SHOOTING A BUCK. 199 



shooting distance of his game. He advances again ; but now 

 very slowly. He has reached the declivity, upon which the 

 sun shines in all its glowing splendour ; but mark him, he 

 takes the gun from his shoulder, has already thrown aside the 

 leather covering of the lock, and is wiping the edge of his flint 

 with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental figure, 

 perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and 

 the game which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, 

 the report follows, and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I 

 speak to him, and ask him the result of this first essay ? 

 ' Pray, friend, what have you killed ?' for to say, ' What 

 have you shot at ?' might imply the possibility of his having 

 missed, and so might hurt his feelings. ' Nothing but a 

 buck.' ' And where is it ?' ' Oh, it has taken a jump 

 or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball 

 struck, and must have gone through his heart.' We arrived 

 at the spot where the animal had laid itself down on the 

 grass, in a thicket of grape-vines, sumachs, and spruce-bushes, 

 where it intended to repose during the middle of the day. 

 The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the deer have 

 left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies 

 produced by its wound ; but the blood that has gushed from 

 its side discloses the course which it has taken. We soon reach 

 the spot. There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its 

 breath exhausted ; it is dead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts 

 the buck's throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it. For 

 this purpose he hangs it upon the branch of a tree. When the 

 skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the rest 

 of the carcass to the wolves and vultures, reloads his gun, flings 

 the venison, enclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with 

 a strap, and walks off in search of more game, well knowing 

 that in the immediate neighbourhood another at least is to be 

 found. 



" Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have sought 

 for the buck along the shadowy side of the hills. Had it been 

 the spring season, he would have led us through some thick 

 cane brake, to the margin of some remote lake, where you would 

 have seen the deer immersed to his head in the water, to save 

 his body from the tormenting mosquitoes. Had winter over- 



