1^8 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW ^ 



FALLING OFF A MOUNTAIN. 



In front, and in view of our old mountain home in Fairfield 

 Valley, N. C, stands the Rock Mountain, with its bare walls 

 rounding up a thousand feet towards the sky ; on its summit 

 is an extensive area of ravines and ridges, covered with the 

 native forest tree, and used to be a favorite tramping ground 

 for the deer, and I have killed a number of them started on 

 this mountain. On one occasion I w^ent up on this mountain 

 to hunt alone, except my dogs, and soon a deer was sprung, 

 but loth to leave the mountain, it played around ahead of the 

 dogs. I was slipping along trying to get a shot when I saw it 

 coming clipping along toward me where I had stopped not far 

 from the brink of a precipice. The doe discovered me too 

 late and attempted to pass between me and the precipice, 

 when I fired and gave it a mortal wound. To my astonish- 

 ment the wounded deer turned abruptly and went headlong 

 down into the abyss below. I rushed forward to the brink to 

 peer over and see where the poor thing had gone down, when 

 to my horror my heel slipped and over I w^ent after the deer. 

 I remember closing my eyes, for I knew it was all over with 

 me, and I also remember as I started, my first thought was of 

 prayer and that I would have to make quick work of it too. 

 I think I had got about as far as " Now I lay me down to 

 sleep," when I brought up with a sudden jerk and thought I 

 had struck the bottom and was a dead man, but in a moment 

 reason began to return and it occurred to mv mind that I had 



