After looking and listening for two or three moments he again brought his rifle to a trail, glided away as noiselessly as a spirit, making use of every tree and rock to conceal his progress, and presently he was lost to sight in the depths of the woods. “Who—whoop!” yelled Oscar again, when he thought he had waited long enough for a reply. “Where is Thompson, I wonder? If he can’t hear the call he ought certainly to have heard the report of the gun, and I don’t see why he doesn’t answer it. That was the agreement between us. If we were hunting out of sight of each other he was to reply to my shot, and come to me at once. I’ll try him again.” Oscar looked around for some mark upon which to exercise his skill, and discovering a white spot on a tree fifty yards away, took a quick aim at it, and had the satisfaction of seeing the centre of the spot disappear. The echoes answered as before, but the boy heard nothing that sounded like the sharp, whip-like report of Big Thompson’s muzzleloader. He shouted until he was hoarse, but no reply came back to him save the sound of his own voice thrown back from the cliffs. “I think I’d better not waste any more time,” said Oscar, after he had waited nearly half an hour for the guide to make his appearance. “If he comes back this way he will, of course, strike my trail, and he is such a runner that it will not take him long to come up with me. Now, the next thing is to find a drag.” Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Oscar drew his hatchet from his belt; and, after a short search among the saplings in front of him, selected one that he thought would answer his purpose. A few blows with the hatchet brought it to the ground; and, when some of the useless branches had been cut off, the buck was placed upon it—not without a good deal of hard work, however, during which Oscar’s strength was all brought into requisition—and the hunter set out for camp well satisfied with his success. It was a task of no little difficulty to haul so heavy a burden through the snow, and Oscar was often obliged to stop and rest. During every one of these halts he renewed his efforts to attract the attention of his guide by shouting and firing his gun, but still no answer was returned. Just as it was growing dark he reached the cabin; and, with a sigh of relief, put his rifle in its place, and sat down on one of the stools to take another good look at his prize. After resting a few moments, he took a tape-line from one of the pockets of his saddle-bags and proceeded to make some measurements. Here is the entry he made in his diary—or, rather, a portion of it: