86 THE STILL-HUNTER. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE FIRST SIGHT OF GAME. 



BY the first shimmer of light from the eastern arch 

 you tread again the oak ridges. Disappointment in- 

 stead of discouraging you has only spurred your 

 spirits to the prancing point. The woods, too, begin 

 to seem more like home than before, and your eyes 

 take in with swifter and more comprehensive glance 

 the various sights of the forest. Far quicker and 

 farther than ever before and with only a side glance 

 you detect the tip of the squirrel's bushy tail or his 

 little ears as he peers inquiringly at you through 

 some fork of a tree. Almost without looking you see 

 the ruffed grouse spread his banded fan-like tail and 

 walk over the dead leaves in the heavy thicket 

 along the creek. And far faster and more keenly 

 your eye darts down the long forest aisles and 

 among the dark colonnades of tree-trunks, and sees 

 everything very much more plainly than before. All 

 but the thing you wish to see! All around you are 

 tokens enough of its recent presence, but it seems a 

 kind of spiritual slipperiness that eludes all your 

 senses. 



You will now observe all the precautions given you 

 before and wind along and over the ridges, sometimes 

 crossing them directly, sometimes quartering over 

 them, sometimes traveling behind the crest, some- 

 times moving dire-oily upon the top; according to 



