752 
Good Luck. 
On the western slope of an Adirondack Olym- 
pus and over the broad expanse of beaver mea- 
dow which lay at its base, the afternoon sun cast 
a mellow light. It was the hour when the peace- 
ful decline of day could be felt merging gradu- 
ally into the serenity of approaching night, and 
the moments seemed but delicious pulsations 
waved through the gold spun ether. Does not 
poesy reveal itself in an afternoon shadow, and 
spirituality on that one lurid cloud vein drawn 
against the horizon? 
As the sun sank lower a damp, spiced breath 
of mosses and herbage filled the air, swung, per- 
chance, from the censors of wandering oreads, 
and presently bluish puffs of mist ~- commenced 
rolling off the surface of a wide deep stream 
which divided this wild meadowland, and pierced, 
as it were, into the very heart of the mountain 
beyond, Like limpid amethyst the water flowed 
gently between the spongy banks, broken in places 
by the well-worn ruts of deer runways, and pro- 
fusely grown with rose-tinted bushes, alders and 
marsh grasses. Its depth varied, sometimes sink- 
ing to deeper tranquillity and again moving over 
shallows where the sand glinted and sparkled in 
the sunlight. Such streams are numerous in the 
north woods, pure fountain-heads of antiquity, 
and the whole region, in fact, is noted for its in- 
numerable water courses that flow down from the 
highest mountains to feed the Arcadian lakes be- 
low, traveling onward until at last they are emp- 
tied by some great river into the sea. And what 
js more symbolical of both the virile and divine 
forces of life than one of these “‘little rivers’? 
In Endymion we find the following lines: 
“T will delight thee all my winding course, 
From the green sea up to my hidden source 
About Arcadian forests; and will show 
‘The channels where my coolest waters flow 
Through mossy rocks; where, ’mid exuberant green, 
I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen 
Than Saturn in his exile, where I brim 
Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim 
Of mealy sweets which myriads of bees 
Buzz from their honey’d wings.” 
Poets have ever lauded and immortalized a 
stream; it suggests the flexibility of existence and 
the irresistible flux of time. The earth is the 
body and such streams are its veins, pulsing with 
infinite health and vigor. 
But the quietude of the spot and the peace of 
the wilderness was destined to an unlooked for 
intrusion, as presently around a point there glided 
into view a slow-moving boat, occupied by three 
sphinx-like figures. It was the cpening day of 
the hunting season, and our expectations were 
unusually high, Every fresh outlook ahead gave 
rise to a prolonged thrill, that delicious sensation 
which is alone the sportsman’s lot to experience. 
On previous occasions when we had visited this 
same locality, deer signs appeared plentiful, and 
as the season was early our chances of seeing 
them around the water were therefore increased. 
Except for the occasional splash of a trout or 
the lonely whistle of an olive-sided fly-catcher, 
perched high on the stark pinnacle of a dead pine, 
no sound broke the profound silence, that over- 
powering and sublime voice which speaks to hu- 
manity in an infinite uadertone which is the re- 
sponse of solitude and the sentiment of unfaith- 
omed deeps. Once, however, an overhanging 
alder bush ungraciowsly scraped the boat’s side 
and the Veteran mae some inaudible - remark, 
which though difficult to hear was easy to guess 
at. We had made. an agreement before setting 
out, that: while he did the shooting on the way 
to our déstination, I was to assume the right on 
the return trip, each of us having unqualified 
faith in the. three-barreled gun which had been 
his companion. for many seasons, and had more 
than once déne me good service. Who would 
change thesnew for the old? We become at- 
tached to.a; rifle.or gun with a relationship which 
is the outcome of many happy hunting days, and 
which we treasure in consequence. [| doubt if 
there is a person who could persuade me that a 
better rifle for deer shooting is made thana .40-65 
Winchester, yet there are rifles to suit every par- 
ticular taste, and it always amuses one to listen 
to an argument where each opponent vainly at- 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 12, 1906. 

