A DAY IN THE BIG WOODS 173 



kick. The ball had struck him near the tail and 

 ranged through the body, coining out at the fore- 

 shoulder. He was a four-year-old buck, and as fat as 

 he well could be without melting. I dragged him 

 into the road, went down to the camp, had supper, 

 and then, with a lantern and the guide, returned to 

 where he was lying, opened and dressed him and tak- 

 ing the hind-quarters and saddle reached camp at 

 8:30 P. M. 



I was in bed at nine, and do you wonder that I slept 

 soundly that night ? Do you wonder that I knew noth- 

 ing of the passing hours ? Nothing of the camp-fire 

 burning in front of the camp? Nothing of a deer 

 which approached our fire close enough to inhale 

 the strange scent of burning wood, and then rush 

 wildly away, whistling as he ran and alarming his 

 kindred far and near ? No, reader ; my psychological 

 and acoustic machineries were both at a standstill. 

 My brain was too drowsy to dream, and my ear- 

 drums had lost all their cunning appetite for sounds 

 even for the snore of my Canadian cook. You have 

 never heard, and perhaps have no desire to hear him ; 

 but I can assure you he is an expert in that line, and 

 knows as much about scientific snoring as he does 

 about scientific cooking. When he turns on his back 

 and gets his fog-horn under way, its spasmodic grunts 

 and snorts and roars would probably drown the noise 

 of a sawmill. 



