206 SPORT INDEED 



buck's direction, the muzzle began to wabble and box 

 the compass in a fashion that boded no especial harm 

 to the buck. In the midst of the wabbling the youth 

 pulled the trigger and the hammer fell, but whither 

 the ball went nobody knew. The buck was in too 

 much of a hurry to stop and inquire, and the guide 

 himself, who is supposed to be posted in such matters, 

 was puzzled. He told me however, in confidence, that 

 judging from the elevation of the boy's rifle when the 

 hammer fell, the ball must be on its way to the polar 

 star. 



James that is the name of my boy was woefully 

 chagrined over the effects of his buck ague, and 

 though the incident occurred in '94, the passage of 

 the years hasn't wiped it from his recollection. 



I once tried to console him with the story of my 

 own experience in that line, but the consolation didn't 

 seem to reach the proper spot. He heard me through, 

 and then, with a quiz in his eye, replied, " "Well, father, 

 I feel rather sorry for both of us. The man or boy 

 who allows the sight of a buck to set his teeth on the 

 chatter and his rifle on the wabble had better give up 

 hunting and stay home where he can saw wood, and 

 help his mother wash dishes and darn stockings." 



It wasn't long, however, before I had cause to be 

 proud of my boy. 



The third day after his ague attack I had been on a 

 morning's hunt, and on my return his guide came to 



