THE CHASE. 403 
the lake. ‘“ There,” said Stockton, “ is the first full realization I 
have ever seen of Landseer’s glorious picture, ‘The Monarch of 
the Glen.’”” And so it was. The ideal of the great artist stood 
before us in all his magnificence, an actual verity. There stood 
the monarch of the forest in the border of the quiet lake, where 
the deep solitude is rarely broken by invading man, not dreaming 
there were enemies before him more dangerous than those behind, 
of escape from which he now felt assured. “ Hist,” said the 
Indian, and the word fairly hissed between his teeth, “ he come 
here straight,” and at the same instant the deer plumped into 
the deep water and swam directly towards us. No one moved, 
but if truth must be told, there was hard breathing in that canoe 
as the deer rapidly approached us. When he was within fifty 
yards or less, the Indian rose to his feet, gave a loud whoop, and 
dashed his paddle into the water. At the same instant the deer 
turned for shore, and swam like a race-horse. That Indian was 
too economical to allow the deer to be killed without a race. The 
canoe fairly flew through the water, not directly after the deer, 
but around him, so as to cut off his retreat, and in a time too 
short to be reckoned in the excitement of the moment, the deer 
was again turned into the lake. The race was short. I had 
picked up the rifle the instant the Indian whooped, and held it 
ready. The deer swam high, the top of his hips and part of his 
neck always out of water; still he constantly rose and settled in 
the water as he progressed. When within about twenty-five 
yards of the deer, the Indian turned the bow of the canoe out of 
‘the line of the chase, and said, “* Shoot.” I needed no second 
bidding. I aimed to strike him in the head, just back of the 
antlers, but as I pulled, the head settled, — we must always find 
an excuse for a bad miss,—and the ball passed between the 
antlers, very close, of course, and struck the water just ahead of 
him. Thanks to the Springfield breech-loader, the reprieve was 
short. The next time I held for the neck, and the ball crashed 
through it, and came out just so as to miss the under jaw. The 
deer dove, as you have often seen a muskrat dive, throwing the 
hind parts considerably out of water, owing to the momentum, 
Still the Indian was well up to his work. With a great exertion 
he shot the canoe to the spot before the deer had sunk below the 
reach of his paddle, which he dipped beneath the antlers, and 
raised him up so I could reach them. The Indian was master of 
the situation, for so long as he followed the deer directly, my 
friend was always in the way, so I could not shoot, but if the 
