THE DEER OE OTTER S TOUGH. 



349 



I shall never forget. At the farther end 

 of the slough stood a deer. The rays of 

 the setting sun fell on his sleek and shin- 

 ing sides, and his shadow was reflected in 

 a golden frame on the water. 



A slender foot was raised, a cloud of 

 spray glistened a moment in the sun and 

 then fell slowly on his reddish sides. 

 There was not a ripple on the water as the 

 canoe crept noiselessly forward. Suddenly 

 the deer raised his head, shook his great 

 antlers, and looked curiously at the canoe, 

 which instantly became motionless. For a 

 long time his great, inquisitive eyes rested 

 on us. Every moment I expected to see 

 him wheel about and dash into the bushes. 

 At last he seemed satisfied that the strange 

 object would do him no harm. He low- 

 ered his head, and again the canoe stole 

 noiselessly forward. The nervous strain 

 was intense. I counted the prongs on his 

 antlers and watched the swinging tail, but 

 it was no use. I was shaking like a leaf. 

 Suddenly he lifted his head, stepped care- 

 fully to the bank, and threw his nostrils to 

 the breeze. 



He had winded danger and would soon 

 be off. "Now!" sounded on my ears, as if 

 miles away. I raised the rifle. The sights 

 seemed playing tag up and down the bar- 

 rel. I looked for the deer, but could not 

 see beyond my rifle. A bank of mist ap- 

 peared to shut me from the shore, and my 

 gun shook frightfully. The buck fever was 

 upon me. Manv disconnected thoughts 

 chased one another through my brain; 

 then I thought, What will my companion 

 think of me? That was the remedy. The 

 curtain of mist disappeared as if by magic, 

 the sights braced themselves on the barrel, 



and I smiled with confidence as I felt my 

 hands grow steady. It was a long shot, 

 but I felt equal to it. The sights hov- 

 ered a minute on his great neck and then 

 settled on the white spot just back of the 

 shoulder. Bang! 



"Yer've got him," said my companion. 

 With one bound the deer disappeared 

 among the bushes. 



"There," said I, "another chance gone, 

 and I thought the aim was perfect." 



I felt disheartened when we landed, but 

 after a few minutes' search we found him 

 in a bushy ravine, with a bullet hole 

 through his heart. After dressing him on 

 the runway, so as to scare away all deer 

 from the fatal slough, and spoil the old 

 hunter's illegitimate sport, we loaded the 

 prize into the canoe and started for camp. 

 I was then the proudest and happiest boy 

 in the land, and I still have in my room a 

 beautiful buck's rug and antlers to remind 

 me of my first deer. 



ANSWER. 



A good story and well told, but Mr. 

 Bradford seems to go lame in his ethics. 

 He intimates he killed this deer in the 

 summer season, when, of course, the law 

 of Wisconsin prohibits the killing of deer; 

 yet he condemns the old hunter for doing 

 or attempting to do the same thing. This 

 is wrong. Neither man had any right to 

 kill a deer or to hunt deer in close season, 

 but if Mr. Bradford saw fit to violate the 

 game law, he certainly had no cause to 

 criticise the old woodsman for doing or at- 

 tempting to do the same thing. Neither 

 had his guide any right to object to his 

 neighbor killing as long as he was aiding 

 his guest in doing so. — Editor. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY F, S. MERRILL: 



COLUMBIAN GROUND SQUIRREL. Spermophilus Columbianus. 

 Highly commended in Recreation's Fifth Annual Photo Competition. 



