Mr. Dingman thought that he could get the runway before she would get through, even if she had gone out when I came through on her trail down the hill. In hopes that the deer had not taken the trail and lit out when I came through the hill, I worked my way cautiously back up the hill, only occasionally going in sight of the trail so as to keep her course, but as I feared, when I was about halfway up the hill, I found her bed, but the doe was gone. I took the trail and followed it up the hill until she struck the trail of the deer that she was with when I first started them, and instead of going down the ridge, she took the back trail of the other deer. I followed it back until near where I had wounded her, when she again broke down the hill and crossed the creek near where I first found their trail, and had gone back onto the same ridge that she had come from. Now the only thing for me to do was to leave the trail and go after Mr. Dingman again. When I found him and we got back to camp, it was about noon, so we got a warm dinner before continuing the chase. When we got up to where I had left the trail, we held council and made our plans for the next move, and decided that as the old lady was continually doing the unexpected, we would follow her track, one going on each side of the trail a few yards from it. We had only gone a short distance up the hill when we found the old lady's bed, where she had laid down, so that she could watch back on her trail, where she had come down on the opposite hillside. We did not go far when the trail turned to the left and went up the side of the ridge toward the head of the creek. We continued along the trail one on either side and soon we came to where a large hemlock tree had fallen parallel with the side of the hill. Mr. Dingman was on the upper side and above the fallen tree, while the deer tracks led away below the tree. All of a sudden I heard the report of Mr. Dingman's rifle, so I stood still for a minute, and hearing nothing more I went to see the cause of the shooting. The doe had gone beyond the fallen tree, then turned back and went about midway of the tree, on the upper side and lay down. Mr. Dingman caught a glimpse of the old lady as she went out, but did not catch her. We did not follow the doe far from where she lay behind the fallen tree, for we crossed the trail of a bear going west, and partly in the direction of that of the wounded deer, which continued to work her cards on us all afternoon without our getting sight of her. At dusk we trailed her into a small thicket at the edge of the farm owned by a man by the name of Foster, at the extreme head of the run.