AN OBSTINATE TRIGGER. 115 
ras, wound its sluggish, peaceful way toward its parent 
stream, the Wabash; and direct for the nearest part of 
this river the deer had gone. Still I could not bring my- 
self to believe that a buck at this season, with plenty of ice 
in the water, would hazard an aquatic performance; but 
my doubts were soon solved; for, on reaching the margin, 
with surprise I saw the deer upon the ledge of ice attached 
to the bank struggling violently to keep his footing, the 
disabled leg, which appeared to hang powerless, evidently 
now causing serious inconvenience to his progress over the 
slippery surface. Such an opportunity to finish my work 
was not to be neglected; so, cocking the rifle, I pitched it 
forward and drew a bead, but still no report followed. All 
my power and exertion could not pull the trigger. Again 
and again I looked at the lock, and essayed another effort, 
but with the same result. At length, in despair, I desisted ; 
and the deer, having altered his mind, came ashore and dis- 
appeared through the tangled brake. Of course, to exam- 
ine the gun and inform myself what was wrong was my 
first thought. My surprise may be well imagined when, 
with all my endeavors, I could not get the hammer down; 
there it would stand; not a particle of compromise was 
in the confounded thing. All my skill in mechanism was 
called into play, all my past experience put to use; and 
* not until my patience was nearly exhausted did I discover 
the use of the second trigger. Discouraged I was; but 
whether most at my own stupidity or want of luck I know 
not. Still hoping for another chance, I followed on in no 
very amiable frame of mind. 
Time fled, and the long shadows of the trees told of the 
rapid approach of night; still not a sight did I further get 
of the buck; and to add to my troubles, the tracks a sec- 
ond time led through ground that hogs had lately fed over. 
Never was I so sorely puzzled. Backward and forward I 
