ending in a high open bluff above the river.

There I tried my last hunter's dodge--manoeuvered craftily till
near the deer, which were hidden by dense thickets, and rushed
straight at them, thinking they would either break away down the
open hillside, and so give me a running shot, or else rush
straightaway at the sudden alarm and be caught on the bluff
beyond.

Was it simple instinct, I wonder, or did the buck that had grown
old in hunter's wiles feel what was passing in my mind, and like
a flash take the chance that would save, not only his own life,
but the lives of the two that followed him? At the first alarm
they separated; the two smaller deer broke away down the
hillside, giving me as pretty a shot as one could wish. But I
scarcely noticed them; my eyes were following eagerly a swift
waving of brush tops, which told me that the big buck was jumping
away, straight into the natural trap ahead.

I followed on the run till the ridge narrowed so that I could see
across it on either side, then slowly, carefully, steadying my
nerves for the shot. The river was all about him now, too wide to
jump, too steep-banked to climb down; the only way out was past
me. I gripped the rifle hard, holding it at a ready as I moved
forward, watching either side for a slinking form among the
scattered coverts. At last, at last! and how easy, how perfectly
I had trapped him! My heart was singing as I stole along.

The tracks moved straight on; first an easy run, then a swift,
hard rush as they approached the river. But what was this? The