“Went over the ridge. I’ll get him!” Curlie snapped a fresh cartridge into his magazine as he went zig-zagging his way up the hard-packed and slippery hill. Twice he lost his footing and narrowly escaped a slide to the bottom, but each time he escaped by digging into the snow with fingers and toes.
At the top he breathed a sigh of relief. For a few seconds he could catch no sight of the caribou, then he saw it disappearing over the next ridge. Just as it dropped from sight, it appeared to stumble and fall.
“Done for!” exulted the boy. “Just one more ridge and I’ve got him.”
For a second he hesitated. It was growing dark.
“Ought to go back,” he mumbled. “But there’ll be a moon in an hour and I can get along without light till then.”
Hurriedly sliding down the ridge, he made his way up the other. Arrived there, he glanced straight ahead, expecting to see the caribou lying at the bottom of the ravine. But not a brown speck marred the whiteness of that snow.
“That’s queer!” he exclaimed. “I was sure he was done for.”
By looking closely, he was able to see four sharply-cut paths in the snow crust.
“He tobogganed down and I thought he fell,” Curlie grinned. “That’s one on me. Well, there’s no use to follow him. If he is well enough to go tobogganing, he’s not greatly in need of attention. I better get back and tend to the other one.”
Darkness had fallen. It was with the greatest difficulty that he made his way back to the spot where the dead caribou lay.