BEATEN BY A THREE-LEGGED BUCK. 99 



motion were thrown away. The pony would not stand 

 still ; he had evidently been frightened, or perhaps 

 was still in ignorance of what caused the alarm. More- 

 over, my manoeuvring so directly intervened between my 

 friend and the game that, for fear of peppering me, he 

 dared not fire. To turn round and look at one another, 

 first sulkily, but afterwards to burst into a roar of 

 laughter at the absurdity of the whole thing, was the 

 result, each agreeing that the buck had well earned 

 his safety, and that two such awkward devils had no 

 right to a feast of venison resulting from that hunt, 

 and, therefore, we had better acknowledge that we 

 were beaten handsomely, and that by a buck on three 

 legs. 



On the following occasion the results were different. 

 In the autumn of 186 , when travelling across the 

 Grand Prairie, about 150 miles north of where the 

 last episode occurred, I was caught in the first snow- 

 storm of the season. The vicinity was but sparsety 

 settled, and from the thickness of the drift our 

 charioteer lost his way, and after getting mired 

 times without number, and enduring one of the 

 most disagreeable nights out of doors it is possible 

 to imagine, we reached the village of Kent. Under 

 ordinary circumstances it would have presented no 

 great inducements, but the large wood fire that 

 blazed in the bar room of the diminutive tavern, 

 after oar protracted night of hardship, possessed 

 such attractions, that I determined to lay over for 

 a couple of days. The neighbourhood was well 

 stocked with game I learned the following evening, 

 when I presented myself among the habitues, who 



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