I had
not touched him, and I knew it the moment I fired. Our little boat was
light and rollish, and just as I pressed the trigger, it rolled
slightly on the water and my ball passed over, but mighty close to the
back of that deer. I was mortified enough at this mishap, for I prided
myself on my coolness and marksmanship, and here was a failure
apparently more inexcusable than any that had occurred. But there was
no help for it. The deer was gone, and Spalding and the boatman
indulged in a hearty laugh at my expense.
Some half a mile up the lake, we saw a great turtle sunning himself on
a rock which was partly out of water. He was twice as large as any of
the fresh-water kind I had ever seen. His shell was all of two feet in
diameter, and his scaly arms, as they hung loosely over the side of
the rock, were as large as the wrists of a man. He was some six or
eight rods from us, and Spalding gave him a shot with his rifle. The
ball glanced harmlessly from his massive shell against the ledge
behind him, and starting from his sleep, he clambered lazily and
clumsily into the water.
We threw out a trolling line as we passed up the lake; but we caught
no trout. Along the shore, however, we caught small ones in plenty
with the fly. These shore trout, as I call them, seem to be a distinct
species, differing in many respects from the other trout of the lakes
or streams.
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