THE DEER HUNT. 63 



According to the congress now assembled, this buck was the 

 old white buck, so called from an unusually white coat, and had 

 gone at a gentle gait into the Black Jack hummock, which lay two 

 miles farther on, and before which we presently arrived. It was 

 about half a mile in length by three quarters broad, and was filled, 

 like the other swamp holes, with long grass, bushes, and vines, 

 from which rose several tall trees of those species that spring in 

 swamps and savannahs, and at its upper end there grew a close 

 thicket of black jack trees. In such spots the does dropped their 

 fawns, and young and old sheltered themselves here for their noon- 

 day rest. 



Once more the members of the chase separated to take com- 

 manding positions, overlooking the edges of the thicket. We were 

 cautioned against shooting at anything that might come out, until 

 we were certain the white buck was not there. Once more Mike 

 and Jackson disappeared, and with them the hounds, already 

 snuffing the air from the swamp, and tugging at their leashes to 

 get away, and the forest was still. 



In a short time we could hear the cheers of the negroes, and 

 the thrashing of the bushes as they struggled forward in the 

 tangled underbrush. At this instant a doe, followed by a fawn 

 almost grown, came to the edge of the bushes. She looked up and 

 down for an instant, her large ears turning this way and that, 

 when, not seeing any one, she came out on a lope, and passing close 

 by me, ran down the woods, making for the river. I had my gun 

 to my shoulder, but remembering the white buck, withheld my 

 fire, lest the bigger game should follow the course of the doe and 

 find me with an empty gun. Yeow-ow-ow came from the hum- 

 mock ; that was Music's voice — her tone was like a bugle's. Then 

 two or three whimpering notes from other hounds. 



"Wha's dat air a bobbin' in yer bushes?" asked Scipio, stand- 

 ing near me and eagerly trying to overlook the grassy valley. " A 

 cat — a cat!" he shouted, "sure as gun," and a handsome specimen 

 of the wild cat or lesser lynx sprung out of the bushes, and then 

 seeing Scipio, darted back again to cover. " Golly mighty, wouldn't 

 dat cat get shook up — yah — ha, yah — ha — he !" 



Now the hounds broke out in chorus, with a multitudinous cry 



