1^4 
2ST AND S'l-i^ 
ground by the wounded beast and its growling and gasp- 
ing growing fainter, till scarcely heard above the babble cf 
the brook, and their own hard breathing, Sammy began 
reloading his gun, 
"What be him?" Polly asked, when she found voice. 
"Don't know," Sammy answered, intent upon pouring 
half his small palmful of powder into the long barrel, 
slanted at a gentle incline to get muzzle on a level with 
his shoulder. "'Tain't no painter, nor one o' Mr. An_- 
twine's things 'at ketches naughty children, 'cause 't ain't 
got no tail tu speak on." 
"Will he kill us, you s'pose?" she asked. 
"He hain't, anyway, an' T guess he won't if I ever gi 
this ol' gun loaded." 
"I guess he's deaa or gone otf, for 1 can't hear him ni 
more," he continued, when the loading of the gun. was ac 
complished and the cap on the nipple. "Come on; le's 
we go an' see." 
Polly shook her head very decidedly, and ruefully re- 
garded her torn frock. 
"'Fraid cat!" Sammy said, scornfully. "Come on. 
Drive, Come! Sic 'em, s-s-sic 'em!" But Drive was as 
loath as Polly. "Wal, I'm goin', anyway." His courage 
was not to be put to the test, for at that moment he and 
Polly were startled by a voice roaring: 
"Good airth an' seas! You little torments! What be 
you a-doin' here?" 
Rowland E. Robinson, 
[to be continued next week.] 
A Deer Hunt in Old Vir8:inia. 
The promise of rare sport in the way of a deer hunt 
always brings enjoyment and excitement to a sportsman. 
His imagination is at once brought into action, and he 
figures himself as being the hero of the hunt. He sees 
himself on the runway, the dogs are driving full cry 
toward him; nearer and nearer they come, and suddenly 
across the trail bounds an enormous buck, with head 
thrown back, so that the prongs of his antlers touch his 
back and sides; it is no time for hesitation, but with in- 
stinctive accuracy the gun bounds to the shoulder, the 
finger finds the trigger, a flash, report, and the buck 
with one terrific bound falls, its shoulder pierced by the 
shot, and a vital organ reached. He sees himself sur- 
rounded by the dogs, which have come up, and the ad- 
miring huntsmen who stand about listening attentively 
to the account of the wonderful shot that has been made. 
Then the return to the camp, the roast venison cooked 
over the open camp-fire, and later on the return to the 
city home, bringing with him the head, antlers and skin. 
Hosts of friends have called to hear how, when and where 
he obtained that most beautiful specimen, or perhaps he 
is waited upon by the curator of the museum of natural 
history, and he sees his name on the gold plate, "Pre- 
sented by A. B., Esq., 1899." He takes his friend down 
town and shows him with pride his gun that, hangs in 
the window labled "This gun w^as used by Mr. A. B. 
during his hunt on which he made the longest shot on 
record, killing a 22-point buck at rods." His reverie 
is brought to an abrupt ending by the good wife, who 
cares or knows nothing of deer, guns or runways, making 
the announcement that the cook is about to leave, and she 
wishes $25 for the month's wages, and he awakes to find 
it was a dream. 
It was while on my vacation late in the fall, when I was 
visiting my brother-in-law near Norfolk, Va., that the 
promise came from an old friend of his, living on a 
plantation near Waverly. The letter was characteristic 
of the Virginia planter, and the fact that it came from 
Brother Neddie was a sufficient guarantee that we were 
to have a great time. AH w^as at once bustle and excite- 
ment. Guns were overhauled; shooting coats, vests, 
trousers, and leggins examined; buttons sewed on anew 
and cartridges obtained, with usual arguments relative 
to black or nitro powder, quantity per load, etc._ What 
pleasure we took in these preparations, and what jollying 
we experienced from the women folks, cannot be de- 
scribed. At last all was ready, even to the box of cigars, 
and we found ourselves on board the Cannon Ball train, 
rushing away from the busy little city at the rate of 
fifty miles an hour, through pine forests, cutting across 
a part of the Dismal- Swamp, never stopping until we ar- 
rived at Waverly, sixty miles distant. There we found 
Brother Neddie and his younger brother Waverly await- 
ing us. Brother Neddie took charge of our baggage, 
while Waverly mounted his horse and rode rapidly away 
to announce the fact of our arrival to some of the folks 
who were to take part in the hunt next day. After a 
few additional purchases, we were ready for our journey, 
some four miles into the country. 
