236 Life of Audubon. 



of our deer, were it not my intention to lay before yoa 

 at some future period, in the form of a distinct work, the 

 observations which I have made on the various quadru- 

 peds of our extensive territories. 



"We shall suppose that we are now about to follow 

 the true hunter, as the still hunter is also called, through 

 the interior of the tangled woods, across morasses, ra- 

 vines, and such places, where the game may prove more 

 or less plentiful, even should none be found there in the 

 first instance. We shall allow our hunter all the agility, 

 patience, and care which his occupation requires, and 

 will march in his rear, as if we were spies watching all 

 his motions. His dress, you observe, consists of a leath- 

 ern hunting-shirt, and a pair of trousers of the same ma- 

 terial. His feet are well moccasined ; he wears a belt 

 round his waist ; his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny 

 shoulder ; on one side hangs his ball-pouch, surmounted 

 by the horn of an ancient buffalo, once the terror of the 

 herd, but now containing a pound of the best gunpowder. 

 His butcher-knife is scabbarded in the same strap ; and 

 behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been 

 thrust through his girdle. He walks with so rapid a step 

 that probably few men besides ourselves, that is, myself 

 and my kind reader, could follow him, unless for a short 

 distance, in their anxiety to witness his ruthless deeds. 

 He stops, looks at the flint of his gun, its priming, and 

 the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye to- 

 wards the sky, to judge of the course most likely to lead 

 him to the game. 



" The heavens are clear, the red glare of the sun 

 gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, 

 the clew hangs in pearly drops at the top of every leaf. 

 Already has the emerald hue of the foliage been convert- 

 ed into the more glowing tints of our autumnal months. 

 A slight frost appears on the fence rails of his little 

 corn-field. 



