Had it not been for him, I'd have that Deer right now. He was
too tired to have gone far. He's got the handsomest pair of
antlers I've seen for years. I can sell that head of his for a
good price."

So the hunter tied his boat to a tree and once more climbed
out. He climbed up the bank and studied the land. Across a wide
meadow he could see a brushy old pasture and back of that some
thick woods. He grinned.

"That's where that Deer will head for," he decided. "There isn't
any other place for him to go. All I've got to do is be patient
and wait."

So the hunter took his terrible gun and tramped across the meadow
to the brush-grown pasture. There he hid among the bushes where
he could peep out and watch the land of Lightfoot's friend.
He was still angry because he had been prevented from shooting
Lightfoot. At the same time he chuckled, because he thought
himself very smart. Lightfoot couldn't possibly reach the shelter
of the woods without giving him a shot, and he hadn't the least
doubt that Lightfoot would start for the woods just as soon as he
felt able to travel. So he made himself comfortable and prepared
to wait the rest of the day, if necessary.

Now Lightfoot's friend who had driven the hunter off had seen him
row down the river and he had guessed just what was in that
hunter's mind. "We'll fool him," said he, chuckling to himself,
as he walked back towards the shed where poor Lightfoot was
resting.