Upon that the tall scout jammed the breech of his gun shut, having succeeded in reloading the same, and he lost no time in hastening to join his chum.
"W-what is it, Elmer?" he asked, breathlessly.
The other pointed to his feet.
"What do you call that, and that, and that?" he asked, impressively.
Lil Artha stared, and over his thin face there crept a look, almost of rapture, as he ejaculated:
"Blood spots on the snow, as sure as anything, Elmer! Oh! then I must have hit that deer after all! I'm glad, and then again I'm sorry. If he had to get away from us, I'd much rather not a single piece of lead had found him. Now he'll only suffer, and it'll do us no good at all."
"Hold on, don't be too sure about that," remarked Elmer, as he started to step across the logs, and follow the plainly marked red trail over the otherwise spotless field of pure snow; "that chap has been struck hard, and I don't believe he can go very far before he drops!"
At hearing this Lil Artha became greatly excited.
"Then let's chase after him right away!" he exclaimed. "Goodness knows we need fresh meat about as much as anybody could, because we're almost half starved, and haven't a ghost of a show at anything else. And if the poor thing does drop think how mean it'd be to have the foxes and other varmints gnaw at our deer all night long, while we sucked our thumbs in camp, and went hungry."
All this while Elmer was following the trail. It was an easy task, and even the tenderfoot scout of the troop might have accomplished such a proposition without being coached.