Brother Neddie had reckoned we'd have "right smart 
of baggage," and as he would be unable to tote them in 
the buggy, had come with the cart, "Little heavier, but 
likely we git there." The cart was a cart in reality — a 
dump-cart pure and simple. We climbed over the 
wheels, esconsed ourselves upon the sides, and the 
journey began, the horse never venturing to trot; for 
various reasons — she did not care to, and as there was 
no upholstery nor any springs upon that cart, naturally 
we did not care to have her do so. This horse, I learned, 
had been picked out for me during our stay, because she 
was gentle, and a good saddler. What passed through 
my mind upon the announcement of this fact I will not 
say; but I was most agreeably surprised when I did ride 
that mare. She was gentle, a good saddler, and knew 
her part in the play that was to be enacted during our 
stay. You all know how long it takes a horse to walk 
a mile, but none of you know how long it took that mare 
to walk those four miles over a rough clay road. We 
were entertained by accounts of innumerable hunts and 
adventures, our host having had many hairbreadth es- 
capes. At last we discovered a light, and Brother Ned- 
die informed us that it was the house. The light was not 
'from a lamp, but from the blazing logs in the old-fash- 
ioned 6-foot fireplace. 
We were backed up to and nearly fell out upon a broad 
porch and entered the house through great double doors 
into a wide hallway, at the end of which was the living 
room. In it was the most glorious fire I have ever seen. 
The room was large and the walls were decorated with 
carbines and swords, which had done service during 
the f K ■■! Wah There Wtte many sotivenirs of the chase 
and i' ..' pieces of old mahogany furniture, ornamented 
with Lrasfc khobs, escutcheons and lion claws, which, with 
the darker hued oak floor, reflected the light from the 
tire, producing a most beautiful tone throughout the 
room. We had become warmed and refreshed by a hot 
toddy, when our friend Waverly arrived, and soon supper 
was announced by Aunt Sarah, an old "mammy," the 
last of the familjr servants. We entered the dining hail 
to find a table most bountifully spread with the products 
of the plantation. Such ham, broiled chicken, hot bis- 
cuits and hot bread, I have never tasted; they would 
have made some of our Northern housewives and cooks 
green with envy. After Aunt Sarah had received a 
unanimous vote of thanks, we adjourned to our great 
fire. Waverly had seen all the folks, and we were to start 
at daybreak. 
"4. he stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
Where aanced the moon on Monan's rill; 
And deep his midnight lair had made 
In lone Glenartney's hazel shade; 
But, when the sun his beacon red 
Had kindled on Benvoirlick's head, 
The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 
Resounded up the rocky way, 
And faint from further distance borne. 
Were heard the clanging hoof and horn." 
Long before daybreak we were aroused by the sound- 
ing of the horn. How strangely wierd those mellow 
tones swelled upon the frosty atmosphere, echoing and 
re-echoing until lost in the di.stance. In a few moments, 
from an indescribable somewhere, came a soft melodious 
answer, drifting as, it were, toward us on the softly un- 
dulating waves of air, dying away in the distance, and 
again answered by horns from different quarters. The 
hounds bounded at the end of their leaches, and their 
deep baying made a weird chorus to the air of the horns, 
with a stage setting of vague outlines of trees and build- 
ings against a starlit November sky, and fast receding 
hunter's moon. We had hurriedly finished our breakfast, 
and were buttoning our hunting coats, and giving a last 
look at our guns, each mentally addressing his own, 
and secretly hoping that they and theirs might be the 
honored ones, when Waverlj'^ announced that all was 
ready. Out into the still cold air we went and found, 
held by a negro boy, our horses, and here I became bet- 
ter acquainted with my Belle. I noticed a brass plate on 
the saddle inscribed "Springfield — Armory, 1863," and 
the saddle I learned was one that had been captured dur- 
ing the war by our host's father. Amid the baying o^ 
the hounds, now beside themselves with anticipation, and 
the winding of the horns, carried by Neddie and Waverly 
and the "Good luck, Massa," from Aunt Sarah, we 
vaulted into saddles and proceeded single file through 
the field and entered the wood just as the first ray of the 
rising sun illumined the distant horizon. 
