640 
FOREST AND STREAM 
November, 1918 
"The deers haint skeered of a light on a dark night” 
on his part. “ *nd there’s no use a talkin’, 
Mister Johnnie they’s deer there!” 
Upon ’ seeing there was no danger of 
losing the chance of the loan, he relegat¬ 
ed my title to the simple one with which 
he had addressed me first. 
The following evening we made camp a 
mile above Hargis, waiting for night to 
come. I had seen enough during the day 
to convince me for once of Josh’s veracity, 
and though it was bordering the rutting 
season, the deer were working in the moss. 
During the day we had twice seen Josh’s 
horse. He was grazing contentedly near 
the bay on lespedeza, and he submitted to 
the old man’s caresses and extolling 
phrases with no letup in his nibbling. 
“He’s shore a horse,” confided my little 
■guide, gazing admiringly at the animated 
hulk of bones.” ’nd when he gets in shape, 
hifill have to be a real race horse that 
kin heat him!” 
Among Josh’s innumerable aerial fabri¬ 
cations his pet illusion was, that some 
■day—as soon as Prince got into shape— 
he would ride him at the county fair races, 
and outdistance all comers with him. Be¬ 
cause the process of getting in shape, to 
my knowledge, had been extending over 
ten years, in no wise discouraged the own¬ 
er. His one consuming love was Prince, 
his squirrel dog, Carlo, followed next. He 
cared for his family some in his utterly, 
indifferent, irresponsible way as he did for 
himself. 
We embarked in our long johnboat. I 
was in the bow, and Josh took the pad¬ 
dling end. The pine light was already 
kindled in the big fire basket, throwing a 
great yellow light over the chattering 
shoals. 
“We’ll try this first little bay,” declared 
Josh, nosing the boat into a small byway 
separated from the river by a heavy 
growth of hardwoods. 
Silence fell upon us. Speech was not 
to be thought of. Josh paddled noiselessly 
up the bay. The boat responded promptly 
to his art. 
“There!” hissed between closed teeth. 
“There!” 
“Where? Oh!” I gasped. Before me 
not many yards away were two small 
lights, just a small distance apart, small 
but livid-coal-like, and moving but slight¬ 
ly. Why had not Josh instructed me in 
the night hunting art? It was too late 
to ask questions. Where would I aim? I 
reached down in the boat, and brought up 
to my shoulder the big ten gauge shotgun, 
into the chamber of which Josh had forced 
two swollen brass shells. They were load¬ 
ed brim-full with buckshot. I pointed it 
where I thought the deer would be, and 
pulled the trigger. The gun boomed out 
on the night. Then I heard an animal 
jump from the shallow water to the bank, 
proceeding up the skirting bluffs, disturbing 
stones at each bound. 
An oath of disapproval escaped Josh. 
“Dang if yu’s didn’t miss him!” he cried 
in a voice surcharged with chagrin. But 
he continued paddling until we came to 
where the deer had been standing. He 
fed the basket more rich pine, and ex¬ 
amined here and there. Ten feet from the 
deer’s position a willow about two inches 
through was partly severed, its heavy top 
leaning in the bay. 
“Yu’ns’ll never do,” remarked Josh, nod¬ 
ding his head in perplexity. “That willow 
you hit’s twenty-five feet frum where the 
deer was!” Then a sudden, distressing 
thought forced itself upon him. “What 
if Prince had been a grazin’ on the bank? 
Yu’ns ’ud a shore hit him!” 
With the prospect of two dollars ahead 
the old man did not deem it advisable to 
criticize too much. He was versed in hu¬ 
man nature: and he regarded the present 
as an improper time to chide me over my 
reprehensible failure. But this much I 
was sure of, he had no faith in me as a 
night hunter, and subtly by innuendo led 
up to my consent into yielding him the gun, 
and my promise to paddle him up Hargis 
Bay. 
“Hit shore wud uve bin hell,” he ex¬ 
claimed, “if Prince had a bin there eatin’ 
cress and yu’ns shot him. Fur when he 
gits into shape I’m shore a gwine—” 
Much to Josh’s gratification without pro¬ 
test I consented to give him the honor of 
shooting the next deer. I had no more 
idea about night hunting than any other 
Jype. And, if we got a large deer, I would 
derive as much pleasure from it as he. 
But before changing places I let Josh run 
the fast water ahead. In day I might have 
chanced the rapid, but at night, never. That 
keen-eyed savant of the stream was at 
home on it at any hour. 
“Now,” instructed the little man as we 
traded positions,” jist paddle as slow and 
still as yu’ns kin. When yu’ns here me 
whistle low between my teeth, jist stop a 
paddlin’. I’d shore let yu’ns shoot, but 
I’m ’feared Prince mout be along here. 
There’s no tellin’ what yu’ns mout do. 
For as soon as I gits him in shape I’m 
gwine to—” 
I took the balance for granted, grasped 
the paddle, and slowly propelled the craft 
up the entrance of the bay. For in my ad¬ 
vance I observed the strange contours of 
the rows of trees in the golden-yellow 
luminance of the pine knots. There was 
a mysterious fascination to the wilderness. 
The trees in their grotesque shapes, the 
silver-rippling water, and the anticipation 
of our slow invasion into the recesses of 
the wild creatures indescribably charmed. 
I heard Josh whistle, and then followed 
plonk, plonk, plonk, the tread of a deer in 
tranquil water, with a slight crisping of 
the gravel accompanying it. 
Josh whistled again. 
I stopped paddling. 
The native was peering ahead. Some 
yards in advance of him I became aware of 
two balls of fire. I held the boat, steady. 
The old man crouched. 
“Hit’s dang good thing I’m here ’stead 
of yu’ns,” he whispered, so the sound just 
reached me, ‘“fur hit’s a hell uve a big 
buck. Them eyes is nearly a foot apart.” 
The pine illumined the drawn features 
of the guide, but there was yet fastened 
on them the smile of achievement. The 
gun bellowed booming reverberations, that 
carried to pine-clad mountain tops. 
A great body reeled then fell into the 
water, where for an instant it thrashed it 
mightily. Josh shouted until his shrill 
voice raced in the wake of the gun’s re¬ 
port. Presently all was silence. 
“Push up to hit as quick as yu’ns kin!’’ 
commanded Josh. 
I shoved the boat almost on the animal. 
“Hit’s a big white deer as shore as you 
are born!” announced Josh. But his voice 
suddenly trembled into a prompt appre¬ 
hensive subsidence of speech. The old 
man’s face was a study as he threw his 
eyes on the big animal. It was agape 
with astonishment and anguish. For the 
old man saw what I did. His hopes died 
as the white horse gave its last breath. 
