"There is a demon who does not suffer from rheumatism. How he runs! But remember, my friend, that's your breakfast."
With which words he took to his heels, and, catching sight of the deer, followed him up through the dense undergrowth, without being able to get a shot at him. This went on for about twenty minutes, during which, his rifle at full cock, he never looked to the right or left. Suddenly the moose deer stood still, as if he sniffed another enemy in the direction in which he was going.
The American lost no time, but took steady aim for a second or two and fired.
The stricken deer bounded into the air, and then once more took to its heels.
But the hunter was determined not to lose him. Unhappily, however, in his eagerness, he did not look before him, and just as he thought the deer began to droop, while he increased his speed his foot slipped and he went head over heels, falling a height of about fifteen feet, to alight upon a kind of pavement of hard flint stones.
The fall was so heavy that the American not only was bruised all over, but fainted.
A feeling of coolness suddenly came over him, and caused him to open his eyes.
He looked wildly around him, and saw a young man of about seven-and-twenty, in the costume of a trapper, his handsome face bent over him with a look of deep solicitude, while he bathed his face with a handkerchief soaked with water.
"Are you better, Mr. Samuel?" said the other.
"Hem!" cried the American; "Am I mad?"