As we journeyed on an occasional rabbit would dart 
across our path, and one or two coveys of quail were 
flushed by the dogs. Frequently we would hear the 
blast of a distant horn, which would be answered by one 
of our party, and also from some of the others, pro- 
ceeding to the rendezvous. At last we reached the point 
selected for the meet, and there foimd about twenty 
horsemen and as many dogs. After the usual exchange 
of morning greetings and some introductions, it was 
agreed that Waverly should be the master of the hunt 
He was perhaps the youngest of our party, but, as I was 
told, was without doubt the best hunter in the region, and 
had a record to his credit of over a hundred deer. He 
decided that we should start and drive toward Nibblit's 
mill pond, some six miles distant. Brother Neddie was 
to place the members of the party on runways. As 
we rode at a lope, we crossed an old railroad track, which 
had been used as a lumber road in former years, from 
the pond to Waverly station. At the instant we heard 
Waverly's horn giving the signal that he had started, 
turning to me Brother Neddie almost yelled, "Ride along 
the track until you reach the trestle and stand. Call if 
he gets past you! Ride, ride like the devil !" I touched the 
rein on Belle's neck; she wheeled like a flash, and if she 
had suddenly become excited over the himt, she broke 
into a run up the track, some of the sleepers gone, others 
way above the level, leaping culverts, always sure-footed. 
I was, to say the least, nervous, unused to such riding, 
trying to hold reins, gun and self in position. Suddenly 
I heard distinctly the hounds in full cry, and so did 
Belle, for she lowered her head and ran as if she were at 
stretch in the Futurity race. Ahead I saw the trestle 
which crossed the swamp. Would she stop or would 
she keep on in her mad race? For the moment I closed 
my eyes. Maybe I thought of the dear ones at home. 
But at that instant she lessened her pace and just 
at the trestle stopped. I dismounted hurriedly and she, 
after a thorough shake, which made the stirrups fly 
around like the arms of a windmill, leisurely turned to 
the opposite side of the track and began browsing. 
Then I heard the entire pack in full cry coming nearer 
and nearer. Would the deer break here or there? 
The sound of the hounds died away a little. I drew a 
breath of relief. Again on they come, nearer and 
nearer. Shall I see him? Will T get him? Oh! if I can 
only turn him to Waverly, who will drive him to the 
others! Great beads of perspiration drop from my fore- 
head. I feel my limbs shake. My hand trembles. I 
fear that I will be unable to see him. Suddenly I hear 
above the sound of the dogs a crack or the snap of a 
dry branch, arid just ahead and to my right. It sounded 
so near that I jumped, and bounding from the thicket 
conies a fine buck, head well back, forelegs drawn up 
under him. How that gun found its way to my shoulder 
I am unable to say. That it did I have no doubt. In 
my excitement I pulled both triggers. That is all, until 
I hear a kindly voice say, "He's all right," and I wake 
to find myself surrounded by the party, each with an 
inquiring look. Oh, my shoulder and head! The deer, 
how about that? Well, it had fallen dead in about six 
rods. Waverly declared he could start again, and told 
us to go to our stands. By this time my head cracked, 
and I decided that I had had all the deer hunting I 
wanted for one day, so it was agreed that I shovrld return 
to the house. I remounted, the carcase of the deer was 
placed across the saddle, and I started. When I reached 
the house the deer and horse were taken charge of by 
the hoy, while Aunty attended to me. She bathed my 
aching head with cold spring water and insisted upon my 
taking a potion of "sassas tea," which she had distilled 
from roots of her own gathering. It was not a palatable 
decoction, but under its soothing influence I fell asleep 
and did not awake until Waverly's pet dog Sabine 
thrust his cold nose into my face. I opened my eyes to 
find I was just in time to partake of a toddy which had - 
been brewed by one of the party. My headache had 
gone, but my shoulder was very painful. I took a solemn' 
vow then and there never again would I pull both trig- 
gers at once when I had a charge of 4^4 drams of pow- 
der behind buckshot in a 12-gauge gun. The second .' 
chase, I was told, had been unsuccessful. 
Several of the neighbors remained for supper, one 
of the courses being baked possum, for which Aunt I 
Sarah was famous. Although rather fat, it was delicious I 
and tender. The hunting adventures told about the fire" 
place that night would have done credit to Reid of 
Jules Verne. We were highly entertained by two negro ■ 
boys — -Billy and Densmore — who were introduced by our 
host. They accompanied themselves upon banjo and . 
guitar, and gave some fine selections and examples of 
plantation melodies. At 10 our visitors departed, and 
again we sought our couches, with promises of another ' 
day's sport on the morrow. 
"The antlered monarch of the waste 
Sprang from his heathery couch in haste, 
But, ere his fleet career he took, 
The dew drops from his flanks he shook." 
