SHOOTING A BUCK. 1 55 



white coat of mine I don't believe we can stir without his 

 going." 



I used to think that a deer was one of the most foolish 

 of animals, for he will even stand and look steadily at a 

 man as long as the man is motionless, but almost at the 

 wink of an eye, surely at the slightest movement of a head 

 or hand, he is away. Imagine the scene as we moved 

 across the lake in the gloaming, for it was past sunset of 

 a rainy evening, and tell me if that buck was not exceed- 

 ingly stupid for an animal supposed to be timid beyond 

 all others. I was in the extreme bow, a white statue. I 

 folded my arms cautiously at the start to cover even my 

 hands. John and the boat were out of sight behind me, 

 and the paddle was invisible and noiseless as we shot 

 across the lake. He was feeding on the grass in the edge 

 of the water, standing broadside to us with his head down. 

 At fifty rods' distance he raised his head and saw us. 

 Stretching up his long neck and turning his head full at 

 us, he stared in astonishment at first, curiosity next, satis- 

 faction at last, for the paddle had stopped, and he only 

 looked at a motionless white mass which resembled noth- 

 ing he ever saw before. As soon as he began to feed 

 again we advanced swiftly some fifteen or twenty rods, 

 when he lifted his head again, and again seemed lost in 

 wonderment. We were not more than thirty rods off, 

 and as he looked at me I looked at him for full two min- 

 utes, but though I could see his eyes he clearly failed to 

 see mine. If he had ever been in the Vatican Gallery he 

 would have recognized the queer object before him. It 

 resembled nothing so much as a herculean torso, without 

 arms, of old marble a little yellowed by earth and age. 

 Certainly he had never before seen a man in a white rub- 

 ber coat, for at length he went to feeding again. Now 



