November, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
635 
As good luck would have it I struck his 
tracks where they had left the swamp 
with the old gray buck.” Rube’s face fell 
and after a thoughtful silence he says, 
‘‘Well, Newt, the best luck I can wish you 
is that you don’t see hide ner hair of ’im.” 
Rube put me up a lunch and stood in the 
camp door as I trudged off. At the edge of 
the clearing he waved to me and then I 
poked along out of sight. It was apparent 
that the snow had fallen in the fore part 
of the night because I crossed several deer 
tracks that were some hours old. I wasted 
no time on these tracks, but kept straight 
on. Upon reaching the Pond I skirted it 
until I came to the clearing between the 
water and the swamp where I had first seen 
the old fellow. Instead of entering the 
swamp I traveled around it and after half 
an hour suddenly came on what I was look¬ 
ing for—the gray buck’s tracks leading 
from the swamp. No doubt at all about it 
—there was the out-turned right front 
hoof mark ! And what tracks !—they were 
as big as a young bull’s! Moreover the 
tracks were fresh! Here was luck ! 
Evidently the big fellow had gone a- 
browsing for his breakfast. Keyed up to 
concert pitch I stole softly after him. The 
climax came sooner than I expected. Just 
as I topped a knoll there he stood out fifty 
yards from me, broadside on, in full view 
and unsuspecting! He was nibbling at 
some twigs. It was all too good to be true! 
With pounding heart I slowly brought up 
my rifle until the bead lay in the notch and 
both sights were in line with a point just 
behind the buck’s fore-shoulder! Steadying 
the rifle an instant while I held my breath 
I pulled! The rifle cracked, but the buck 
did not drop !—he didn’t even flinch! In¬ 
stead of doing either he shifted slowly 
around and stood head-on looking me 
straight in the face with big, wondering 
eyes! Frantically I pumped in a fresh cart¬ 
ridge. Then with the buck looking me right 
in the eye I trained the sights full on his 
chest and pulled again! The rifle cracked 
and the bullet sped forth—but the buck 
stood still and untouched! As I threw 
down the lever for a third shot the old 
fellow turned and started to limp down the 
hill, but he did not hurry!—he moved no 
faster than a man would walk! I followed 
him up and you can believe it or not, but I 
shot at that buck nine times from where I 
first saw him until he slowly disappeared in 
the swamp—and not a bullet touched him! 
I sank down on a log and stood the rifle 
against a tree. I was weak and my hands 
were shaking. My goat was straining at 
its tether. After I had pulled myself to¬ 
gether I whittled a white patch on a beech, 
then stepping back 50 yards took a shot at 
I stood there and pumped lead at him in 
wholesale lots, but he never even flinched 
it—and missed the mark by a scant inch. 
Then I mentally kicked myself black and 
blue, gritted my teeth and*plunged into the 
swamp after that buck. The place was 
dense and dark, but it was not difficult to 
follow the tracks. The buck didn’t hurry. 
Several times I heard him snap a stick 
ahead or bump his horns against the bole of 
a tree, but to come within sight of him I 
could not. Thus I dogged him in a zig-zag 
fashion hour after hour always within the 
depths of the swamp—once we both crossed 
the tracks we had made some time before. 
The snow from the brush gradually soaked 
me to the skin. 
I T was 1 o’clock before I sat down to eat 
my lunch. I had double-wrapped it in 
paper and tied it with a stout twine to 
my belt behind under my coat. I reached 
around, but couldn’t find it. Then I got up 
and investigated. My lunch was gone! 
The twine had broken or come loose and 
it had dropped somewhere on the back 
trail! When I realized I had nothing to eat 
I became twice as hungry. I was also 
cross and peevish. Vowing I would wind 
up this farce with the buck in short order 
I strode swiftly forward on his track. 
I won’t go into details on the chase the 
old fellow led me—it’s too aggravating to 
recall. Suffice to say that after following 
him many weary miles back and forth in 
that swamp I never even glimpsed him. 
About 4 p. m. I gave it up and reached for 
my compass .to lay a course to camp—but 
my pocket was empty! I stood dazed and 
thoughtful for some minutes before re¬ 
membering that Rube and I had been com¬ 
paring our compasses the night before and 
I had left mine in camp on a shelf above 
the fire-place! The sun would have helped 
me, but what little sky I could see was 
overcast. The prospect of getting out of 
that swamp before dark was not good and 
the prospect of spending the night in it was 
not cheerful. I sat down and thought 
things over. Rube would not concern him¬ 
self about me until about 6 p. m. At 7 
(according to previous agreement) he 
would be out listening for a distress signal 
of three shots. I got busy getting some 
firewood together—I could at least have a 
warm, cheerful blaze About dusk I pre¬ 
pared to light it. I have said that I was 
wet through above the belt. Well, so were 
my matches! Not one among them would 
strike! Shivering and despondent I 
crouched in the depths of that swamp as 
darkness closed in. Unable to see my 
watch I made a guess on when seven 
o’clock had arrived and determined to shoot 
With no compass and out of matches I 
sat there gloomily wondering what to do 
three times. When I pressed the trigger 
there was a click—but no report! The 
chamber was empty! Reaching into my 
pocket I found—only two cartridges ! Then 
I began to figure: nine times I had fired 
at the buck and once at a mark. Evidently 
I had only a dozen cartridges when I left 
camp. As I stood there fumbling the two 
that were left I dropped one of them! I 
pawed about in the darkness for many min¬ 
utes, but failed to find it. That left me 
one which I shoved in the chamber. 
J UST then a faint, far-away signal shot 
came from Rube. Would I answer it? 
No—it was against my ethics to risk my 
last cartridge. Bye and bye there was an¬ 
other shot that sounded closer and at inter¬ 
vals after that still others. I called loudly, 
but my voice sounded muffled and strange. 
Finally Rube ceased firing and the long 
night settled down in silence.' I sat there 
wide awake staring into the gloom. I fan¬ 
cied I could see the luminous eyes of the 
old gray buck peering at me now and then 
from different angles as he circled me in 
the darkness. Thus the night wore on. 
When the first streaks of dawn peeped 
into the swamp I found the lost cartridge 
and was up and off. Lining up one tree 
with another I traveled as straight as pos¬ 
sible believing that this system would final¬ 
ly bring me out of the swamp. It did, but 
when I emerged I hadn’t the slightest idea 
where I was. It seemed the only thing for 
me to do was to travel around the swamp 
until I came to the Pond and the clearing. 
From there I knew my way home. I had 
suffered considerably from thirst during 
the after part of the night and when I came 
to a little brook I flopped down and like to 
have drained it. Roughly speaking I 
should say I drank about a gallon and a 
half of that water which was the best I 
ever tasted, but I should have been more 
temperate because in a little while I was 
seized with a violent tummy-ache that 
doubled me up like a summer-squash. .The 
ache was so bad I was afraid I would die. 
Then it got worse and I was afraid I 
wouldn’t die! It was impossible to travel 
under these conditions. After I had 
writhed around an hour or two the ache be¬ 
neath my belt got better, but I was as weak 
as a cat. Nevertheless I staggered on. 
I came upon some grouse tracks in the 
snow and paused to look around. Pres¬ 
ently I made out a plump one on a log 
under a brush. My first thought was to 
shoot her head off, pluck her feathers and 
eat her raw for breakfast, but the more I 
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