Jakobsen held up his hand to make the party stop, and the next minute he was close up.
“Reindeer,” he whispered. “Four just round the point yonder feeding on the moss. Come.”
“Stay back, the rest of you,” said the captain in a low voice. “You can come, Steve, my lad, and you, Johannes, be cautious.”
Then the novel kind of deer-stalking commenced, Jakobsen leading and taking advantage of every block of stone, turning round at times to make sure that his companions were keeping out of sight, and at last coming to a stand at where the defile they were threading opened out into a plain.
He was behind a mass of rocks whose hollows were filled up with ice; and when all were together he whispered to them to be ready, and then clambered up till he was high enough to peer over cautiously before descending.
“They are very wild and cautious,” he whispered; “but they have not moved. Go forward now, creeping from rock to rock, and you are sure of one or two.”
“Come, Steve,” whispered the captain. “Don’t fire unless I tell you. Be ready to hand me your gun if I miss.”
He went off to the right of the pile of rocks, and the doctor took the left, all stooping and sheltering themselves till the end of the stones was reached; and upon raising himself a little so as to peer round the last, there, not fifty yards away, and grazing or tearing up the moss with their feet, were four deer, with their peculiarly shaped, branching antlers, and all apparently in perfect ignorance of danger being so near.
“Can you see Mr Handscombe?” whispered the captain, drawing back to speak.
“No, he is not in sight.”