tempts to convince the other that his own weapon 
is the best, explaining the why and wherefore 
with keen enthusiasm, A more useless task was 
never undertaken. 
As we penetrated farther and farther along the 
stream’s course the scene changed, and we en- 
tered a narrow shaded channel, overhung by 
spruce boughs and alder bushes, one sharp bend 
succeeding another, until at last a broad, shallow 
stretch opened ahead, closely bounded by the 
forest and groves of whispering tamaracks which 
exhaled an indescribable perfume. On emerging 
from the shadows into this enchanted realm of 
larches a sombre blue heron arose with a dull 
throb of wings and sailed heavily away into the 
dim silent vistas beyond. There has ever been 
an air of mystery about this particular locality. 
It is interpenetrated with some unknown and 
enthralling influence that encircles the imagina- 
tion and weaves visions for the fancy; but who 
shall translate the phantasmal powers of the un- 
disturbed wilderness or its mystic undercurrents? 
An age-worn blaze on a tree near the shore 
indicated a landing place, and opened the trail 
which led to a secluded beaver meadow some 
distance back in the woods, which had been de- 
termined upon as our destination. The walk was 
very remote and impressive as with eyes and ears 
alert we stole along, the Veteran and Wallace 
going first, while I followed behind. Before long 
a glimmer of increased light through the trees 
announced our near approach to the meadow, at 
one end of which there lay a small pool, and 
while the Veteran now advanced with the great- 
est caution in order to obtain a view of the lat- 
ter, Wallace and I waited for the outcome. 
Slowly he made his way forward, peering under 
the thick boughs and moving without a sound. 
Suddenly his hand slipped along the rifle barrel 
as he halted, while by his actions he appeared en- 
deavoring to obtain a more favorable position. 
Then followed an interminable pause as he took 
aim, another second and a heavy report belched 
forth. We both hastened forward to where he 
stood with smoking rifle just in time to see a fine 
buck leaving the pool, apparently hit very hard. 
“Perhaps we can cut him off,” suggested Wal- 
lace, and simultaneously away we started at full 
speed, tripping over logs, barely escaping eye de- 
structive twigs and breathless with excitement, 
for even the most antiquated hunter, no matter 
how much he denies the fact, is nevertheless very 
often taken by storm under similar conditions. 
The Veteran and Wallace made decidedly better 
time than I did, but in spite of many pits and 
windfalls, I managed to keep up. No sooner had 
we reached the spot where the deer left the pool 
than Wallace, who was ahead, beckoned violently 
to the Veteran. Another shot rang out and the 
buck, having fallen in a tangle of bushes, was 
bagged, ending the chase in triumph. 
He proved to be a worthy prize with unusually 
picturesque horns, and for so early in the season 
was in prime condition. Strange to say, on one 
flank we discovered a peculiar wool-like growth, 
which probably indicated some domestic ancestor. 
After hanging up the game in order to protect 
it from.marauding foxes, we started back and 
reached the inlet just as the sun shot a last lurid 
flame into the island-like clouds hung over the 
west. Naturally enough, because I desired to get 
into the bow seat as noiselessly as possible, I 
caught one foot and hit the boat with a resound- 
ing thud. 
“Tm not going to shoot at anything but a 
buck,” I whispered to the Veteran, as we pushed 
off from the grassy point. 
“All right.” he acquiesced, but there was some- 
thing suspicious in his tone which touched my 
pride. 
