at
might give the poacher an excuse for sending back a bullet with a less
innocent purpose. Poor Biceps, he was panting and puffing in his heavy
wraps like a steamboat! He did not once open his mouth to speak; but,
exerting his vaunted muscle to the utmost, kept abreast of his friend,
and sometimes pushed a pace or two ahead of him. But it cost him a
mighty effort! And yet the poacher was gaining upon him! They could
see the long broadside of windows in the sheriff's mansion, ablaze with
Christmas candles. They came nearer and nearer! The church-bells up on
the bend were ringing in the festival. Five minutes more and they would
be at their goal. Five minutes more! Surely they had strength enough
left for that small space of time. So had the poacher, probably! The
question was, which had the most. Then, with a short, sharp resonance,
followed by a long reverberation, a shot rang out and a bullet whizzed
past Ralph's ear. It was the poacher who had broken the peace. Ralph,
his blood boiling with wrath, came to a sudden stop, flung his rifle to
his cheek and cried, "Drop that gun!"

The poacher, bearing down with all his might on the skee-staff, checked
his speed. In the meanwhile Albert hurried on, seeing that the issue of
the race depended upon him.

"Don't force me to hurt ye!" shouted the poacher, threateningly, to
Ralph, taking aim once more.

"You can't," Ralph shouted back. "You haven't another shot."

At that instant sounds of sleigh-bells and voices were heard, and half
a dozen people, startled by the shot, were seen rushing out from the
sheriff's mansion. Among them was Mr. Bjornerud himself, with one of his
deputies.

"In the name of the law, I command you to cease," he cried, when he
saw down the two figures in menacing attitudes. But before he could say
another word, some one fell prostrate in the road before him, gasping:

"We have shot an elk; so has that man down on the ice. We give ourselves
up."

Mr. Bjornerud, making no answer, leaped over the prostrate figure, and,
followed by the deputy, dashed down upon the ice.

"In the name of the law!" he shouted again, and both rifles were
reluctantly lowered.

"I have shot an elk," cried Ralph, eagerly, "and this man is a poacher,
we heard him shoot."

"I have killed an elk," screamed the poacher, in the same moment, "and
so has this fellow."

The sheriff was too astonished to speak. Never before, in his
experience, had poachers raced for dear life