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where they come out. There are some 
tracks across the stream there, but they 
are older and dimmer and might have 
been made by elk.” 
“Oh, do go on! Surely the tracks 
across the stream must be the ones.” 
To go on, on, and hurry, was my one 
thought, my one cry. 
Nimrod yielded. Thus I and my 
wild fear betrayed the hunter’s instinct. 
We went on for many weary minutes. 
We lost all tracks. Then Nimrod fired 
a shot into the air. He would not do 
it before, because he said we were not 
lost, and that there was no need for worry 
—worry, when for hours blind fear had 
held me in torture! 
There was no answer to the shot. 
In five minutes he fired again. Then 
we heard a report, very faint. I would 
not believe that I had heard it at all. 
I raised my gunand fired. ‘This time a 
