He ran to the thicket, and found what he had expected--a few red splashes among the leaves.

Where the deer was hit he did not know, but he braced himself for an effort, for he fancied that he could follow the trail.
It proved a long and difficult one, but as he worked along it, smashing through thickets and crawling over fallen trees, the red sprinkle still showed among the leaves, and it did not seem possible that the deer could go very far.

Still, by this time the light was growing dim, and he pressed on savagely with the perspiration dripping from him in an agony of suspense.

Even his weariness was forgotten, though he reeled now and then.
At length, when he reached the head of a slope, there was a crackling amidst the underbrush, and once more a half-seen shape rose out of it.
The rifle went to his shoulder, and, though he had scarcely expected the shot to be successful, the object in front of him collapsed amidst the fern.

He could no longer see it, but, whipping out the big knife that he carried in his belt, he ran toward the spot where it had appeared.