
however, had completely vanished. Turning back upon his tracks, he once
more pierced the thin line of timber, when just across the coulee, some
three hundred yards away, on the sky line, head up and sniffing the
wind, stood the buck in clear view. Taking hurried aim Cameron fired.
The buck dropped as if dead. Marking the spot, Cameron hurried forward,
but to his surprise found only a trail of blood.
"He's badly hit though," he said to himself. "I must get the poor chap
now at all costs." Swiftly he took up the trail, but though the blood
stains continued clear and fresh he could get no sight of the wounded
animal. Hour after hour he kept up the chase, forgetful of everything
but his determination to bring back his game to camp. From the freshness
of the stains he knew that the buck could not be far ahead and from the
footprints it was clear that the animal was going on three legs.
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