CHAPTEK VII. 



THE DEER HUNT. 



"A hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 

 Clattered a hundred steeds adong." 



Scott. 



The light broke early on the planter's shackley house, and the 

 smouldering brands of our camp-fire, the morning after Mike's 

 panther story. It may not have been early, though our late hours 

 of the evening before made it seem so to me, and I silently banned 

 the sleepless hound and " the cock's shrill clarion, and the echoing 

 horn," which ushered in the light, and drew us to our feet, yawning 

 and drinking in the misty sights and sounds. Away up on the 

 top of a live oak-tree a mocking-bird was gushing over in song. 

 Sometimes trilling a few notes, descending an octave it would 

 laugh and cry. Then it would sound the call of the quail twice 

 repeated, and then tinkling, laughing, gurgling, it poured out the very 

 music of mirth. Too happy to sit still it fluttered up in the air a 

 dozen feet or more, trilling its merriest lay, then, descending again 

 to the branch from whence it rose, it syllabled love's deepest tones. 

 The sheep and cattle were crowding out of the pens, and 

 spreading over the open woods. The horses were whinnying for 

 their food. Our boys were lighting a fire, and preparing meat, 

 singing and laughing. There were calls to negroes with fancy 

 names, and shouted answers ; guns were discharged and reloaded, 

 and saddles examined ; a dozen things were wanted that could not 

 be found, or when found were not in a condition to be used. The 

 little nigs were running to the spring for water, or to the shed for 

 corn, or around the grounds, merely for the fun of running and 

 shouting. They were all dressed alike, in long, brown cotton 

 shirts, so one sex could not be distinguished from the other. 



