84 SPOET IN NORTH AMERICA. 



fishing by torchlight, and I must keep my word. 

 I'll give orders to my foreman to get everything in 

 readiness for to-night, and after supper and some 

 sport like that of last night (let us hope even better) 

 I'll show you something that you won't easily forget." 



" Man}'- thanks ; but what fish are we going after, 

 and where is your water?" 



'' About half a mile from here is a large stream 

 called Dyots, which runs into the Little Rock river. 

 Dyots is full of fish — they swarm like frogs in a 

 marsh — salmon trout, and even salmon of immense 

 size. About a week ago, my favourite nigger Sam- 

 son, one of the cleverest fishermen about, brought me 

 a salmon of fifty pounds' weight, and I never eat a 

 better fish, more pinky and fiavorous. If we have 

 luck to-night, you'll admit there's no better sport in 

 the world." 



During the day, I explored the neighbourhood of 

 the Sugar Camp, accompanied by Mr. Bergeron, who 

 took a pleasure in showing me the most picturesque 

 places, pointing out the tracks of game, starting a 

 hare from her form, flushing a brace of quails from 

 the side of a path, and starting a buck with the 

 sound of our footsteps, or a starling perched on the 

 branch of a tree. Ten times during the course of 

 our walk I fired at game which we came upon quite 

 by chance, and I had the satisfaction of contributing 

 to my host's larder a grey hare, five quails, and a 

 large plump turkey. As for the buck, he was hit. 



