On his way there, he struck the trail of two mule-deer, and this caused him to postpone his reconnoissance for the present. He was getting tired of bacon, and believing that a fresh steak for dinner would be more palatable, he took up the trail at once, and followed it at the top of his speed.
About two miles further on the trail left the valley and turned toward the hills. When Lish saw this he deposited his wolf-skins in the fork of a small tree, and having thus put himself in light running order, he went ahead faster than ever.
By the time he had run himself almost out of breath he had the satisfaction of discovering, by signs which an experienced hunter can readily detect, that he was closing in upon the game.
He had already begun to look around for it, when he was startled almost out of his moccasins by the report of a rifle, which sounded close at hand, followed by a tremendous crashing in the bushes, as a fine doe broke cover and dashed down a hill a short distance away.
Lish could easily have shot her, as she passed without seeing him; but he never thought of it. His whole mind was concentrated on something else. Who fired that gun? Being determined to find out, the wolfer ran to the edge of the bluff and looked over.
“That thar letter that Tom writ an’ put on to Ike Barker’s door didn’t stop ’em, arter all,” said Lish to himself, as he stretched his long neck out to its full length, and took a good survey of the hunter below him. “Here’s one of them pizen critters now. He’s gone an’ killed my black-tail, an’ now he’s a-yellin’ for Big Thompson. So ye’re the chap as wanted to have me put into the guard-house ag’in, be ye? Fur two cents I’d——”
The wolfer finished the sentence by drawing his rifle to his shoulder, as if he were about to shoot.
After taking a good aim at Oscar’s head he lowered the weapon and looked nervously about him, at the same time listening for Big Thompson’s reply. He wanted to see which way it came from, so that he could secure his own safety by running off in another direction.
But there was no answer to Oscar’s repeated calls, and the wolfer finally mustered up courage enough to start for camp, not forgetting to stop on the way and take down the bundle of skins he had left in the tree.
Hearing nothing of his dreaded enemy, his fears left him after a while, and he was able to think the matter over and make up his mind what he would do about it. One thing was certain—he dared not remain longer in that valley, for there was no knowing at what moment he and Big Thompson might run against each other in the woods. In order to avoid that it was necessary to break camp at once and start for new hunting grounds.