March, 1919 
FOREST AND STREAM 
111 
1 
in a way that made me rather anxious. 
I felt certain that he had a wildcat up 
a tree or that there was some other 
unusual circumstance. We accordingly 
hurried down in the direction of Hub- 
bard Pond, judging from the sound that 
he was on the nearer shore. That morn- 
ing, at the house, it happened that Mr. 
Hale and I had discussed the dangerous 
ice conditions, for the water on the vari- 
ous ponds was skimmed over in protected 
places along the banks. He had often 
heard, he said, of a fox running out on 
such new ice, knowing perhaps that it 
would bear his weight but allow a dog 
to break through, and drown. 
P RESENTLY we realized that the 
barking came from the opposite 
side, and on pushing through the 
last fringe of brush, could see much 
splashing of water. Excitement straight- 
way reached a high pitch. We figured 
that the dog was 
a “goner.” What 
wouldn’t I have 
given for my bi- 
n o c u 1 a r s! The 
pond being large, 
with long and ir- 
regular coves, 
there was no pos- 
sibility of our get- 
ting around to the 
dog’s assistance in 
less than several 
hours. We did the 
next best thing, 
ran around the 
first cove as fast 
as the country 
would permit and, 
on reaching a sum- 
mer camp, lost no 
time in breaking a 
padlock, grabbing a 
boat, and in put- 
ting out with a 
broken paddle and 
a pole for imple- 
ments. In the 
meantime, I had 
shouted occasion- 
ally to the dog, 
calling him by 
name, thinking 
thus to reassure 
whipped the dark blue waters, while in 
the western distance Mount Monadnock 
loomed forth boldly. Our progress across 
was naturally slow, for the boat was flat- 
bottomed, and the stiff breeze more 
against than with us. Every few sec- 
onds, as the waves smacked the square 
sides, a dose of cold spray wet our knees 
and legs. Yet there was no time to lose. 
Any minute, one well directed stroke 
of those knife-edged hoofs and Sankey 
would have followed his last trail! The 
buck was plunging fiercely in his strenu- 
ous ice-breaking efforts. Every now and 
then his forequarters showed for an in- 
stant. If the splashing, flying spray in- 
dicated aught, some battle was under 
way. So we dug the water desperately, 
while language too played its part. 
P erhaps a third of the distance to 
the ice sheet had been covered when 
a sudden stillness impressed our 
bound he cleared the high bank. In- 
stantly, the ready automatics poured 
forth seven barrels of buckshot, the sole 
effect of which was to hasten his flight. 
Four or flve great jumps along the crest 
and he dropped behind the protecting 
ridge. To break a connecting channel 
through the ice sheet that would admit 
us to land, seemed easy; but when we 
made the attempt, the boat struck with 
a solid bump. Mr. Hale got his stout 
pole into action and gradually worked 
an opening for some four or flve boat 
lengths. The ice, all of an inch thick, 
was giving unexpectedly strong resist- 
ance. For the first time, too, we re- 
alized that the craft was leaking badly, 
and this, together with the amount of 
water already shipped, brought the gun- 
wales uncomfortably hear the pond level. 
The thought of the old tub’s foundering 
was at best a chilly one. A glance ahead, 
thirty yards to go, a moment’s hesita- 
tion, and we re- 
versed action, 
heading for the 
home shore. We 
could not hasten 
hence made port 
none too soon. 
Hubbard Pond, the scene of the complicated fox hunt 
him and let him 
know we were coming. When we had 
shoved out several rods, our first un- 
obstructed view of the farther shore 
gave us a thrill. There, like the branches 
of a small, scraggly tree, were the an- 
tlers of an eight-or-ten-point buck show- 
ing just above the water well out from 
the shore; but neither before, nor then, 
could we see the dog on land or in wa- 
ter; yet his continual “ ’ow, ’ow, ’ow,” 
testified that he was on the job. Tac- 
tics changed abruptly. We made back 
to land, snatched up guns dropped in the 
first rush, dug deep into many pockets 
for all available buckshot, and started out. 
The wilderness setting about the pond 
was of a sort that one might find in 
the heart of the Maine woods. There 
was no sign of human habitation save 
the lone camp site. Pine and hemlock 
of heavy growth bordered the pond in 
solid ranks. A chill, crisp wind now 
minds. The dog had ceased barking! 
Could it be ? We stood up, strained 
our eyes — the commotion was at an end. 
Straightway, vengeful thoughts spurred 
us on. Within the next few minutes, the 
buck, previously up to his neck swim- 
ming, reached bottom; now his whole 
body showed above the surface. Stand- 
ing broadside, head turned in our direc- 
tion, he appeared exhausted. Again, 
what wouldn’t I have given for my 
old .44, which I often carried; but a fox 
hunter on business bent must limit him- 
self to strict essentials. By that same 
token, no camera was at hand. One hun- 
dred and fifty yards still intervened, a 
third of which distance was open wa- 
ter. Would fatigue plus curiosity hold 
him until we pulled within range? Not 
a chance! That deer was a firm be- 
liever in “safety first.” Once started, 
it took him but a twinkling to gain 
the water’s edge, when with a single 
E quipped 
with better 
paddles, extra 
poles, and with a 
boat free of water, 
we recrossed the 
stretch at faster 
speed, when re- 
newed energy and 
more clever man- 
oeuvres forced a 
passage. Then we 
began taking notes 
and much of the 
story was simple 
reading. 
The buck, hard 
pressed by Sankey, 
had laid his course 
for Hubbard Pond, 
with the intention 
of swimming across 
to evade pursuit. 
His approach had 
been by a narrow 
neck of land, or spit, that reached well 
out from the main shore-line. Com- 
ing to the pond bank, he found a hun- 
dred yards of ice between him and the 
open water. There was no turning 
back save to confront the dog. He chose 
to face other music, made the plunge, 
and smashed his way for fifty yards to- 
ward freedom. A mass of hair still 
floating on the field of action bore wit- 
ness that the sharp ice edges had not 
curbed his courage. All this was clear 
— but what of Sankey? No sign of him 
on shore, no answer to our calls! Could 
it be that fear of punishment at our 
approach had caused him to retreat? 
Surely, with that buck hemmed in be- 
fore his very eyes, he had never left. 
Could the deer have pushed him under 
in such way that, coming up beneath the 
ice, he had struck off in a wrong direc- 
tion to find the surface? Or had a single 
(continued on page 1.38) 
