Already there was a horrible pain in his left side and his sight was growing dim.
He went on, stumbling, gasping, falling now and then, for any man not accustomed to the bush in that country would find it sufficiently difficult to walk through, until once more a grey patch of something showed up in a thicket.

Again the rifle flashed, a dim shape reeled out of the bushes, and, while the man savagely smashed through those it had quitted, plunged into another thicket.

Alton, who did not see it come out again, also went in headlong, tripped, and fell upon something with life in it that struggled spasmodically beneath him.

There was no room to use his rifle, for he and the deer were rolling amidst the fern together, and while he felt for its throat the long knife came out.
Twice it sank harmlessly amidst the snow and leaves, and then there was a gurgle, and the man rose stiffly to his feet, with dripping hands and something smoking on the sleeve of his jacket.

He glanced at it without disgust, and then down at the limp shape, which now lay very still, almost compassionately.
"Well," he said simply, "it was you or me, and the wolves would have had you, anyway." He was busy amidst the bushes for some time, and the light had gone when he stood up with the deer upon his shoulders and the rifle beneath it.