THE DEER OF OTTER SLOUGH. 



A. E. BRADFORD. 



Breakfast was over, and I sat viewing 

 the smutty, greasy kettles and spiders with 

 dread and disgust. It had been my duty, 

 ever since we had been out, to wash those 

 dirty spiders, and greatly I disliked the 

 job. I did not think it best to complain, 

 for my only companion in camp was an old 

 hunter, whom I regarded with much awe 

 and respect. 



Our camp was on a \ittle lake, in the 

 wilds of Northern Wisconsin. Before 

 starting on the trip my guide and com- 

 panion had promised me a chance to kill 

 a deer. He had certainly performed his 

 part of the contract, for the day before I 

 had seen one, but failed to bring it down. 

 To be sure, the skin of that same deer 

 was nailed on the side of our camp, and a 

 goodly portion of the venison served for 

 our morning meal; but it was no credit to 

 me and both sight and taste only reminded 

 me of my failure. In short, I was in fit 

 condition to strike, and had resolved never 

 to wash those miserable spiders again 

 when my usually silent companion spoke. 



"Well, boy, I reckon you've got enough 

 huntin' ter last yer over ter day, so I guess 

 yer'd better go ter Cable arter the mail. 

 What der yer think?" 



Of course, I thought so too. I never 

 disagreed with him. 



"I'll take yer up ter the head of the lake, 

 and yer can hoof it the rest of the way. 

 I've got some berries to pick and some 

 lookin' 'round ter do up thar, and I'll be 

 ready to come back 'bout the time yer 

 back ter the head of the lake." 



I set about preparing my rifle and the 

 canoe, and we were soon off, he as silent 

 as ever, and I congratulating myself on 

 having escaped washing those spiders. 

 After a paddle of about an hour, we 

 reached the head of the lake, where we 

 were surprised to find a camp inhabited by 

 an old man. 



"Ugh," said my companion, as we came 

 in sight of the camp; "I thought so." 



I suspected something unusual was in 

 the wind, but knew it would be useless to 

 ask questions. 



"If I h'aint here when yer get back, just 

 fire 3 shots and I'll be here in a jiff." 



This I knew was my signal to depart, 

 so I started up the well beaten track to 

 Cable. It was about 4 o'clock when I re- 

 turned. No one was in sight, so I fired 

 the 3 shots as directed. Almost imme- 

 diately the canoe shot from a small bay 

 on the other side of the lake and came 

 slowly toward me. Besides my guide, it 

 contained the old man from . the camp 



near by. As the bow grated lightly on the 

 sand the old man stepped carefully out and 

 I took his place. After a friendly farewell 

 we departed. 



"The old rascal," said my companion, 

 after a few minutes' silence; "thought he 

 was mighty smart, but it don't swallow, no 

 how." 



After persistent questioning, I learned 

 that the old man made a living by killing 

 game out of season, and that it was his 

 custom at that time of year to kill the 

 young deer which came at sunset to the 

 edge of the lake to feed on the tender grass 

 along the shore. In that way he not only 

 broke the law, but ruined the shooting for 

 honest hunters. Suddenly my guide said, 



"He pretends to be pickin' berries, but 

 I see through it in a jiff. I ain't goin' ter 

 have this country spi'led fer honest men, 

 not if I kin help it." 



Our plan was to paddle straight to 

 our camp, and after changing canoes to 

 hasten back to Otter slough, the principal 

 feeding place of the deer. The task was 

 to reach there by sunset; the reward, 

 another chance to kill a deer. After a 

 long, hard pull in silence, we finally 

 reached the camp, and soon were on the 

 way back in a much lighter canoe. It 

 seemed hardly to touch the water, so swift 

 was its motion, yet to me it appeared an 

 age before we reached the narrows which 

 led to the slough. There we stopped for my 

 final direction. I was assigned a position 

 in the front of the canoe, with my rifle 

 resting across my knees. 



"Arter we git through the narrers, we'll 

 come to a small bay. There won't be any- 

 thing in that bay, but ahead of yer ye'll 

 see a long p'int o' land. Look sharp 

 when we go 'round thar, for ye'll see a 

 deer sure, way down t'other end of the 

 slew. Now, when we go 'round that pint 

 and yer see that deer, pint the muzzle of 

 yer gun at him, but leave it lyin' on yer 

 knee. Yer can move it up an' down if yer 

 want ter, but don't move it an inch to the 

 right 'r left. If yer do the deer'll see it 

 sartin, and away he'll go. Now, remem- 

 ber, don't get shaky, sit still, don't look at 

 me once, and, above all, don't shoot till I 

 say 'Now!'" 



We entered the narrows, reached the 

 bay, and there before me lay the point of 

 land. As we approached this, all noise 

 of the paddle ceased, yet we glided as if 

 by magic nearer and nearer the point, 

 which seemed to stretch itself farther and 

 farther into the bay. At last we were 

 around it, and there before me was a sight 



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