98 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



Once more the members of the chase separated to take 

 commanding positions, overlooking the edges of the 

 thicket. We were cautioned against shooting at any- 

 thing that might come out, until we were certain the 

 white buck was not there. Once more Mike and Jack- 

 son disappeared, and with them the hounds, already 

 snuffing the air from the swamp, and tugging at their 

 leashes to get away. Once more the forest was still, 

 save the throbbings of our hearts, that counted the 

 anxious seconds. 



In a short time I could hear the cheers of the negroes, 

 and the thrashing of the bushes as they struggled for- 

 ward in the tangled underbrush. At this instant a doe, 

 followed by a fawn almost grown, came to the edge of 

 the bushes. She looked up and down for an instant, her 

 large ears turning this way and that, when not seeing 

 any one, she came out on a lope, and passing close by 

 me, ran down the woods, making for the river. I had 

 my gun to my shoulder, but remembering the white 

 buck, withheld my fire, lest the bigger game should fol- 

 low the course of the doe and find me with an empty 

 gun. Yeow-ow-ow came from the hummock ; that was 

 Music's voice her tone was like a bugle's. Then two 

 or three whimpering notes from other hounds. 



" Wha's dat air a bobbin' in ee bushes ?" asked Scipio, 

 standing near me and eagerly trying to overlook the 

 grassy valley. " A cat a cat !" he shouted, "sure as 

 gun," and a handsome specimen of the feline genius 

 sprung out of the bushes, and then seeing Scipio, darted 



