In Old Virginia 



i6i 



less in the expression " flew across," from a 

 similar experience the following day. While 

 standing at a crossing I heard old Dan give 

 tongue, and knew the trail was hot, and there 

 I stood fully expecting the game to put in an 

 appearance at any moment. Looking in the 

 direction from whence the baying came I saw 

 the deer advancing toward me; and not more 

 than thirty feet from me he stopped and looked 

 back to see if the dogs were coming. My 

 first impulse was to shoot, but after levelling 

 the gun I changed my desire and snapped with 

 my kodak. By this instant Dan was at his 

 heels and let a series of yelps, that caused Mr. 

 Deer to make two bounds and pass within ten 

 feet of me, and he was out of sight in a jiffy. 

 Just as he passed, I let go on the fly, but 

 never touched a hair, neither could I find 

 where a single grain of shot made a mark. 

 In line with the experience of every person 

 who has made a bad shot, there is only one of 

 two explanations plausible why I did not kill 

 that deer: either there was no shot in the shell 

 or the gun was not in the right place. 



The dogs would take the deer on a jump 



