When the trumpeter sounded the reveille, at the first streak of dawn the next morning, the Colonel, who had already risen, called Joe, who bounded out of his soft bed like a cat. Breakfast was ready in a few moments, and after he and the Colonel had eaten, and the latter had given his orders to the officer who was to command the camp during his absence, Joe and he started out on foot for the hunt.
The night had been cold, and although it was the middle of May, the white rime of the late frost covered the earth. It was a good omen, as the sharp footprints of the animals could be more easily distinguished.
Carefully examining their rifles and cartridges as they walked briskly on, they soon struck the main branch of the Elkhorn, and continued along its margin in a southerly direction for a mile or more, when they came to a little opening.
There Joe suddenly stopped, and turning to Colonel Keogh, who had on the instant also halted, said, "Doesn't that look a little deerish, Colonel?"
The Colonel, though a good shot and hunter, could distinguish nothing out of the ordinary after scrutinizing the ground to which the boy had pointed. The earth looked the same everywhere in the Colonel's eyes.
"Here!" said Joe, as, noticing the bewildered appearance of his new friend, he turned over a fallen cottonwood leaf with his foot. There the Colonel saw, after carefully stooping down, the very faint impress of a hoof.
"Is that a fresh track, Joe?" he asked.
"You may be sure it is," replied Joe, "and only about an hour old!"