272 Sporting Sketches 



skip 'em." He did, with variations not on his pro- 

 gramme. 



The logs appeared to be firm enough until he was 

 halfway across. Then he stopped and laughingly 

 told me to follow. As he spoke, either his foot 

 slipped, or the log he was on turned anyway, he 

 disappeared. I had just begun to laugh, when I 

 saw the disturbed logs draw close together over the 

 one open space which Lewis had found in his de- 

 scent. Down went the gun, the coat fell on a log 

 three jumps from there, and the last bound of a mad 

 rush landed me on the log Lewis had just vacated. 

 The shock separated the log a few inches from its 

 neighbor, and with a foot upon each I strained to 

 broaden the gap. In an instant they were a couple 

 of feet apart, and I dropped between them into water 

 up to my armpits. With an arm over each log I 

 hung and worked my long legs scissors-fashion 

 through the water. Old Lewis was there all right, 

 tumbling about in the liveliest kind of way, and I 

 hadn't kicked three times before he seized me by 

 the thigh and climbed up my body like a cat scaling 

 a fence post. The first thing he did was to spout 

 about a pint of water into my face, then he yelled 

 like an Indian. 



There wasn't anything much the matter with 

 him, but he was about as badly scared a man as I 

 have ever seen. He recovered in a moment, and we 

 both went ashore to strip for the work of securing 

 the rifle. This was accomplished by forcing the 

 logs well apart and prodding for the rifle with a 

 stout branch. As the water w.as barely six feet 

 deep we soon located the weapon, then Lewis held 



