A HIT AND A MISS 
‘‘we must now go by God and by guess.” 
We had proceeded but a short distance 
when we heard three shots in rapid suc- 
cession. They were fired by one of our 
party, but having found many tracks, we 
had quite enough to occupy our attention. 
We lost them as suddenly as we had come 
upon them, however, and having failed to 
provide lunch, we started for camp, taking 
a circuitous route. 
Observing a small lake in the distance 
we walked toward it, when a half dozen 
grouse broke cover and scattered in the 
trees beyond. We had established a rule 
that small game might be shot when 
returning to camp, so we soon contributed 
a couple to our empty bag. Seeing a third 
alight in a lone tree on the edge of a wind- 
fall, I went after it. While cautiously 
skirting the tangled trees, I heard a dead 
bush crack behind me. Thinking it Emile, 
I did not turn until I heard the report of 
his rifle, and then just in time to see a 
“flag”? disappear in the underbrush. 
The shot was a chance one, the deer 
being on a line with me, and the guide 
could not shoot until it was well out of 
harm’s way. The shot had been effective, 
for we found blood and followed the trail 
for some distance. Failing to find our game 
we returned to camp for lunch. Conspicu- 
ously displayed was the first deer of the 
hunt, a 115-pound buck. The three shots 
we had heard earlier in the morning had 
been well directed. ) 
Lunch over, we hastened to take up the 
hunt of the guide’s wounded deer. We had 
little difficulty in finding the point at 
which we had abandoned it a few hours 
before, for we had blazed a trail, broken 
bushes and put stones on stumps, until 
the way was as well defined as a populated 
thoroughfare. We followed the trail with- 
out a sight of our game until darkness 
overtook us, and then reluctantly turned 
toward camp, but with the firm resolve to 
see the end on the morrow. 
Prepared to remain out all day, we early 
resumed the search next morning. The 
guide occasionally found something to en- 
courage us, or rather him, for I fear my 
obtuseness was at times too glaring. These 
stimulating discoveries seemed to come at 
intervals of a half hour each. My credulity 
245 
was being taxed, when the trail turned 
from the ridge to a swamp below. Emile 
suggested that I remain on the ridge while 
he followed the trail to the swamp. I 
gratefully welcomed the hint, for I am 
free to confess that my soft muscles had 
been sorely tried by those of the superior 
conditioned guide. A convenient log proved 
a solace to my aching limbs. 
Patiently I sat on the log and watched 
and waited. Then I thought of the one 
companion that gives comfort at such times, 
a French briar—darkened by usage and 
rich with the aroma of long service—and 
half filled it, only to remember that its 
fragrance might reach a passing deer, and 
then regretfully prorogued the pleasure. 
The seconds dragged into minutes; the 
minutes seemed interminable. Autumn had 
come and gone, the leaves had lost their 
luster, withered and died; the green pines 
swayed dismally, making more enunciatory 
the cheerless prospect. A chipmunk, efferves- 
cent, radiant in coloring and good humor, 
pityingly eyed me from the eminence of a 
near-by stump. Descending, it danced 
nearer, then back again. I caught the 
spirit of its effulgence and was lifted from 
the passive to the sublime; I was carried 
back to my boyhood days and could hear 
the pat of Uncle Bob’s foot, while the 
call of the prompter came resonantly to 
my ears. 
A bush cracked, down the hillside—the 
past was left to oblivion, and I anxiously 
fingered the trigger of my rifle. There was 
a gradual grade from the ridge to the 
swamp, two hundred yards away. My 
position gave me a commanding view, and, 
running my eyes along the slope, I was 
ready to discredit my sense of hearing, when 
a buck stepped into the open. 
Unconscious of impending peril, grace- 
ful, lithe and agile, he neared my place of 
vantage. Nearer and nearer he came, each 
step augmenting, if possible, the throb 
within me. The deer was now nearly 
opposite, and not thirty yards down the 
slope. He paused momentarily, lifting his 
head, and as he gracefully tossed its four 
prongs back, I knew he had scented 
danger. 
My finger pressed the trigger, the leaden 
missile penetrated just back of the jaw, 
