
BILLY, THE COOK, TAKES A FAREWELL LOOK THROUGH THE GLASS 
across country on the crust with the dogs, and 
get on either this or St. George’s lookout, 
where the Old Man and Sam went. Then, 
when we see where the deer are, we leave 
the sledge and go for ’em on snowshoes. 
Sometimes they be right close by, some- 
times we see a herd two or three miles 
away, just gray specks on the snow, 
scattered out like crumbs. I’ve counted 
over 150. I’ve seen the snow scraped off 
whole square acres clean down to the moss 
out there, like as it had been shoveled.” 
Billy spoke in a grave, reverent tone, as 
though we sat now in the presence of a 
stupendous past. 
“If the deer pass down this lead from 
the north now,” said I, looking for flaws 
in the evidence, “‘why do they come back 
in the winter ?” 
“They don’t,” explained Billy. ‘These 
September deer goes down south. The 
ones that stay here don’t come till Novem- 
ber. They’re the last to get here, and they 
winter here. I’ve killed three with one 
dose of slugs from my old Snider sealin’ 
gun right from where we are sitting now.” 
It had begun to grow chilly sitting still 
and I got up on my feet to get my blood 
moving. 
“Billy,” said I, “do you see that white 
boulder away up there to the north, just 
at the corner of the trees.”’ 
“Yes,” admitted Billy. 
“Watch it for a minute and you'll see it 
move,” said I. 
‘‘ By Christopher! it’s a stag—see, there’s 
another—a whole company of deer,” 
cried Billy. We sat there staring till the 
tears came into our eyes, before we remem- 
bered to put the glasses on them. 
“Five,” said I. “‘No, seven and three 
more—little ones—fawns, I guess. One, 
two, three, four, five more—that’s fifteen. 
Here, take a look, Billy, and try if you can 
see horns.”’ 
The band had just come over the horizon, 
where the gentle slope met the skyline two 
miles or so to the north. They were walking 
in fits and starts, browsing on the moss for 
short intervals, heads down like sheep, 
then hurrying forward again, at a rapid 
walk, single file for the most part, but 
spread out irregularly at the rear of the 
line. 
“Yes, sir,” Billy, announced, ‘‘there’s a 
stag there; I can see his horns rocking like a 
ship when he walks. Yes, sir—a good 
head—a good head he is, too.” 
‘“‘Here, let me have a look through those 
glasses,” said I. 
They were coming rapidly down the 
lead, near enough now for me to distinguish 
them as brown instead of the neutral, non- 
descript gray which most living things 
appear at a distance. The stag proudly 
bringing up the rear wore a neck and 

