128 WILD SPOETS IN THE SOUTH. 



and turning tlieir heads first on one side and then on the 

 other ; the dog must be in that neighborhood and have 

 sprung them, though we cannot see him for the grass. 



There comes a deer ; he is close by before one can see 

 he is started — a young buck with spike horns. How 

 fast he comes ! once in a while jumping high above the 

 grass to view his pursuer. Mike has disappeared behind 

 the tree against which he was leaning. I wonder which 

 path the deer will take. I raise my rifle ; no he is run- 

 ning for Mike. He comes now fast, and close behind 

 him is yelping the hound ! he is within shot of Mike, 

 running right for his stand. Spang ! rings the rifle ; the 

 deer jumps, staggers, halts, and falls. Well done, old 

 Red Beard ! next to shooting game one's self, the best 

 thing is to see it well shot by some one else. 



Yowler is caught by his master, and sent back on the 

 meadows. Hardly had he gone out of sight before I 

 heard his yelp again, and a great rustle and shaking of 

 some reeds that grew a hundred rods in froiit of me. 

 There it is ! one, two, thfee deer — and there goes ano- 

 ther — and here comes a third party! The firing has 

 alarmed them, and they are off with a snort and a whistle, 

 each his own way. One has turned this way ; no, he has 

 gone toward the river. There is another ; he is coming 

 this way, surely ; yes, here he comes, head up, horns 

 back — a noble fellow. "Dear me!" I ejaculated, "this 

 is like shooting deer in a park." As I crouched low in 

 the narrow pass I was occupying, with a dense thorn 

 thicket on either hand, and the grass growing in front of 



