286 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



ing fictions and fashions. In the woods death is more 

 direct in approach, and you less able to shun his com- 

 pany. There is no art to help the stricken, no luxury for 

 the languid, no shrive for the dying. When the des- 

 troyer has left his mark on your comrade and gone again, 

 the open eyes gaze at you, the stiff body is in your arms ; 

 no one speaks of it, or over it ; it preaches in mute lan- 

 guage for itself; there is no hearse, no mourners, no 

 newspaper article, no sexton, no rites; you and your 

 friend are alone together he is dead, and you are li ving. 

 Prithee, hunter ! pray for yourself, for you know the flies 

 will crawl in and out your nostril to-morrow as they do 

 in his to-day. 



The night had well set in as we again caught sight of 

 the low outline of our camping-ground, after the hurried 

 flight from the river with our sorrowful burden. We 

 lay off in the open water until Mike had made an ex- 

 amination of the land to see that there had been no one 

 there after our departure, and when we saw his fire-light 

 signal we rowed to the beach and disembarked. The 

 negroes spoke in whispers, the boats were half un- 

 loaded, the guns carefully examined, and lay ready for 

 use ; the very hounds felt the blow that had fallen, and 

 crept listlessly to the fire, and laid down wondering, all 

 save poor old Duke. Duke was a sterling dog, though 

 somewhat aged ; his bed for years had been his master's 

 couch, his platter his master's hand ; and now he kept by 

 the blanket that was spread over the stern of one of the 

 canoes, and licked a white hand that fell from beneath, 



