204 CHARMING MOUNTAIN-STREAM. 



hurriedly passing through brush. In a moment after 

 a fine specimen of the black-tailed deer came in view, 

 going at speed, and crossed me at something like 

 eighty yards' range. I pitched my gun well in front, 

 pulled the trigger, and a welcome thud proclaimed 

 the result. The gallant buck struggled hard to 

 retain his feet, but, with all his efforts, he was able 

 only to go about a dozen more paces, when, down 

 the incline, he pitched on his shoulder, and almost 

 turned a summersault from the impulse with which 

 he ran. Satisfied that the game was dead, as 

 soon as I loaded again I turned up to the clump of 

 brush from whence it had come, fully believing that 

 some unknown intruder, and not myself, had started 

 it. I could see nothing, however, except a hare 

 which jumped out of its form a pretty good 

 proof that no dangerous creature was in the 

 vicinity. 



On returning I bled my quarry, and then left it, 

 intending to take as much of the venison as could be 

 carried conveniently when I retraced my steps to 

 camp. Topping the next swell of land I found that 

 a charming mountain-stream babbled down the hollow 

 at my feet. As water-courses are always attractive, 

 whether they be giant rivers or diminutive rills, I 

 directed my steps to it. Although in places not more 

 than a couple of yards wide, it swarmed with fish. 

 From every shoal, and from under each bank, the 

 bright silvery beauties rushed, alarmed by my ap- 

 proach. For half-an-hour I sat perched upon a rock 



