258 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



the mingled clamor of a pack of harriers ! Your frienda 

 are waiting you, under the shade of the wood, and we 

 must together go driving the light-footed deer. The dis- 

 tance over which one has to travel is seldom felt, when 

 pleasure is anticipated as the result : so, galloping we 

 go pell-mell through the woods, to some well-known place, 

 where many a fine buck has drooped its antlers under 

 the ball of the hunter's rifle. The servants, who are 

 called the drivers, have already begun their search. Their 

 voices are heard exciting the hounds, and unless we put 

 spurs to our steeds, we may be too late at our stand, and 

 thus lose the first opportunity of shooting the fleeting 

 game as it passes by. Hark again ! the dogs are in 

 chase, the horn sounds louder and more clearly. Hurry, 

 hurry on, or we shall be sadly behind ! 



Here we are at last ! Dismount, fasten your horse to 

 this tree, place yourself by the side of that large yellow 

 poplar, and mind you do not shoot me ! The deer is 

 fast approaching ; I will to my own stand, and he who 

 shoots him dead wins the prize. 



The deer is heard coming. It has inadvertently 

 cracked a dead stick with its hoof, and the dogs are now 

 so near it that it will pass in a moment. There it comes . 

 How beautifully it bounds over the ground ! What a 

 splendid head of horns ! How easy its attitudes, depend- 

 ing, as it seems to do, on its own swiftness for safety ! 

 All is in vain, however : a gun is fired, the animal 

 plunges and doubles with incomparable speed. There 

 he goes ! He passes another stand, from which a second 

 shot, better directed than the first, brings him to the 

 ground. The dogs, the servants, the sportsmen are now 



