114: HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



call, when a wild-cat, probably deceived by the sound, 

 sprang upon him like a fury, and attempted to bite 

 through the veins of his neck. He found it impossible 

 to pull the beast off, and was obliged to kill it behind his 

 back with his scalping-knife ; he was confined to his bed 

 for several weeks, before he recovered from the ugly 

 wounds caused by the cat's teeth and claws. 



The weather cleared up next morning, and as old 

 Slowtrap was still unprepared for his journey, I resolved 

 to cross the river to shoot, and went to Curly's on the 

 same day. As the deer kept themselves close hid in the 

 daytime, we determined to have a shot in the night. An 

 iron pan was soon prepared, and with my old German 

 game-bag, which had accompanied me in all my wander- 

 ings, full of kindlers, our rolled-up blankets on our 

 shoulders, we set off as soon as it was dark. A sharp 

 wind had made the leaves so dry in the course of a few 

 hours, that our footsteps might be heard at three hun 

 dred yards off; consequently we saw no deer, and after 

 carrying the pan to and fro for about three hours, we 

 got tired of such useless trouble. On arriving at a small 

 stream, we made a good fire, and after a frugal supper 

 had set our chins for a very short time in motion, we 

 rolled ourselves in our blankets, and lay down each with 

 his dog pressed close to his side. 



We rose at daybreak, and following different routes, 

 appointed a rendezvous at Curly's, as we did not mean 

 to make a long affair of it. Bad luck seemed to stick 

 to us, for though we found plenty of trails, we saw no 

 game. At length Bearsgrease found a fresh trail, and 

 followed it up, often looking round to see if I was near 



