490 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
|DeC. 22, 1900. 
the lake at our best possible pace, in spite of the ludi- 
crous tumbles we took whenever the crust gave way, as it 
frequently did. 
Breaking through the fringe of bushes that skirted the 
lake, we saw, at the distance of about 500 yards, the buck 
running as only a frightened deer can run. 
"There, Kid," said Dan with rifle already to shoulder, 
"is a picter fer a painter." And truly he was right. The 
deer running like the wind, seeming scarcely to touch the 
ice, the fleecy cloud of feathery snow tossed up by the 
flying feet, the splendid antlers laid well back and_ the 
jets of steam shooting out with piston-like regularity from 
the lifted muzzle, combined to form a picture, worthy of 
an artist's pencil. 
"A picter fer a painter, but I'll hev to spile it, and the 
crack of his rifle rang out over the ice and awakened a 
thousand echoes in the surrounding hills. 
We saw the snow tossed up in a little puff behind and 
beyond the deer, which was running quartering from 
us. Another shot, higher elevated and better lined, im- 
mediately followed, and with better result, for the deer 
dropped as though struck by lightning. Carried forward 
by its impetuous speed, it slid along the smooth surface 
of the ice like a toboggan, and seemed to slide right up 
on to its feet again, for it regained its footing without 
perceptably checking its flight, and made off across the 
lake with apparently the same speed as before. Dan 
lowered his rifle and looked after the fleeing deer in 
silence, a satisfied smile playing about his mouth and a 
merry twinkle in his eye. 
"What's the matter with you?" I cried in a.stonish- 
ment. "Why don't you give him another?" 
"Fer the same reason that ye don't try a pop at him, 
Kiddy, with yer popgun. 'Tain't no use." 
"My gun won't reach him, I know, but yours will," I 
answered. 
"In course it will. It! did just reach him, didn't it? 
But 'tain't no use, as I said afore, I warrant you he'll 
leave a red trail behind him and will stop as soon as he 
finds a good place to hide in the swamp yonder. It ain't 
a good idee to waste lead on a onsartenty when ye kin 
save it fer a shore thing. We'll find him mighty sick 
dreckly, and git him easy. If ye hed fetched yer rifle 
instead of that pea shooter, ye might hev hed the fun of 
pumpin' lead arter him with some show fer bringin' him 
down. As it is, I doubt if ye'll git a crack at anything 
to-day." 
We found the "red trail" sure enough, and followed 
more at our leisure, sure that as Dan had said, we would 
find him hidden in the swamp somewhere. We were not 
prepared to find him so soon, however, for just as we 
were entering the thicket, beside a fallen tree, the top 
of which lay among the undergrowth, the maddened buck, 
with a roar half bellow and half snort, charged out of the 
bushes beside the trail and tossed old Dan, who was 
slightly in advance, headlong into the fallen treetops, and 
his gun 10 feet away into the snow, I lost no time in get- 
ting behind a convenient tree, while Dan, with wonderful 
celerity, rolled up against the body of the tree under the 
protecting limbs. The wounded animal had eyes for 
Dan alone, and bent all its energies in its maddened frenzy 
to reach its prostrate foe with hoof or horn. In spite of 
its efforts he was beyond its reach, for he cuddled up to 
that log like a sick kitten to a warm jamb. Seeing that 
he was in no immediate danger, I had to smile at his 
ludicrous position. He evidently appreciated it also, for 
he called out to me,. "Well, Kid, this is one on me, ain't it? 
Onto me big !" 
"If you will just roll a little further out," said I, "there 
will be one on you as large as life." 
"Ex-cuse me ! This ain't no rosy bower, not by a long 
shot, but I wouldn't swap it right now fer* a house in 
town. Don't git excited now, but aim true and touch him 
in the right spot, but don't spile his topknot, whatever 
you do." 
The furious antics of the beast as it tried to wreak 
vengeance on its fallen enemy made deadly aim difficult 
for me as well as dangerous for Dan. Presently, however, 
the opportunity for which I had been waiting presented 
itself, when I caught the buck under the ear and sent a 
, bullet through his head. I cut his throat, and when there 
was no longer any danger from the knife-like horns, as 
they struck out savagely in the death struggle, poor old 
Dan ingloriously crawled out of his burrow in the snow, 
the most chagrined and absolutely crestfallen man in the 
whole world. 
