A DREAM HUNT. 



C. D. COOPER. 



"Of course," remarked my host, as we 

 sat on the veranda after tea, "an explana- 

 tion is due you." 



Indeed it was, for I was completely mys- 

 tified. In 1892 I visited New York after 

 an absence of 3 years, and, having a week 

 or so to spare, had decided to- look up my 

 old friend Hal. He had given up busi- 

 ness, and had gone to spend the summer 

 and fall in the Adirondacks. Knowing 

 him well, I felt sure my coming, unsoli-' 

 cited and unheralded though it was, would 

 be none the less a pleasant surprise. So 



1 had boarded the train and had been 

 whirled through the State to be dropped 



at W , and met by Hal's coachman 



and trap. 



"You see," explained Hal, "your little 

 surprise would have been complete had it 

 not been for a dream I have had these past 



2 nights. In my sleep I pictured your com- 

 ing and that you and I would go hunting 

 for an old buck famous hereabout, and 

 that I would kill him from this very wheel 

 chair at a place some 15 miles from here. 

 I know the spot well. I hunted there be- 

 fore I became paralyzed, and I feel^onfi- 

 dent this buck will fall a victim to my rifle.' 



"I admit this sounds fairy-tale-like, and 

 I must further admit I was superstitious 

 enough to send Quimbo after you. But 

 you, on your part, must agree that my 

 dream has been verified so far. If you 

 consent we will seek game tomorrow, and 

 then, according to the result, you may 

 either laugh at my superstition or marvel 

 at my prophetic dream." 



The following morning Quimbo placed 

 the guns, camp equipments and my friend's 

 wheel chair in the light farm wagon, and 

 by 6 o'clock we were off. We reached our 

 destination about noon, and after lunch 

 Quimbo and I got the camp into shape. At 

 10 o'clock we drew down the back of Hal's 



adjustable chair and, having seen him set- 

 tled for the night, we turned in. 



At 5 the next morning "we were off to 

 try our luck. Hal was lifted upon the 

 horse/ I -walked -by • his- side and Quimbo 

 followed, partly wheeling, partly carrying, 

 the chair. A mile took us to the spot 

 of which my friend had dreamed. Small 

 tj-ees grew in clumps all about, and a 

 blasted oak, 50 yards to one side, was a 

 Conspicuous feature; but no runway was 

 in sight. 



I After Hal was seated in his chair, with 

 ai forked stick driven by its side, on which 

 tp rest his gun, I started for the lake with 

 the dogs. It had been agreed that I was 

 to hurry back if 2 shots were fired in quick 

 succession. I had not traveled far before 

 the dogs struck scent and were off. A half 

 hour later, while I was walking quietly 

 down a promising looking runway, the 

 hounds gave tongue, apparently coming my 

 way. However, they switched off and 

 started for the lowlands in another direc- 

 tion. In an hour they returned to their 

 starting point ; they had lost the track and 

 were back to try again. 



I was watching the dogs and wondering 

 if- our hunt was to end in failure, when a 

 slight sound back of me attracted my at- 

 tention. There, not 100 yards from me, 

 was our game, making his way through the 

 woods. I fired and missed clearly, but 

 started the buck, and away he went. 



It was useless to follow, and I was on 

 my way back to Hal when 2 shots rang 

 out sharply on the still air. It was our 

 signal; and I pushed on, wondering what 

 could have happened. As I broke through 

 the underbrush, Hal pointed to an object I 

 had failed to notice. 



u "How's that, Charley?" he shouted; 

 "how's that for a dream?" 



Sure enough, he had bagged a buck 

 weighing 196 pounds and having 20 points. 



Wife — How do you like my new hat? 



Husband — The idea of paying big prices 

 for 



"Big prices ! Why, I made it myself." 



"Um — yes — er — as I was saying, the idea 

 of paying big prices for such monstrosi- 

 ties as the milliners are showing ! Now, 

 your hat is a work of art. Looks as if it 

 came from Paris. Beautiful my dear !" — 

 New York Weekly. 



357 



