Fred headed his mare straight toward the fawns; he had almost reached them when they sprang away again, but instead of following their anxious parents, they began to run in a circle about Alta. It was a thrilling sight for her to watch Fred make his wild chase after the bounding balls of tan and white. The fawns, springing on slender legs, kept easily out of reach. Seeing that he could not catch them, Fred stopped and raised his shotgun, but he dropped it quickly, without firing, and returned to his companion. The beautiful little creatures, finding themselves unpursued, soon stopped again to turn and gaze curiously. As they did so, their mother’s plaintive bleat must have struck their sensitive ears, for they suddenly whirled and leaped away toward her to safety. “Oh, I’m so glad you didn’t shoot them!” said Alta. “Aren’t they charming little things? I never saw one before.” “Some people say that they will lie down if one chases them,” said Fred. “Perhaps they will, if one chases them long enough, but these are too old to give up quickly. I wish I could have caught one for you. I didn’t mean to harm them. Just see them following the white beacons over that hill.” “Oh, isn’t it fun!” exclaimed Alta, as they struck out again up the hills toward the old mountaineer’s cabin. “I’m just a little puzzled to know how to bring things about,” said Fred. “What things?” “Why, your meeting with the old trapper. Say, Alta, I’ll tell you.” “Yes?” “Let’s skirmish up this creek for chickens. We may scare up some grouse. If Uncle Dave hears us shooting, he may come out and meet us.” “Very well,” responded the girl. They had not gone far till there was a rustling in the brush, and a bevy of grouse scurried through the open space into the grove before them. “There’s your chance,” said Fred, loading his gun; “slip off now and try your luck.” Alta jumped to the ground in a flutter of excitement. “Keep cool now,” cautioned her companion, as he passed her the weapon and grasped her horse’s rein. “They won’t run far.” She stepped ahead a few yards, and sighting one of the birds through the brush, raised the gun rather uncertainly and fired. A whir of wings followed the report. “Oh, I knew I’d miss it!” she cried, handing back the gun. “But you didn’t miss,” said Fred, running into the grove and lifting up the prize. Alta clapped her hands and began to dance with delight; but she stopped in her expressions of glee when she took the dead bird in her hands, and began to smooth its torn, blood-stained feathers. “It’s a shame to kill these beautiful creatures,” she said, soberly; “but there’s a thrill about it. I didn’t think I could hit anything.” “I wonder if I can scare up the flock again,” said Fred. “Will you stay here while I try?” “Certainly!” said Alta, taking the reins of both horses, while he disappeared through the grove.