218 THE HUNTER'S TROPHY. 



ing to our agreement, Mr. Eustace aimed at the female; 

 and when, on a signal from him, I perceived that he was 

 going to fire, I pressed the trigger, and bang ! The two 

 reports were blended into one. 



Mr. Eustace had killed his animal ; but I how, I 

 know not had only shattered the shoulder of my stag, 

 who took to flight with the rest of the troop, and disap- 

 peared in the depths of the forest. 



I felt certain that I had severely wounded my stag, but 

 it was impossible to pursue him. Pat undertook to do 

 so on the morrow, and we prepared to return to our 

 homes. It was half-past eleven when, in front of Patrick 

 O'Donoghue's tavern, we embarked our booty, whose 

 weight was such that our boat rose scarcely a hand's 

 breadth out of the water. We only just escaped swamp- 

 ing. 



The moon reappeared to facilitate our navigation ; and 

 when we pulled up before the landing-place of Crow's 

 Nest, two friendly voices replied to our summons, and 

 my young friend James, who had obstinately refused to 

 go to bed before our return, clapped his hands with joy 

 as David and the other servants drew the stags from the 

 boat. 



Next evening, Pat surprised us just as we had seated 

 ourselves at the tea-table. After a diligent search, he 

 had discovered the stag which I had wounded the day 

 before, but it was half devoured by the cayeutes. He 

 brought back only the antlers, an unparalleled trophy 

 which still adorns my little study. 



I shall conclude this chapter with a curious anecdote. 

 The stag of the United States is capable of being 



