128 THE DEER FAMILY 



terly anathematizes the other fellow's good luck as a 

 shot rings out on the station above. Three blasts of 

 the horn as the drive sweeps over the stand, and we 

 hurr}^ to the scene of the kill — a two-year-old buck, 

 and we are hardly two miles from the house, and just 

 one hour out! 



" It is too good luck not to follow up, j^d after a few 

 minutes' pau^to bleed and hang the carcass, and let 

 the dogs have a good sniff at the forbidden fruit, we 

 are in the saddle again, bound for the ' Boggy * run, 

 two miles away. The station here is near the Parachi- 

 cola road, and it is to be understood that most of 

 the stands are on the ancient causeways, built in ante- 

 bellmn days by slave labor, and running through the 

 swamps to the river-landings. 



" The run this time is longer, for the game may 

 be either turkey or deer, and the hounds are as ready 

 to flush and run the one as to 'jump' the other. Truly 

 to-day the gods are propitious, for a flock of six or 

 seven gobblers break out of the cane and come sailing 

 majestically over our heads. Nobody is loaded with 

 turkey-shot, but no matter ; a brace of ' bucks ' in the 

 right place will do the business quite as well. There is 

 a sharp crack from T.'s gun, and the great bird falls 

 like a stone into the thickest part of a thorn-patch. 

 But it is worth a few scratches to get him out — a verit- 

 able king of the woods, resplendent in his purplish- 

 bronze plumage and a patriarchal beard. ' He'll weigh 

 sixteen pounds when drawn,' says Warren Lawton, as 

 he 'lifts' him meditatively; 'and now what did the 

 Governor of North Carolina say to the Governor of 

 South Carolina? ' And we answer as one man." * 



* Harper's Weekly. 



