A NIGHT HUNT UP THE CUNGAMUNCK. 501 . 
midnight has crushed the world, the wide and mighty 
world, into that little circle of light with its wizard shapes, 
‘thronging above and around us—all else is void—nothing! 
nothing ! 
Ha! close to my hand a little summer duck comes swim- 
ming. That looks as if there were an outer world—a 
something beyond this wizzard chaos! See it comes close in 
our charmed circle—it cannot get away. Its great black 
eyes shine still, as if it were in a dream of dazzled splendors, 
it does not see us, it moves as the sleep walker moves, round 
and round, yet not away. There, I had nearly caught it 
with my hand, but it glided like a beam-eyed shadow from 
beneath my grasp. It seems as ghostly as all else here. 
Hark! a splashing plunge in the deep marsh to our right, 
that sounds like earth—like a reality! 
“Hist!” says George, in a whisper, “rise up! rise softly, 
he stands there—over the bushes—see his eyes !’’ 
“Steady, George.” I rise as carefully as my stiffened limbs 
would permit, and now the mist-wreaths on an eddy of the 
night-wind rise with me. Slowly! slowly! See the antlered 
head above the cover and the shining eyes. A shrill, loud 
whistle—I fire as he bounds—a heavy plunge—a struggle in 
the tossing covert and all is still! 
“Youve got him! you got him that time, sir!” shouted 
George, and the sound of his human voice broke the spell 
that was upon me, as of a heavy vision, and with a long 
breath of suppressed excitement, I plunge after him to 
assist in dragging our prey to the boat. It was a fine buck, 
and I had shot him between the eyes. Ah, that was a 
moment of cruel exultation, but I will not tell you how I 
triumphed at the blank looks of poor Piscator, when, as he 
took his seat now in front, we discovered that the lights 
were nearly exhausted, and that there would be little chance 
for him to get a shot at ali! The candles soon gave out, 
