Once he found a speck of blood at one of these scratches but no other evidence that the buck was touched.
A wounded deer is pretty sure to work down hill, and Quonab, leaving Skookum with Rolf, climbed a lookout that might show whither the deer was heading.
After another half mile, the deer path forked; there were buck trails on both, and Rolf could not pick out the one he wanted.

He went a few yards along each, studying the many marks, but was unable to tell which was that of the wounded buck.
Now Skookum took a share in it.

He had always been forbidden to run deer and knew it was a contraband amusement, but he put his nose to that branch of the trail that ran down hill, followed it for a few yards, then looked at Rolf, as much as to say: "You poor nose-blind creature; don't you know a fresh deer track when you smell it?
Here it is; this is where he went." Rolf stared, then said, "I believe he means it"; and followed the lower trail.

Very soon he came to another scrape, and, just beyond it, found the new, velvet-covered antler of a buck, raw and bloody, and splintered at the base.
From this on, the task was easier, as there were no other tracks, and this was pointing steadily down hill.
Soon Quonab came striding along.

He had not seen the buck, but a couple of jays and a raven were gathered in a thicket far down by the stream.
The hunters quit the trail and made for that place.