considered
but rapid activity.

The woman sprang to her feet. She was tall and straight as a willow.
Her rough canvas skirt was divided. Her buckskin shirt was fringed and
beaded. She made a picture of active purpose that belied her
femininity. In a moment she was in the saddle of the pony which had
been dozing a few yards away. Her rifle was slung upon one shoulder,
and her paper-covered book was thrust within the fastenings of her
shirt. She was hot in pursuit of the small black-tailed deer which her
shot had wounded.

Effie bent low in the saddle which she rode astride. Her
well-accustomed pony twisted and turned, threading its way almost
miraculously through the labyrinth of bald tree-trunks. These
pot-hunts, which were of such frequent occurrence, were the recreation
which alone made life tolerable to its mistress.

The woman saw only her quarry. For the rest she left the road to her
pony. With slack reins she leaned forward, carrying her featherweight
over the horn of the saddle. The woods meant nothing to her. The maze
of tree-trunks as they sped by conveyed no threat of danger. She was
concerned only with the obviously limping beast which was to provide
venison for the pot for the next two weeks to come.

Her pony gained nothing upon the wounded deer. But it lost no distance
either. The scene changed and changed again. The woods yielded to
open grass, and again they merged into scattered scrub, through which
it was difficult to track their quarry. Up hill, down dale, over
hummock, through hollow. Once more through the dark aisles of aged
pine woods. And always northward.

Time had no place in the woman's mind. Excitement, hope, doubt. These
occupied her to the full. And above all purpose reigned.

Twice she drew up to within shot. But she refrained. She was herself
as breathless as her quarry, and the shot would probably have been
wasted. Besides, those pauses of the poor hunted beast carried their
own significance to her practised mind. Its limping was sore, and now
its stumblings were becoming more and more frequent.

They had passed an open stretch, a mere cup surrounded by sharp-rising,
pine-clad hills. They entered woods on the northernmost slope, and
began a climb so severe that pursuer and pursued were brought to a
sheer scramble. The toil was terrific, but Effie's pony, bred of the
tough prairie fibre, clawed up with indomitable courage and endurance.
The deer kept i