322 Musings by Camp- Fire and Wayside 



himself and his children, which the white man is 

 rapidly driving away and exterminating. He 

 brought out his hunting-lamp, lighted it, and set 

 out for the return. The bottom of the lake is of 

 silvery sand, and we seemed to be floating in a sea 

 of milk. The next thing that attracted attention 

 was that we were moving in absolute silence. 

 There was not so much as the tinkle of a drop of 

 water from the oar. The shadow of a cloud passing 

 over the lake could not have been more noiseless. 

 The lamp threw a cone of nebulous light into the 

 reeds and woods — what a stealthy ghost was that 

 red man and his canoe ! We passed the usual haunts 

 of the deer, and were homeward bound when the 

 searching cone of light suddenly turned back and 

 paused, and at the same time the ghostly canoe 

 changed its course. And what a striking and fasci- 

 nating sight! The leafy shore as black as ink, a 

 graceful form in outline upon it, and a pair of dia- 

 monds tinged with green color shining as carbon 

 diamonds have never shone. It would be difficult 

 to imagine that these brilliant, green-tinged lights 

 were the eyes of a harmless deer, but very easy to 

 believe that they were those of a tiger. Adam gave 

 the signal to fire by a jar of the boat, and the flame 

 shot out, a fierce and intense burst of fire, and the 

 roar in those silences was like that of a cannon. It 

 echoed from the capes and came reverberating from 

 the forests across the lake as if it had filled all 



