A REGISTERED VOW. 117 
and visions of a good dinner, comfortable fire, and dry 
clothes floated before me. Hark! what is that—a dog 
barking? And so it was. ForwardI pushed to the sound, 
and, in doing so, came across a road, which, on inspection, 
I recognized as one we had traversed in the morning. The 
rest of the programme for that day was plain sailing. I 
found my pony where he was left, my friend’s horse being 
gone; so, concluding Will had made tracks for home, I 
mounted my fiery little nag, and with a sufficiently tight 
rein to guard against accidents, rattled homie almost at ra- 
cing pace. It was nearly two hours afterward that Will 
turned up, wet and exhausted—down upon his luck, and 
deer in particular — vowing that he would be up with the 
sun in the morning, and not return till he could boast of 
not having been beaten by a broken-legged deer when there 
was enough snow to track. My defeat had similarly oper- 
ated on myself,so that we mutually agreed to devote the 
morrow, blow or snow, to re-establish our tarnished honor. 
The morning was well suited for our task, still and clear, 
with just sufficient frost in the atmosphere to give zest to 
traveling. The track was easily found, my back track be- 
ing taken as the guide. 
In ten minutes we again had our game afoot, but with- 
out getting a shot, the animal having doubled round before 
lying down, and, consequently, rising behind us. The bed 
where he had passed the night was soiled with blood, and 
other indications were such as to justify us in hoping early 
success. Although perseverance is generally rewarded, it 
was not so on this occasion. Hour after hour slipped by, 
the game appeared to moderate its pace in accordance with 
ours—just keeping sufficiently ahead to be out of range. 
The badness of the walking (for a thaw had commenced), 
the continued disappointment, and the difficulty of follow- 
ing through the bush, commenced to operate upon our 
