This he shot, and set himself a Herculean task in packing the whole carcass back to camp.

Burdened thus, he staggered under the trees, sweating freely, many times laboring for breath, aching with toil, until at last he had reached camp.

There he slid the deer carcass off his shoulders, and, standing over it, he gazed down while his breast labored.

It was one of the finest young bucks he had ever seen.

But neither in stalking it, nor making a wonderful shot, nor in packing home a weight that would have burdened two men, nor in gazing down at his beautiful quarry, did Dale experience any of the old joy of the hunter.
"I'm a little off my feed," he mused, as he wiped sweat from his heated face.