cks that it was
hard to say which was the right one. But Rolf passed quickly along to a
log that crossed the runway, and on that log he found a drop of dried-up
blood that told him what he wished to know.

Now he had a straight run of a quarter of a mile, and from time to time
he saw a peculiar scratching mark that puzzled him. Once he found a
speck of blood at one of these scratches but no other evidence that the
buck was touched.

A wounded deer is pretty sure to work down hill, and Quonab, leaving
Skookum with Rolf, climbed a lookout that might show whither the deer
was heading.

After another half mile, the deer path forked; there were buck trails on
both, and Rolf could not pick out the one he wanted. He went a few yards
along each, studying the many marks, but was unable to tell which was
that of the wounded buck.

Now Skookum took a share in it. He had always been forbidden to run
deer and knew it was a contraband amusement, but he put his nose to that
branch of the trail that ran down hill, followed it for a few yards,
then looked at Rolf, as much as to say: "You poor nose-blind creature;
don't you know a fresh deer track when you smell it? Here it is; this is
where he went."

Rolf stared, then said, "I believe he means it"; and followed the lower
trail. Very soon he came to another scrape, and, just beyond it, found
the new, velvet-covered antler of a buck, raw and bloody, and splintered
at the base.

From this on, the task was easier, as there were no other tracks, and
this was pointing steadily down hill.

Soon Quonab came striding along. He had not seen the buck, but a couple
of jays and a raven were gathered in a thicket far down by the stream.
The hunters quit the trail and made for that place. As they drew near,
they found the track again, and again saw those curious scrapes.

Every hunter knows that the bluejay dashing about a thicket means that
hidden there is game of some kind, probably deer. Very, very slowly and
silently they entered that copse. But nothing appeared until there was a
rush in the thickest part and up leaped the buck. This was too much for
Skookum. He shot forward like a wolf, fastened on one hind leg, and the
buck went crashing head over heels. Before it could rise, another shot
ended its troubles. And now a careful study shed the light desired.
Rolf's first shot had hit the antler near the base, breaking it, except
for the skin on one side, and had stunned the buck. The sec