We soon had the deer quartered, and having hung up 
the carcass to keep it out of the snow, we carried 
lionie the hide and head (the latter better to remove the 
horns) and returned with a hand sled to bring home the 
rest. 
That night, the guns having been cleaned and supper 
over, as we again sat before the fire enjoying jan even- 
ing smoke, Dan broke a long silence by the first reference 
he had made to the occurrence of the morning, saying, as 
he thoughtfully knocked the ashes from his pipe : 
"Well, Kiddy, ye put it onto me to-day. Ye did, by 
. Gravy ! Ye drawed it all over me and put me under ever- 
lastin' obligations besides. Fer a gun that'll reach out a 
long way and find a warm place inside a live pelt, as out 
there on the ice to-day, for instance, give me Old Chet, as 
has the heft and carries a ball as gits there; but fer clost 
shootin' in the brush that 'ere popgun of yern ain't no 
slouch, and that's a fact" 
The mischievous twinkle that I caught in Dan's eye, to- 
gether with my lively recollection of the event of the 
morning, were too much for me, and the laugh that would 
no longer be restrained broke out in spite of me. A laugh 
in which I am happy to say old Dan joined with all the 
heartiness of his honest nature, and we roared until the 
smoke-stained cabin rafters rang again. 
ViVAMUS. 
S Take inventory of the good things in this issue 
8 of Forest and Stream. Recall what a fund w<is 
8 given last week. Count on what is to come next 
S week. Was there ever in all the xvorld a more 
g abundant weekly store of sportsmen's reading? 
Out of Commission. 
As Told by the YawL 
BY N. N. WEST. 
"Well, I call it rocky*" said the Racing Machine, "to 
be sweltering here under my winter canvas coat while 
that fool owner of mine is chasing a ball round the side 
of a hill somewhere in the country. I wish I had the in- 
ventor of golf aboard you, you old lead mine," continued 
the freak, addressing the Cutter, "in one hundred fathoms 
with a hole in your garboards. Our friend Davy would 
make it squally for him for keeping so many of us sweat- 
ing out here on land." 
The Cutter overlooked the comment on its personality 
and sighed as it watched a knockabout beating about the 
harbor. "I wish I was out there to get a good drink of 
salt water. It's funny men never drink it when we all 
know it's the most refreshing thing. "Three fingers' in a 
glass— bah! Three fathoms in the Sound is what I want. 
I remember when I was launched they broke a bottle of 
champagne on my bow and I felt horrid sticky till I stuck 
my bowsprit in a big sea and threw the spray over my 
deck." 
"Champagne isn't so bad," said the Cat, "They used to 
have me carry so much cruising they'd take out half my 
ballast. Ah, those were good old times when the 'Triple 
Alliance,' as they were known at the club, used to take 
their vacation. The people around the harbors never 
wanted us to stay over two nights for fear we'd spoil the 
anchorage with the bottles thrown overboard." 
"A blooming nice time you must have had of it when a 
storm came up! There's where I was in my glory," said 
the Cutter. 
"When a storm came up," replied the Cat. "we were 
generally in a good sheltered harbor with the captain and 
crew teaching each other new drinks, while you 'in your 
glory' were looking round for a harbor deep enough to 
float a man-o'-war." 
"Well, if there wasn't one round I'd be laid to, and it 
was comfortable to know I could outride anything." 
"Nice comfort," said the Cat. "With not a dry thing 
aboard and you rolling like a tenor's R's so nothing could 
be cooked or even coffee made, your hatches all battened 
down, the cabin as close as two lovers, the dishes playing 
tag in the galley, the cushions trying experiments in aerial 
navigation in the cabin, and, getting discouraged, finally 
settling in a pool of water on the floor. Maybe that's your 
idea of comfort, but it wasn't that of the 'Triple Alli- 
ance.' " 
"I didn't say it was comfortable." 
"Yes you did, too," said the Half-Rater, who always 
tried to take up an argument on the winning side. 
"Well, I didn't mean it that way," continued the 
Cutter, "but it was glorious." 
"Glorious," snipped the Cat. "Did you ever drink mint 
juleps? Glorious! Don't split tacks with me." 
"You don't either know which tack you're on," said the 
Racing Machine. "I tell you there's nothing like the end 
of a good race when it's been nip and tuck, till finally 
you've worked up a little to win'ard and cross the line 
with the rest a few seconds behind, and the skipper gels a 
cup he keeps on the sideboard and always shows it off to 
his friends with, "That's the mug I got when we beat the 
Freaksome over a twenty-five-mile course in a thirty-knot 
wind.' I'd give my Tobin bronze to be in commission 
again." 
