Oscar was hunter enough to settle this matter, but it needed the skill of a more experienced person to determine how long the deer had been gone, and whether or not it would be worth while to pursue them.
“These tracks were not made by elk, because they are too small,” thought the boy, stooping down and looking through the trees on all sides of him, although he knew perfectly well that the animals that made the tracks were a long way from there at that moment. “They couldn’t have been made by common deer, either, for they’re too deep. There must have been heavy bodies on top of those little feet to sink them to such a depth in the snow. I wonder if they could have been made by black-tails? I wish Thompson was here.”
But Big Thompson was not there, and consequently if there was anything done toward securing the deer, whatever their name might be, Oscar must do it alone and unaided.
He did not expect to be successful in his efforts, but that did not deter him from taking up the trail at once.
Breaking into a rapid trot, which he had been known to sustain for three or four miles without the least inconvenience, he followed the tracks out of the timber and across the valley toward the brook.
When he reached the stream he found that the deer had spent considerable time there, browsing among the willows, for a good many branches were broken down, twigs and leaves were scattered about over the snow, and the two trails ran across each other in every direction; but, by devoting himself entirely to the tracks made by the larger animal, the young hunter succeeded in following him through all his devious windings, and he finally trailed him out of the willows and back across the valley to the timber that grew at the foot of the hills.
Here he stopped, discouraged.
“It’s no use,” said he, as he looked about for a fallen log on which he could sit down and rest for a few minutes. “I have followed this trail for two hours and a half,” he added, consulting his watch, “and now I must give it up. They were frightened at something as they passed along here, and began to run. Their tracks show that very plainly, and Thompson says that if a black-tail once makes up his mind that it is necessary for him to show his speed, he will keep it up until——Hello! what’s that?”
While Oscar was looking around for a seat, he discovered something he was not looking for, and that was another trail, that led diagonally across the valley from the willows until it struck the trail of the deer, a few yards from the spot on which he stood, and then it turned and followed in the direction in which the game had fled.
Oscar ran up to this trail and examined it with no little interest. It was made by a man—a big man, too, judging by the size of his feet—and he wore moccasins.