90 * BIG GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



They were advancing down the side of a hill fully two 

 miles distant, on a long, fiat marsh inteispersed with 

 deep pools of still water and unknown depilis of bog mud. 

 The beaten Deer-path traversed the center of the marsh and 

 skirted the edge of the largest pond. There was no shelter 

 or cover of any kind, excepting a little grove of dwarf 

 spruce, in which was the camp, distant a quarter of a mile 

 from the i^ath; and when the herd reappeared upon the 

 marsh, and proved to be one old stag, one five-year-old stag, 

 and two does, Joe added: 



''Fine meat, white stag, but no man can stalk him! " 



Nevertheless, Mr. Gisborne prepared for the attempt, 

 despite the half-scornful look of Joe. Crawling along on 

 his stomach, he slipjjed into the ice-cold water, feet first, 

 holding on to the rotten edge of the bank, which was about 

 a foot above the water; and with his body floating, he 

 quietly slid his rifle along the edge, and thus advanced to 

 within two hundred yards of the Deer-path; when, hnding 

 himself chilled to the bone, he with the utmost difficulty 

 crawled out behind a slight rise in the ground which 

 happened to be between himself and the herd, then eight 

 hundred yards distant, and quite beyond the range of his 

 Lilliputian rifle. The old stag, liowever, sniffed the air, 

 and then walked gently down to and around the pond; but 

 the other animals sauntered on, quietly feeding, until one 

 of the does noticed the hunter, who lay with eyes nearly 

 closed, as still as a log, and at once moved after the old 

 one; the second doe then followed down the path. No 

 doubt, Joe was muttering, "Ah! Me say no man, no Indian, 

 can stalk that white stag! Now he run!" 



,But the two were running — the stag, and the hunter 

 also, to shorten the distance for a flying shot at one hundred 

 and sixty yards. Then came an almost inaudible crack, in 

 the intense excitement of the moment, and away bounded 

 the noble animal, with his nose high in the air, along the 

 pathway. 



' ' Ooh! ' ' shouted Joe. ' ' Him hit— mon Dieu! ' ' (all of the 

 Conn Indians speak better French than English) "him hit! " 



