About a hundred rods brought the trapper to a second creek of larger size than the first.  The trail led directly into this, so he followed without hesitation.  Before doing so, he took the precaution to sling his rifle to his back, so that his arms should be disencumbered in any sudden emergency.

The creek proved to be of considerable depth, but not sufficient to cause him to swim.  Near the center, when it was up to his armpits, and he was feeling every foot of the way as he advanced, he chanced by accident to raise his head.  As he did so, he caught a movement among the undergrowth, and more from habit than anything else, dodged his head.

The involuntary movement allowed the bullet that was discharged at that moment to pass harmlessly over his crown and bury itself in the bank beyond.  The next instant the trapper dashed through the water, reaching the shore before the savage could reload.  To his disappointment and chagrin, the Indian was gone.

Tim, however, was not to be baffled in this manner, and dashed on as impetuously as before.  He was so close that he could hear the fugitive as he fled, but the nature of the ground prevented rapid progress upon the part of either, and it was impossible to tell for a time who it was that was gaining.

“There’s got to be an end to this race some time,” muttered Tim, “or I’ll chase you up the north pole.  You’ve stole my dinner, and tried to steal my topknot, and now you shall have it or I shall have yours.”

For some time this race (which in many respects resembled that of Teddy and the strange hunter) continued, until the trapper found it was himself that was really losing ground, and he sullenly came down to a walk again.  Still, he held to the trail with the unremitting perseverance of the bloodhound, confident that, sooner or later, he must come up with the fugitive.

All at once, something upon the ground caught his eye.  It was the ptarmigan, and he sprung exultingly forward and picked it up.  It was unharmed by the Indian, and he looked upon it as a tacit surrender, on the part of his adversary, of the matter of dispute between them.

At first Tim was disposed to keep up the pursuit; but, on second thought, he concluded to partake of his dinner, and then continue his search for his human game.  In order to enjoy his dinner it was necessary to have it cooked, and he busied himself for a few moments in collecting a few dried sticks, and plucking the feathers from the fowl and dressing it.

While thus occupied, he did not forget to keep his eyes about him, and to be prepared for the Indian in case he chose to come back.  He discovered nothing suspicious, however, and came to believe there was no danger at all.

At length, when the afternoon was well advanced, the trapper’s dinner was prepared.  He took the fowl from the blaze, and cutting a piece with his hunting-knife, was in the very act of placing it in his mouth, when the sharp crack of a rifle broke the stillness, and he fell backward, pierced through the body by the bullet of the Indian whom he had been pursuing.