246 



Deer-Hunting on the Au Sable. 



and down in the rich mold is a glimpse of a bright little wine- 

 colored, trickling stream stealing in and out among the cedar roots 

 and losing itself in miniature tunnels and caverns on its way to the 

 river outside. One's footfall is noiseless, except when a branch 

 beneath the moss breaks, and the sunlight struggles but feebly down 



through the trunks and dense foliage above. Sometimes the walking 

 is treacherous, and the giant forms that lie about are hollow mock- 

 eries and deceptions beneath their pretty wrapping of green. Stand- 

 ing upon one of these, and doubtful whether to attempt a leap or 

 more circumspectly climb to my next vantage-point, I executed a 

 sudden disappearance, much after the fashion of a harlequin in a 

 pantomime. A hole opened beneath my feet, and I shot through 

 that hollow shell into the swamp beneath, leaving my broad-brimmed 

 hat to cover the aperture by which I made my exit. 



After a couple of hundred yards of climb, crawl, and tumble 

 through one of these swamps, my companion took his place under 

 the shelter of the cedars, and indicated mine at a little distance up 

 the river. It was one of the best of our run-ways, — a long stretch of 

 open bank, where the cedar swamp did not reach the river's edge. 

 I got there, took my stand, and indulged in expectation. The exer- 

 tion of getting through the swamp had warmed me uncomfortably, 



