142 WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



this, and I became more nervous than ever. I aimed 

 again. A brief instant — it seemed an age between my 

 pulling the trigger and the discharge of the piece — when 

 the clear crack of the rifle sounded, and the deer, wheel- 

 ing around, flew away " as if the wolves of the Apennines 

 were all upon his track." 



I looked around for Mike ; there he lay m the weeds, 

 and on the end of his ramrod he had been waving a little 

 red flag that had attracted the attention of the buck, and 

 lured him on to his dangerous position. I saw the deer 

 for a mile down the open woods flitting past the trees, 

 and I knew I had made a clear miss. On coming up to 

 Mike his dry smile glowed in the corners of his eye as he 

 asked me, " Did you hit him ?" 



"Without answering the question, I asked him why he 

 did not shoot, as the buck was clearly within shot for him 

 as well as myself. 



" We've got our pile of deer's meat, and 'nuff is 'nufl[*, 

 and what's the use a wastin' ?" 



So we went back for our ponies, and again started for 

 home, where we arrived safely late in the evening, to find 

 the big fires blazing, and a supper kept all ready for our 

 coming. How pleasant the cabin looked, from the damp 

 darkness without ! 



" And sweet the music of the step 

 That meets us at the door." 



