The Wbitetail Deer 83 



though I have never been willing to repeat it. 

 I was at the time camped out in the Adiron- 

 dacks. 



Two or three of us, all boys of fifteen or six- 

 teen, had been enjoying what was practically our 

 first experience in camping out, having gone out 

 with two guides, Hank Martin and Mose Sawyer, 

 from Paul Smith's on Lake St. Regis. My brother 

 and cousin were fond of fishing and I was not, so 

 I was deputed to try to bring in a deer. I had 

 a double-barrelled i2-bore gun, French pin-fire, 

 with which I had industriously collected " speci- 

 mens " on a trip to Egypt and around Oyster Bay, 

 Long Island ; except for three or four enthralling, 

 but not oversuccessful, days, after woodcock and 

 quail, around the latter place, I had done no game 

 shooting. As to every healthy boy with a taste 

 for outdoor life, the northern forests were to me 

 a veritable land of enchantment. We were en- 

 camped by a stream among the tall pines, and I 

 had enjoyed everything ; poling and paddling 

 the boat, tramping through the woods, the cries 

 of chickaree and chipmunk, of jay, woodpecker, 

 chickadee, nuthatch, and cross-bill, which broke 

 the forest stillness ; and, above all, the great 

 reaches of sombre woodland themselves. The 

 heart-shaped footprints which showed where the 

 deer had come down to drink and feed on 

 the marshy edges of the water made my veins 