Again at daybreak we found ourselves in the saddle. ■ 
The hunt was to be over the same region as before, and 
we found our friends awaiting us at the meeting place. 
This time my station was near otie of the cuherts on 
the Norfolk & Western Railroad. Perhaps an hour had 
elapsed, ,when the note of a horn, wh'ich I knew to be 
Waverly's, was heard, and shortly after I could dis- 
tinctly hear the baying of the dogs. What beautiful 
music, and what a tale it was telling. How different were 
the minds and the motives of the pursued and pursuers. 
Nearer and nearer it comes, when the sound of a shot 
breaks in upon the deep chorus of the hounds, and I 
knew by their gradually diminishing voices that the deer 
had been turned. Another shot was followed by the note 
of a horn sounding the news that the deer had gotten 
past some runway; and for a few moments all was silent. 
The dogs had lost their trail? No, a^ain I heard them. 
This time comparatively in a new direction, and I rushed 
to the top of the bank, under which I had ben standing, 
to obtain a better view, and perhaps get another shot. I 
could see away to the west, across a perfectly level 
country, a line of heavy pine woods, and in them and 
headed directly for me could be heard the dogs, all on 
again and in full cry. I threw myself flat upon the 
ground and anxiously awaited the termination of the 
chase. This time I did not tremble, nor was I ex- 
cited. Stiddenly I discovered coming directly at me a 
small but rapidly moving object, which I knew to be the 
deer, closely followed by the entire pack. And now that 
they see the object of their pursuit, they fairly yelled 
and began to gain rapidly, but only for an instant, for 
the deer had realized its position. So intent had I been 
on the mad race, that I had not observed two horsemen 
riding, one on either side of the pack and several rods 
from it. What a race it was. I doubt if any of my 
readers have ever witnessed such a one. They come — 
deer, dogs, horses, men. I am wondering how it will 
terminate, when, as if by one accord, both horsemen 
rise in their saddles and at the same instant I see a flash 
and hear a report; and the deer falls headlong forward. 
I run to the spot to find two breathless horsemen, two 
panting and exhausted horses, a pack of tired hounds — ■ 
some footsore and bleeding from cut feet and with torn 
ears — and all, save old Sabine, who recognizes me with 
a faint wag of his tail, perfectly oblivious to the siu- 
roundings. The horsemen I recognize as Waverly and 
my brother; and to whom belong the honors will never 
be known, as both shots had reached vital organs. An- 
other deer was placed to our credit. 
The remainder of the day was spent in bird shooting, 
and many were the failures scored, although we succeed- 
ed in bringing down enough to make a respectable show- 
ing when we reached home. 
That night we bade adieu to Aunt Sarah, Brother Ned-* 
die, Waverly and the folks, and with promises to meet 
again, we were soon speeding toward Norfolk. When we 
reached home and the spoils of the chase and hunt had 
been inspected by the neighbors and by our wives, some 
one innocently remarked, that "venison and quail had 
been very reasonable this fall." Alas, for all our greati- 
ness. Mac, 
The Guinea Fowl as Game* 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Reading several articles in your paper relating fo 
the adaptability of guinea fowl for game purposes, I 
have thought that a personal incident might add some-, 
thing to the general fund of information in regard to 
their game qualities. Several years ago a friend and 
myself hunted a certain strip of ground, just the right 
sort for fall woodcock and an occasional ruffed grouse; 
it was a birch hillside, with a pine here and there of 
stunted growth, the bottom covered with sweet 
fern and low blueberry bushes, lying favorably to the 
sun, even now an almost ideal place for a late woodcock — 
warm and sheltered. We always found birds here, and 
the dogs hunted it carefully, expecting to get a point. 
One fall day they roaded well, pointed stanchly, and their 
actions said ciuail. We stepped ahead of them and 
kicked the low brush. Out started what would have 
seemed surely a grouse except for the harsh note of the 
guinea fowi. Soon we had another point, with the same 
result, and during all that fall these birds gave us many 
a point, going off swiftly and lying finely. I made up my 
mind then tliat if a game bird should ever be needed able 
to take care of itself, lying well and being toothsome. 
When out this last fall my dogs roaded some guinea 
fowl. I thought at first it was quail, but their harsh cry 
told me what they were, and I whistled my dogs in. The 
guinea fowl of years ago certainly lay better — that is, 
closer — ^than any of the Mongolian pheasants I have 
ever seen, and I've seen quite a number this fall. They 
acted like runners. Dry Lan», 
