A CUTE OLD FOX. 



123 



and soon we heard the distant baying of 

 the hounds, on the mountain side. The day 

 was perfect. A slight breeze came from the 

 mountain, bringing to our ears every note 

 uttered by the dogs, from which the deer 

 was fleeing for his life. 



Every man was quietly but anxiously 

 watching every foot of shore within his 

 view, for the approach of the noble animal. 

 The baying of the hounds, which at first 

 seemed to grow louder, was beginning to 

 be fainter. The deer had apparently headed 

 for Loon or Pope bay, in the Lower Sar- 

 anac. Soon all sounds of the dogs ceased, 

 and nothing was heard but the dismal 

 "caw!" "caw!" of a crow, or the occa- 

 sional drumming of a grouse. At last the 

 music of the hounds again reached our ears, 

 and grew louder and louder until it seemed 

 the dogs were within a stone's throw. I 

 could hear the crackling of the underbrush 

 in the woods, and momentarily expected to 

 see the deer break cover. But no! The 

 frightened animal plunged on, and a few 

 minutes later came the dog, emitting a loud, 

 sharp bark at every bound. My heart beat 

 rapidly. The perspiration stood in heavy 

 drops on my brow. The excitement was 

 intense. Soon the report of a rifle woke 

 the echoes, followed by 2 others in quick 

 succession. I waited a half hour in silence, 

 but hearing nothing more, rowed rapidly 

 to the haystack. Here I found an old man, 

 who, in trembling tones, told me a buck 

 had shortly before come in, directly above 

 the haystack— that a young man had shot 

 him, and, loading him into his boat, had 

 disappeared up the stream. Seeing the old 

 man carried a gun, I asked him if he had 

 fired at the deer. 



" No," he said; " I tried to, but the gun 

 wouldn't go." Examining his rifle, I found 

 that, in his excitement, he had failed to 

 bring the breech to place, and so was 

 cheated out of his shot. 



Rowing rapidly to camp, I found all the 

 party there, save Clark, and a 4 prong buck- 

 hanging, head downward, from a tree. The 

 mail agent sat modestly in the back ground, 

 wiping his brow and trying to hide his ex- 

 citement, but could not. 



The second day 2 of our dogs drove deer 

 to water not commanded by any of us, 

 while the third drove in a spike horn buck, 

 which was captured by Mr. Balch. 



The third day was the banner day of the 

 hunt. Three deer were driven into Round 

 lake and captured. Two of these were does, 

 and the third, a buck, was proudly towed 

 ashore by the Doctor. 



Our photographer took pictures of the 

 camp, the deer, and the party, after which 

 we held a jollification meeting. Every- 

 thing was again packed securely, the boats 

 loaded, and the homeward journey begun. 



After all, I cannot conscientiously say I 

 approve of this method of hunting deer. 

 To set hounds on" the track of the most 

 noble animal that roams the forest, forc- 

 ing him to seek refuge in the water, every 

 avenue to which is guarded by armed men, 

 who shoot down the game in cold blood, 

 while it is desperately and helplessly strug- 

 gling for liberty, seems to me nothing less 

 than slaughter. It has nothing in it to 

 commend it to true sportsmen. 



Should all methods of hunting deer, save 

 still-hunting, be abolished, I believe that 

 in less than 5 years any novice could enter 

 these woods, alone, unaided and kill his 

 deer. 



Let man place his superior knowledge 

 against the instinct of the animal and each 

 is on an equal footing. If the hunter, by 

 his ingenuity, can steal upon and bag his 

 game, without resorting to unfair methods, 

 he will enjoy the sport and be entitled to 

 the reward; but if the deer can cunningly 

 outwit him, he has earned his liberty and 

 should be allowed it. 



A CUTE OLD FOX. 



EUGENE C. DERBY. 



" Speakin' about fox huntin'," began 

 Lon, " I had a strange experience once, an' 

 while it sounds a little like some of the 

 stories we read, I ain't spinnin' no yarns 

 'thout a ghost of a foundation. 



" One mornin' in October, a number of 

 years ago, Sol and I took our hounds, 

 Hunter and Tige, and struck through the 

 burnt patch, toward the South ridges; 

 where we felt certain of startin' a fox with- 

 out much fuss. 



" Sol took the dogs along the base of the 

 Little mountain ridges, to skirt the edge of 

 the Basin; while I hustled off toward Whit- 



tier hill. I was purty well blowed when at 

 last I climbed the ridge an' gained my old 

 stand, on the top of the June-grass knoll; 

 an' I hadn't waited 5 minutes afore I heard 

 Hunter open up, more 'n a mile .away. 



"The dogs circled once or twice; Hun- 

 ter soundin', now and then, in a deep, mel- 

 low bass that was rich music, I can tell ye; 

 while Tige jest kep' his nose to the trail 

 and led off like a drum major. I could see 

 'em once in a while, as they figured around 

 among the scrub trees in the old orchard 

 under Felch hill. 



" Well, by-'n-by Sol showed up on the 



