April 15, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
569 
ently the fog lifted, disc.osing hazily the out¬ 
lines of the marsh. We scanned it carefully, 
but there was no sign of life to be seen, not 
a motion in the grass nor the flicker of a bush. 
“Suppose we hunt down the pond careful and 
hev a look at the lower marsh,’ - Rube suggested. 
The plan seemed a good one, and after cir¬ 
cumventing a piece or rough ground we gained 
the shore and crept cautiously forward. We 
were within a hundred yards of the lower end 
when Rube grabbed me by the arm. 
“Righ over there,” he whispered; “a nice buck, 
just behind that little spruce.” 
Through the mist that was curling off the water 
ground, took a good steady knee rest and fired. 
As the smoke cleared I saw the buck standing 
in exactly the same position—missed clean! 
Only one who has had a similar experience can 
appreciate my feelings. While I was staring at 
him and wondering why he did not fall or show 
signs of being hit, he turned and started for 
the woods. 
“Shoot him again! Shoot him again!” cried 
Rube. 
A second bullet sped harmlessly over his 
back and I groaned inwardly. He disappeared 
for a second, only to reappear almost immedi¬ 
ately, evidently bewildered as to the direction 
was one of those mellow September mornings 
when the autumnal tints of the forest glowed 
softly through a bluish haze, and the sky, mild 
and serene as in Indian summer, brooded tran¬ 
quilly above the quiet waters and golden shadows 
of the wilderness. Now and then an insect shrilled 
in the long, dry marsh grass. Occasionally a 
broad-winged hawk sailed out over the tree- 
tops, or rising abruptly to a greater height, spun 
slow, measureless circles against the filmy blue 
of the heavens. A yearling doe, scrawny and 
still in the red coat, came out on the shore oppo¬ 
site to where we sat and waiked about leisurely 
in the edge of the water. Presently she was 
t 
BUCK POND. 
like white steam I caught the outlines of a deer 
silhouetted on the opposite shore between two 
dwarf spruces. He was standing broadside, 
motionless as a statue, his head partly hidden 
behind one of the little trees, his blue coat 
glistening velvety and almost black through the 
rifts of moving vapor. Evidently he had either 
seen or winded us, for the rigid poise of his 
body bespoke alarm, and he appeared to be look¬ 
ing straight in our direction. It was a sight to 
be remembered — the water with its cloudy 
breath and sharp reflections, the yellow marsh 
struck by a shaft of early sunlight, the dark 
figure of the buck looming and fading through 
the thin clouds of mist. 
“Are you sure it’s a buck?” I asked softly. 
“Sure,” he replied. “I seen his horns.” 
I shoved the sight on the rifle up to the second 
notch for long range, knelt down on the boggy 
of the shots. This time I drew a very fine 
sight and somewhat nervously pulled the trig¬ 
ger. At the report, he gave a jerking bound, 
and we saw him lurch out of sight behind a 
screen of alder bushes. 
Rube gave his beard a contemplative stroke. 
“Well?” I interrogated. 
“Oh, he’s hit all right,” he answered after a 
pause, “but I guess we’ll let him alone for a 
while. It’s a poor plan to chase a deer up too 
quick when you don’t know just where they’re 
hit. A wounded one’s always lookin’ back and 
’ll go twice as far if he hears ye cornin’ after 
him. Let him be fer a time and he's pretty sure 
ter lie down.” 
Back we went to the lower watch ground, 
settled ourselves comfortably in the long grass 
and waited. An hour passed. The fog cleared 
and the sun came out warm and friendly. It 
joined by a large blue, long-eared doe who fed 
restlessly and kept lifting her head with every 
mouthful, while her nose searched the air for 
a taint of danger. Both remained out for nearly 
half an hour, quite oblivious to the fact that 
they were being watched by human eyes. Then 
with slow jerky steps they disappeared in the 
woods, and the shores of the pond were again 
left empty. 
Another hour passed. The sun climbed higher 
and a little breeze sprang up. Still Rube con¬ 
tinued to sit in the shadow of a low bush, peace¬ 
fully whittling a stick of wood, now and then 
taking a squint at the pond. Always I grew 
more dubious as to the probabi'ity of ever find¬ 
ing the wounded buck. The thought of having 
missed a deer twice in broad daylight at a dis¬ 
tance that could not have exceeded seventy-five 
or a hundred yards was anything but consoling. 
