“Who?”
“The outlaw.”
“No, I don’t. What I do think though is that it’s a reindeer or caribou.” A moment later he ordered: “Make camp right here. We’ve got to have meat and this is our chance.”
Looking to the clip in his rifle, he turned to go, then, after a second’s reflection he turned back, partly unpacked the sled and, having dragged out a strange-looking belt, buckled it on beneath his mackinaw.
“Just by way of extra precaution,” he smiled.
Atop the nearest ridge he turned to wave his hand. Had he known what events would transpire before he saw his companions again he would most surely have turned back. Not knowing, he shaded his eyes for a moment once more to locate the moving spot on the horizon, then went strolling down the low hill.
CHAPTER XII
A BAD FOLLOW UP
Having covered half the distance between himself and the brown spot on the horizon, Curlie decided to drop down below the crest of the hill. By going up a narrow ravine for a half mile, then creeping over the ridge and following down the bend of a second ravine, he would, he was sure, come out close to the feeding animal, quite close enough for a shot.
Stealthily he carried out his plans. When at last he reached the end of this little journey and, with finger on the trigger, slowly rose from the ground where he had been creeping for the last hundred yards, he was so surprised that for a second he felt paralyzed.
There, not twenty yards away, with his back to the boy, feeding like some contented domesticated creature in a pasture, stood as fine a buck caribou as one might ask to see. The wind being away from him, and toward the boy, he had neither smelled, heard nor seen Curlie. He did not even know of the boy’s presence there.