SQUIRRELS AND SQUIRREL HUNTING. 209 



away beneath the leaves or into some hollow log, before 

 you can reach him when he has fallen, or perhaps may 

 scratch a three-legged way back up to his tree again; 

 and there he will die, in a lingering agony, alone in 

 his beautiful coat of hair, upon the matted and bloody 

 leaves. 



Have you ever had the "buck, fever" when in the 

 woods? Every deer hunter knows what that is. I 

 have at times been taken with it when squirrel hunting, 

 and my rifle would sway most unsteadily as I aimed, 

 while my arms were trembling in the excitement like 

 those of a man with ague, and beads of perspiration 

 stood on my brow. One does not frequently hit the 

 mark when in such a condition; he either pulls the 

 trigger too soon or too late, or in some way misses. 

 Men do not have it ordinarily in mere target prac- 

 tice, but the presence of real, live game at the end of 

 the sights curiously affects a man. 



To hear the crack of a rifle in the woods always 

 stirs my blood. The boom of a shotgun does not have 

 the same music to it, nor does it signify so much; for 

 the rifle speaks to us of the deer, and of a wilder life 

 than shooting on the meadows. I could always tell the 

 sharp report of my Henry from among the many other 

 sounds of the guns, if I heard it from a distance when 

 the boys had borrowed it for the day. I loved the 

 sound of it. Indeed, a man's trusty rifle is almost as 

 much a favorite and as good a friend as his faithful 

 dog. Leatherstocking, you remember, carved his 

 "marks" upon his, and notched the stock whenever he 

 killed a deer. So, I have sometimes seen names and 

 emblematic devices cut upon the wood, perhaps while 



