Knowing that the successful pursuit of a single buck reindeer might mean a long run, I made no attempt to go after him myself; but I told Egingwah and Ooblooyah, my two stalwart, long-legged youngsters, to take the 40-82 Winchesters and be off.

At the word they were flying across country, eager as dogs loosed from the traces, crouching low and running quickly.

They took a course which would intercept the deer a little farther along the slope of the mountain.
I watched them through my glasses.

The deer, when he caught sight of them, started off leisurely in another direction, looking back every now and then, suspiciously alert.

When the deer halted suddenly and swung round facing them, it was clear that they had given the magic call taught by Eskimo father to Eskimo son through generation after generation, the imitation call at which every buck reindeer stops instantly--a peculiar hissing call like the spitting of a cat, only more lingering.
The two men leveled their rifles, and the magnificent buck went down in his tracks.