“No, really, ’m:> not going to,’ I echoed again, 
failing to take into consideration the fact that 
rounding sharp turns with the unknown lurking 
on the other side, was liable to upset one’s reso- 
lutions. So I cocked both barrels; fully deter- 
mined not to shoot unless I saw horns, and our 
journey down stream commenced, 
The atmosphere felt cooled by the first intima- 
tion of autumnal’ frosts, and the reflections on 
the water lay olazed and motionless, imaged with 
marvelous clarity. As the boat slowly neared an 
approaching bend I was assailed by something 
akin to buck-fever, minus unsteadiness, for al- 
though I have had a rifle- sight seem literally 
alive, yet this time it was not so. The instant we 
had passed the point I descried a deer standing on 
the south bank about sixty yards off with its 
head down, feeding. At first glance it looked 
enormous, and unfortunately I did not wait to 
take a second look, for I had visions of concealed 
antlers behind those intervening bushes. Up 
went the bead on the animal’s shoulder, and with- 
out hesitation I pulled trigger. Imagine my dis- 
gust when away bounded a yearling doe, her big 
ears seeming to mock the very existence of horns. 
The Veteran laughed but I can’t say as much for 
myself. 
“It’s no bigger than a rabbit,” he said a short 
time later, after having gone ashore with Wallace 
to trail up the quarry, which they had found al- 
most immediately; and needless to say, I was not 
overwhelmed with elation at this announcement, 
for one always regrets shooting a doe unless it is 
very late in the season when their condition is 
best; but even then, if they chance to have a 
fawn, the after effect on the hunter is far from 
agreeable and he cannot forget that the poor little 
animal, stranded and alone, may perish as the re- 
sult. At the present day, however, in the Adiron- 
dacks, there is no discrimination with the mob 
of so-called sportsmen who overrun the woods 
and shoot at everything, themselves included, for 
where one man is fitted to carry a gun and en- 
joy the sport offered by this beautiful but fast 
crumbling region, there are many who, void of 
true sportsman’s instincts, prove unworthy and 
incapable, both in the use of firearms and in hunt- 
ing the Virginia deer. 
The western heavens were glowing with a 
clear roseate flush when some fifteen minutes 
after the last shoot, we emerged from the mouth 
of the stream on a lake, whose unruffled ex- 
panse reached like a sylvan vision into the dusk 
and whose tranquillity was unbroken save for 
the silver ripple cut by a large loon far out 
in the middle. Occasionally its shrill treble 
laugh startled the echoes, and as the twilight 
fell and we continued our journey up the lake, 
it sounded more like some uncanny voice, wail- 
ing from a chasm of solitude than anything 
made of flesh and blood. In the distance the 
camp lights glimmered faintly, beacons which 
the wilderness makes dear to the returning 
hunter, especially when he has beén successful 
and his genii of “good luck” have born faith- 
ful attendance on his exploits. ; 
Not more than two weeks later, when the 
maple leaves were noticeably flushed with 
crimson and the evenings grown crisp and 
vivifying, I had the good fortune to bag a de- 
cidedly better deer, under circumstances that 
proved themselves exciting as well as amusing. 
It was our usual occupation on favorable after- 
noons to drive out from camp to an old clear- 
ing, whose extensive area formed one of our 
chief hunting resorts. Here our party was ac- 
customed to divide, one going off to watch a 
section known as the northeast corner, while 
the other had the choice of two fields on the 
south side. The chances of obtaining a shot in 
either place were greatly increased if the day 
had been wet and stormy, ‘clearing toward after- 
noon, for the deer were much more likely to 
move about earlier and come out in the open 
before dark. However, on this occasion the 
weather was cloudless and the woods warm and 
radiant as we drove through them on our way 
over. 
Shortly before setting out, Diana of -the 
Dryades had announced her intention of ac- 
companying us, and strangely enough in chosing 
to watch with me. She remarked also that she 
intended to bring me “good luck.’ And she did! 
Moreover, the Veteran, who has ever proved 
himself equal to the cunning tricks of old bucks, 
had marked down one as frequenting the little 
south field, and through his advice: to hunt it 
regularly, I at length succeeded in winning” a 
good trophy. 
Embowered in a spruce bough blind, well ob- 
scured beneath‘the shelter of a squat | pine, we 
commenced our vig:l, Diana,.Wallace and my- 
self, the Veteran and C. having taken the 
northeast corner. I was interested in the 
