JACK-SHOOTING IN A FOGGY NIGHT. 183 



I saw that the deer was in the act of getting up ! 

 The ball, as we afterward discovered, had glanced 

 along the front of the skull, barely creasing the 

 skin. It had touched the bone slightly, and 

 stunned him so that he dropped ; but beyond this, 

 it had not. hurt him in the least. Quick as 

 thought, I put my foot against his shoulder and 

 pushed him over. "Martin," I cried, "this deer 

 is n't dead ; he 's trying to get up. What shall I 

 do?" 



" Not dead ! " exclaimed he, shouting from the 

 middle of the river through the dense fog. 



" No, he is n't dead ; far from it. He is mighty 

 lively, and getting more and more so," I returned, 

 now having my hands full to keep the deer down. 

 " Come out and help me. AVhat shall I do ? " 



" Get hold of his hind leg ; I '11 be with you in 

 a minute," was the answer. 



I did as directed. I laid hold of his left hind leg, 

 just above the fetlocks, and sprang to my feet. 



Eeader, did you ever seize a pig by the hind 

 leg ? If so, multiply that pig by ten ; for every 

 twitch he gives, count six ; lash a big lantern to 

 your head ; fancy yourself standing alone on a 

 swampy marsh in a dark, foggy night, with a rifle 

 in your left hand, and being twitched about among 

 the bogs and in and out of muskrat-holes, until 

 your whole system seems on the point of a sepa- 

 ration which shall send you in a thousand in- 



