to fire. Bang! went the second weapon, and the bullet lodged but a few
inches below that sent in by Henry. On went the wounded creature, limping
painfully, but still making good time, especially where the snow on the
rocks was partly swept away.

"Come on after him!" yelled Henry, reloading with all speed. "I don't think
he can get away!"

He had scarcely spoken when Barringford took aim and let drive. Strange as
it may seem, the third bullet struck immediately between the other two. The
frontiersman had aimed at the other flank, but the elk had jumped to one
side, to avoid a hole, just as the hammer of the musket struck the flint.

Henry was running on as fast as his snow-shoes would permit, and having
reloaded, Dave and Barringford followed. They were going downhill once
more, but now the elk made a turn and darted into a belt of timber lining
the river. Reaching the stream, he paused for a moment, looked despairingly
at his wounded and bleeding flank, and then started across the ice.

When Henry reached the bank of the stream the elk was pulling himself up
the steep bank on the other side. He now offered a fair shot once more and
the youth was not slow to take advantage of it. Up came the gun, his gaze
moved along the sights, and down came the trigger. But, alas! the flint was
an old one and it failed to light the priming. Up came the hammer with an
exclamation of impatience, but it was too late--the elk was once more out
of sight.

"Why didn't you give him another shot?" demanded Dave, as he rushed up.

"The confounded flint wouldn't strike fire," growled Henry. "That's one of