"Much your skipper is showing off now the cups you 
brought home. It's golf cups he's displaying, with 'That's 
what I got when I beat Hootmon Potter three up and two 
to play !" twitted the Half- Rater. 
Never mind, I'll show 'em my stern again when this 
craze is over." said the Racing Machine. 
"Like mud flats you will!" said the Cutter. "You're 
five minutes slower than this year's machines, and two 
years from now you'll be pointed out for a mistaken idea ; 
they'll put you out on some front lawn and grow flowers 
in you — that's what you're coming to." 
"Well, I'd rather do that than end up in a junk shop, the 
way you'll do," retorted the freak. "Your lead will be 
melted up into water pipes for the rats to gnaw in summer 
and the ice to burst in winter, and your sails will be 
made up into part of a tent for a second differential 
circus, and the deadheads'll cut holes in 'em to see the 
show. Pleasant prospect, eh?" 
"It is perfectly evident," said the Half-Rater, speaking 
with a pompous air, "that the sea is going to the rocks 
and mud flats, and I don't know what's coming to us all." 
"Behold the infant at the wheel," laughed the Cat. 
"How's that for philosophy ? Shut up, Halfy. By my cen- 
terboard. you make me feel like a landlubber when the 
ship is rolling." 
"Well, I guess I'm on the starboard tack anyway," re- 
plied the little boat, considerably excited, for nothing 
teased it so much as to be laughed at when in its own 
opinion it was discussing weighty affairs of the sea, "And 
if you don't believe it, what's the Yawl doing out here in 
August when he used to be in commission eight months 
of the year?" 
"I'll bet the Yawl's got a story. Let's have it," said the 
Cat. 
"Maybe I could spin a yarn," admitted the single- 
hander, "but it's rather long." 
"Never mind," said the Racing Machine; "it's two bells 
yet to striking colors and we haven't anything to do." 
"Anything to cork up the Half-Rater," said the Cutter. 
"I don't need it half as much as you do," retorted the 
little boat. This remark was lost on the Cutter, which had 
the peculiarities of English descent. 
"You're not very complimentary," laughed the single- 
hander, "but as you say, there's nothing else to do, so if 
you like I'll weigh anchor." 
"Lay your course " said the Cat, and the Yawl began : 
"The first thing I can remember I;. found myself one 
winter morning in a small shop just outside of a sleepy old 
village. I could just see out of the window, and it was 
snowing and made me feel cold to look at it. but as I 
looked round the shop it was so cozy I felt all right again. 
There was a fire in a big old-fashioned stove which gave 
out a cheerful warmth, and the spars, rigging and various 
other yacht fittings that were stowed away round the shop 
made me feel at home «(t once, The boat buil4er •\vas 
work by a carpenter's bench near the window, and after- 
ward I found out he was dressing down my spars. Up 
on the wall vt^as a model of a little boat, and I thought it 
was the prettiest thing I had ever seen. It had a clipper 
bow and a moderately overhanging stern, with the fore- 
foot considerably cut away for those times, but with 
enough left so it could have been laid to easily in a 
sea. It was a keel boat with a good deal of draft, and had 
a big piece of outside ballast. As I looked myself over I 
saw it was a model of myself, and I was glad I was going 
to be good looking, and with the easy lines and the amount 
of ballast I was sure I'd not be slow, and that I wouldn't 
be knocked down by every puff of wind. 
"Presently the door of the shop opened and a young 
man entered with a cheery 'Good morning, captain.' He 
was tall and sinewy looking, and when he walked across 
the floor it didn't jar and creak the way it does with an 
old woman. He looked as if he could reef a mainsail 
single handed in a squall, and I was glad to hear the 
old man address him as 'skipper,' for then I knew he was 
going to own me, and I knew he wouldn't do his sailing on 
a club house piazza. By and by I found he had designed 
me himself, and' though riot wishing to be" conceited, I 
think I've shown credit to us both. 
"Every Sunday morning the skipper would come down 
to the shop to see how I was getting along, and to talk 
over details with the old man, and afterward the latter 
would spin yarns. He'd been on a coaster a good many 
years, and had made some longer voyages, or at least so 
he claimed, and had had most wonderful experiences. He 
used to quite scare me with some of his tales, and I was 
sure I'd be crushed by a mountain wave or swallowed by 
a sea serpent before the summer was over. 
