tracking to be done, and that right quickly."

Picking up his rifle and bidding Alf take his gun, Mackintosh at once
made a move towards that part of the bush where Bob had last been seen.
Haggis and the dog Bannock quickly followed, and the former moved with
all the quiet swiftness of a native who was used to meeting the
unexpected emergencies of life without being in any degree flustered.
That life had many times been in danger, and its safety had only been
attained by being in a constant state of readiness.

By instinctive acknowledgment of the presence of a superior craftsman,
the two white men yielded the place of leader to Haggis, who quickly
discovered the tracks that Bob's progress had left behind. The imprint
of a rabbit's foot would not have escaped notice from such eyes as those
of the half-breed, who had been trained in all forest lore from his
babyhood. Hence it was mere child's play for him to pick up the track of
top-boots, as well as the traces that had been made by the displacement
of grasses and thorns.

Meantime the distant shots were continued at intervals, until Holden
counted twenty in all.

Poor boy! It was little to be wondered at that he urged Haggis to press
on with greater speed, for now he was certain that his chum must be in a
terrible fix, out from which there was no self-help. He would hardly
waste cartridges so recklessly were he not in some dire extremity.

"For goodness' sake, hurry!" the boy exclaimed, for even the rapid
walking in Indian file was all too slow for the patience of one who was
pressing to the rescue of his friend.

But the half-breed did not change the pace.

"We step enough quick for bush-track," he said, without turning. "We no'
wish lose track. On prairie we go quick--run; but in bush slow."

"The Haggis is right," completed Mackintosh, whose position was third in
the procession. "It's no' good to be too quick. We might lose the trail,
and that would mean a vexatious delay to find it again."

Alf was forced to acknowledge the truth of the reasoning, though it was
a hard task for him to curb the desire to make a mad dash forward and
take his chance of keeping in the right track.

Then the half-breed stopped for a few moments and bent low to examine
the ground and the surrounding scrub.

"What is it?" questioned Holden. "Have you lost it?"

Haggis shrugged his shoulders.

"Lost? No. Haggis no' lose track. But he find others--deer. White boy
shoot deer, b