i68 



RECREATION. 



"This is the very essence of wild- 

 ness, is it not?" 



To which Ben replied by pointing 

 to a moving patch among the bushes 

 on the West shore, 200 yards away. 

 It takes a hunter's instinct and trained 

 sight to distinguish a deer at such a 

 distance when neither end is in sight. 



We watched a moment, then backed 

 water and edged to the other side, 

 only to find that the game had fed 

 back out of sight ; but quietly watch- 

 ing, we saw her soon feeding back to 

 the shore. She owed her life to her 

 sex. 



Tired of paddling, and being near 

 an old lumber road, we tried the 

 shore. I circled while Ben watched the 

 road. Coming back toward the start- 

 ing point, ahead, just out of sight, 

 something sprang away. It proved to 

 be a little buck whose slumber I had 

 disturbed. Ben was 6 rods up the 

 road. Hearing the noise he turned 

 just in time to see the deer and canoe 

 in line and he delayed shooting until 

 intervening brush caused a miss. 



It is surprising how quickly one 

 gets tired of swamps, logs and blow- 

 downs when clear water is at hand. 

 We crossed to the other side. 



"Pardner, it is one o'clock." 



"All right! Here is a good chance 

 for luncheon." 



"And only 5 hardtacks." 



"Well," said Ben, "you build the 

 fire and make tea. I'll get a grouse 

 if possible." 



There is no place where a fire can 

 be more easily built than in a dry 

 cedar swamp. The little axe finds 

 everything handy. Soon a little flame 

 shot up, over which I adjusted the 

 black kettle, hung on a pole of green 

 wood, propped over a log. That done, 

 I took my rifle toward the other side 

 of the hammock from where I last 

 saw Ben. He was returning without 

 game. 



"There is nothing here. We must 

 make hardtack do." 



"The kettle will not boil for 5 min- 



utes," I replied, "time enough to get 

 something yet." 



Ben had not reached the fire when 

 I saw a movement, a leg, a patch of 

 body color, and judging the deer's 

 position, I dropped him in his tracks. 

 How quickly I had help you can 

 imagine. 



The heart and liver we rinsed cold. 

 A tin plate, held in a bend of withe- 

 wood, served as frying-pan. Butter, 

 salt and pepper were at hand, and we 

 did not go hungry. 



Coming down the lake that after- 

 noon we saw another animated pic- 

 ture that will linger long in memory. 

 Far ahead to the left, visions of a 

 deer appearing and disappearing, 

 feeding along the shore. We kept to 

 the right and paddled down to lee- 

 ward, then headed directly toward the 

 spot. 



When we were yet 200 yards away, 

 the deer saw us. 



"Ben, I believe I can put you as 

 near again." 



But no paddle must flash, no lateral 

 motion be seen. Deer are not good 

 judges of straight away distances 

 unless they detect side movements. 

 Our garments were of woodsy tints; 

 the canoe, green; the paddles, not 

 bright, and Ben, in the bow, is a big 

 fellow, so behind him I made all need- 

 ful strokes. 



We glided nearer and nearer. The 

 deer became more and more curious. 

 She came to the water's edge, raised 

 her head, lowered it, moved it side- 

 ways, peered, peeked, stared. We were 

 about 30 yards away. Not a twig 

 hid the beautiful animal from us. 

 Large, fat, and where Ben's keen eye 

 and steady hand could center her 

 forehead with the rifle ball ; but what 

 could we do with so much meat? A 

 buck would not be missed in next 

 fall's count; this doe would count 2 

 or 3 then. 



We shot many a glance at her, how- 

 ever, for she was exquisitely beautiful. 

 Framed between a cedar and a pine, 

 the fir thicket for a background, a cliff 