"Sometimes a friend would come with the skipper to- 
takc a look at me. There was one man I never liked. He 
always talked about a fellow not having time for sailing 
and it was too much work anyway. A launch was what .he 
liked, so you could always be sure of getting home and 
weren't wearing yourself out by pulling beastly ropes all 
day. Then he used to make disagreeable remarks about 
my appearance. He thought I had too much freeboard 
to look well and too much draft to be convenient. But my 
rig was what he criticised most. 'I can't understand why 
you chose a yawl, the slowest, ugliest rig ever conceived.' 
'Yes, and the safest, handiest, most seaworthy rig,' the 
skipper would reply; The man had good reason to re- 
member this one day — but I'm getting ahead of my story. 
"It was with great interest I walched the work on my 
cabin fittings, and the more that was done the more I 
felt I was intended for good long cruisesl A generous 
ice box was built in forew^ard on the port side, aft of the 
chain locker and opposite to a dish locker; just aft of the 
mast step was a place for an oil st«ve. On each side was 
a bunk, and under each were water tanks. At the aft end 
of the cabin on one side was a clothes locker and on the 
other a writing desk with book shelf above and drawers 
below for sextant and other instruments. Above the desk 
swung the cabin lamp. Under the cockpit floor was a big' 
stowage space, and under the deck on each side of the 
cockpit were two compartments for stowing side lights, 
oil, .swabs and all such stuff one doesn't want in the 
cabin. I was so pleased with myself I could hardly wait 
for the time to come when I was to be launched, and when 
I shd down the ways into the water I wouldn't have 
changed places with a Cup defender. 
"Every Saturday that summer we'd start off with a 
supply of good things aboard to be gone till Monday morn- 
ing, and we got to know every inch of the Sound for 
fifty miles. Then later in the summer we took a two 
weeks' cruise. I suited my master to a belaying pin, and 
we studied each other's likes so we always worked to- 
gether. There were some little tricks I always liked to 
play when there was a friend out with us. When he'd try 
to trim the main sheet I'd give a little lurch, and if he 
wasn't careful he'd lose more than he'd pulled in. Then 
the skipper, holding the tiller in one hand, would take the 
sheet in the other and give it a haul just as Td luff a 
bit. and it would come in by the yard and be belayed 
before the friend would get his balance for my new point 
of heeling. It always made me laugh till the water would 
gurgle round my bow. Or if we were running before the 
wind in a seaway and the friend had the stick, I'd yaw 
all round till I'd nearly jibe. Then my master would take 
me in charge and I'd settle down and run as true a.s 
George Washington. 
"The summer passed quickly, but we kept on sailing 
late into the autumn, when we often went after ducks. We 
were out in some pretty heavy blows, but I had found 
that these didn't bother us, and soon got over being 
afraid of being crushed by a mountain sea or swallowed by 
a sea serpent. 
"The next summer started in just the same, but one 
Saturday afternoon while I was waiting for the skipper 1 
caught sight of him sitting on the club house piazza talk- 
ing to a girl. We didn't take our weekly trip that time, for 
he stayed to the dance at the club house, and as the sum- 
mer wore on our trips grew less and less often, and in- 
stead the girl would go out sailing with us just for an 
afternoon. I wouldn't have known on those occasions that 
my master was at the stick. He'd seem to forget me 
altogether and would let me up into the wind till I'd 
have to shake all my sails to draw his attention. Then 
he'd let me off till I'd be sailing a couple of points further 
off the wind than necessary, and it would make me mad 
to see other boats outpointing me that I used to go to 
.win'ard of every time. The girl would laugh and say. 
she'd been told he was one of the best sailors in the 
club, but if that was so it didn't speak well for the other 
yachtsmen, . and she could sail better than that herself. 
So she'd take the stick, and I must say she could do it 
beautifully and work me to win'ard for all I was worth or 
bring me up to my moorings and never miss it. 
"I couldn't make out what had come over my master, 
and one evening when an old sloop was anchored near me 
I told him all about it and asked what the matter was. 
He laughed so I thought he'd wear out his cable before he 
sobered down enough to remark that when I wa.s as old as 
he was I'd understand. 
"The girl used to go out a good deal with the man who 
had the launch, and her mother would go, too, sometimes, 
but never went with us, because she was afraid of me. 
That made me feel like an Irishman's hurricane, for I 
Knew I tonid go through a sea thai would sink thg oUl 
