124 BIO GAME OF NORTH AMERICA. 



the buck hears the faint sound of a twig scratching over 

 the hunter's clothing. 



"Ah! what's that? One of my kind? Or is it a cow, or 

 a horse? " His an tiered head is up; he sniffs the air, looks, 

 and listens. " No; as I live, it's one of those still-hunters. 

 I'll just lay low, and if he don't come close to me he 

 can't see me, sheltered as I am by these brush. But no; he 

 is coming my way. Well, adieu, vain young man. Call 

 again." And with a graceful motion his muscular form 

 springs into active being, and with a few flying leaps he 

 vaults away, over logs, rocks, and whatever obstructions 

 come in his way, as buoyantly and as lightly as a kitten 

 dances over the carpet. His white flag sways softly from 

 side to side, waving the hunter anything but a sign of 

 distress. 



At the first rise of the noble game, the rifle comes auto- 

 matically to the shoulder; there is a convulsive clutch at 

 the trigger, a puff of smoke, a flash of fire, a deafen- 

 ing intonation, and a crash of lead through — the brush! 

 and, alas! the buck continues his wild leaps, still flaunt- 

 ing his defiance in the face of his would-be slayer. 

 Another cartridge is thrown into the chamber; another 

 and a more careful aim is quickly taken. The sportsman 

 is cool now, and there is in his cold gray eye a determina- 

 tion to put this bullet where it will count. The Deer is 

 now sixty, yes, seventy, yards away, and almost hidden by 

 the thick foliage; but just as he rises over a high log the 

 leaden missile catches him in the short ribs, crashes through 

 his vitals, and comes out at the point of the oj)posite shoul- 

 der. Suddenly that white flag is closely furled; the great 

 stag doubles up and pitches heavily forward; he recovers, 

 and makes a few more leaps, but they are no longer fear- 

 less and graceful — they are convulsive and catchy. He 

 swings from side to side, stumbles, his head drops, and 

 finally he goes down, stone-dead. 



On another day, the hunter is tramping through a more 

 open country— a heavily wooded region, but where there 

 is no underbrush. He has hunted several hours patiently 



