92 



RECREATION. 



He hesitated. He seemed weary, and 

 I thought I saw that same fear in his eyes 

 I had noticed before ; but I did not mean to 

 lose Slewfoot then. With some temper 

 manifest in face and gesture 1 motioned 

 Taurus to go in and force the buck out. He 

 turned and was gone. I took my stand at 

 the best place, facing to catch the light 

 from the setting sun on the rifle sights. 

 In a moment I heard Taurus leap into the 

 palmetto with a great noise, and instantly 

 the startled buck sprang up and came on 

 to his death. I held my fire until he was 

 within 30 feet and broadside on. The 

 bullet crashed through his body and he 

 fell. 



I ran forward. The buck sprang up and 

 bore down on me. I threw in another car- 

 tridge while stepping backward, and as I 

 did so was tripped by a loop of grape vine 

 and fell prone on my back, the cartridge 

 exploding overhead. The buck charged, 

 but the same vine that tripped me caught 

 in his horns and swung him upward and 

 outward from me. He disentangled his 

 antlers and again charged, as I was getting 

 to my feet. 



Taurus came up with a great rush. He 

 threw himself directly between the buck 

 and me, and caught him by the neck. Quick 

 as thought the animal tossed Taurus high 

 in air and he fell at the base of a large pine. 

 In a second the infuriated deer was upon 

 him. I fired and the bullet went through 

 Slewfoot's heart, but it was a half second 

 too late. His horns went through _ and 

 through the prostrate form of my friend, 

 bending his body like a hoop around the 

 base of the tree. There was a wide opening 

 of the Colonel's eyes, a shiver, and he was 

 dead. 



Steve Tatum came from camp at my call, 

 and we considered what we should do. It 

 was 30 miles home and night was coming 



on. It was preposterous to think of haul- 

 ing the mangled body of Taurus 30 miles 

 in a hunting wagon. When the full moon 

 was high and no sound was heard save the 

 hooting of owls, Steve and I dug a grave 

 with an axe and a board, and by tearing up 

 our 2 camp chests made a box long enough 

 for a rude coffin. In this we placed the body 

 of my silent friend, and as we looked at him 

 for the last time we did not try to suppress 

 our tears. 



He rests out there now on the highest 

 sand ridge at the North end of Crooked 

 lake. From his grave you can see the 

 water glinting for miles to the Southward. 

 It is a pretty place, but solemnly lonely, 

 and perhaps Slewfoot's progeny browse at 

 night near the grave of my friend. 



I do not hunt much now, but I go out 

 to Crooked lake in the heated term to rus- 

 ticate, and, if the truth must be told, to be 

 near Colonel Taurus. On one of my re- 

 cent trips I carried a marble slab that now 

 stands at his head as a testimonial of my 

 regard. On it one reads : 



Hie jacet, 

 Colonel Taurus, 



Who died down yonder 

 where the antlers are nailed 

 to the pine, that I, whom he 



loved, might live. 



Like Byron, the cynic, I erect 



this stone to the memory 



of my Best Friend, 



A DOG. 



The ornithorhyncus went over the hill 

 To view the remains of a pterodactyl. 

 "A queer bird was Terry, 

 A funny one, very" ; 

 Said the ornithoryncus a-scratching his 

 bill. 

 — Carolyn Wells, in Judge. 



