WHERE THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENED. 



3^5 



"We'll have a deer this morning, sure," 

 he said. 



At 8 o'clock I took my shot gun and 

 Bob his rifle, and we were off. We tramped 

 more than 2 hours and were beginning 

 to feel discouraged when suddenly a buck 

 started from behind an evergreen and tore 

 off to our right. I dropped my glasses 

 in the snow, and swinging around, fired 

 both barrels, then stood kicking myself in 

 disappointment, while Bob dropped on one 

 knee and cut the twigs off the bushes around 

 the deer as fast as he could pump shells. 

 The last we saw of the buck he was ap- 

 parently unhurt. 



We tramped on, changing our course to- 

 ward the camp, and in crossing a wooded 

 ridge we flushed a flock of 9 ruffed grouse. 

 Bob stood and laughed at me while I took 

 the 2 buck shot shells out of my gun and 

 put in No. 8's. I had marked the course 

 of the birds and soon there was a flutter 

 over my head and a shower of snow from 

 a hemlock as one of them dived through 

 the tree tops and started for some distant 

 clime. I took a chance shot at him as he 

 crossed an opening ahead. He turned in 

 mid air, and, making a circle, gradually 

 came to the ground. When I picked him 

 up I found that one shot had gone through 

 both his eyes. As I turned back to where 

 Bob was, another grouse broke cover, but 

 I missed her with the right barrel, and 

 was just in time to use the left with better 

 success on another which attempted to fol- 

 low her. As the others seemed to be well 

 scattered we did not attempt to find them, 

 but went on toward camp. 



The next morning we started for what 

 Bob called the great tamarack swamp, where 

 we had seen signs of deer, and I was not 

 much surprised when I stepped around a 

 ledge of rocks and saw a buck feeding 

 about 50 yards away. I dropped back in 

 my tracks, leveled my gun on a spot be- 

 hind his shoulder and pulled the trigger. 

 With a snort he leaped high in the air 

 and then turning, as if confused and not 

 realizing from what point the attack came, 

 he dashed down toward me with great 

 bounds, to give me a broadside shot at 

 close quarters. The left barrel was ready, 

 and with a second report he tumbled head- 

 long. I quickly jammed in another shell, 

 but he was dead before I reached him, 

 one of the buck shot having entered his heart. 



I fired 2 shots, a signal for Bob, who 

 joined me at once. We bled the deer, im- 

 provised a drag and hauled the carcass 

 to camp. 



That night the weather turned still colder 

 and more snow fell. The brook was a 

 mass of clustering icicles, bordered by a 

 dainty lacework of frost. Bob started out 

 for a buck and left me to look for some 

 birds around the camp. I found the snow 

 deep, but succeeded in getting 2 ruffed 

 and one Canadian, or spruce, grouse. Then 

 I turned back and when a short distance 

 from our camp I saw a beautiful buck. 

 He was too far away for me to reach him 

 with buck shot, and in a fever of helpless 

 excitement I stood and watched him. It 

 was evident that he had come down to the 

 pond, to drink, and finding it covered with 

 ice had followed the course of the brook 

 until he found a place where the water 

 flowed so rapidly that it had remained un- 

 frozen. He would partly kneel as he 

 leaned over the bank and took a long 

 draught, then standing erect would shake 

 his beautiful antlers while scanning the 

 country around in search of a foe before 

 again taking a drink. I sought cover be- 

 hind an evergreen scrub, hoping he might 

 come near enough to give rne a shot. At 

 last he was through drinking, and climbing 

 the bank he stepped out on the knoll and 

 stood silhouetted against the white back- 

 ground, an ideal picture of a sportsman's 

 desire. 



Then an unexpected thing happened. 

 From a point in the evergreens near me 

 a rifle spoke, clearly and sharply, and in 

 response to the shot the magnificent old 

 fellow went down on his knees, then strug- 

 gled up again and staggered forward. 

 Again the rifle cracked and I saw the spot 

 where the bullet tore through the snow 

 just back of the deer and sent a shower of 

 white flakes into the air. Twice again 

 came that clear report, and then Bob broke 

 cover. Leaping through the snow he ran 

 across the clearing to where the deer was 

 struggling, and with a shout I followed, 

 arriving just in time to see the buck give 

 his last kick. 



We dragged the buck to the tent, and 

 after skinning our quarries, leaving their 

 heads so they could be mounted, we wrapped 

 the hind quarters in the skins and made 

 bundles of them. We then built a rude 

 sledge and the next morning Ave started 

 home. 



You should not hunt deer with a shot 

 gun. An animal of that size has little 

 chance of escape from a charge of buck 

 shot at short range. Use a rifle and give 

 the game a fair show. — Editor. 



He — Sweetheart, would you mind chang- 

 ing to the other knee? 



She — No, darling, not if it will put any 

 more spirit into you. — Life. 



