The Doctor was greatly
mortified, supposing he had missed. He declared solemnly that he had
taken steady and sure aim just back of the fore-shoulders of the deer,
had a perfect sight upon it, and that it did not fall in its tracks,
could only be owing to its bearing a charmed life. The boatman,
however, knew that the animal, from its actions, was mortally wounded.
He said nothing, but paddled quietly to the shore, and there, just
over the bank, in the tall grass and weeds, lay the noble buck, stone
dead. He had gone down and died without a struggle. A proud man was
the Doctor, as he passed his hunting-knife across the throat of the
deer, and gazed upon its broad antlers, now in the velvet, pointing to
the course of the ball right through its vitals, in on one side and
out on the other. We had venison for the next four-and-twenty hours,
and we disturbed the deer no more that afternoon.
The deep baying of the stag-hounds, as we entered the little lake,
apprised us of the location of our tents, and we were glad to reach
them, and stretch our limbs upon the bed of boughs beneath them, for
the day had been warm, and our journey a weary one. Our pioneer had
made the entire journey the day before, though he had to pass over all
the carrying-places three times. We found that he had killed two deer,
and had the meat from them, cut into thin slips, undergoing the
process of "jerking," in a bark smokehouse erected near the tents.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127