I stood there; like a mile-post by the roadside, until they had all vanished, forgetting that I had other cartridges in my belt. Finally I recovered consciousness and began to wonder where some of those deer would stop. If I could only get another chance such as I had on that buck, wouldn't I down him in fine style? I would plant a bullet in the center of his shoulder next time sure. No dime-novel scout was ever more unerring in his aim than I would be if I could only get another aim. I started on toward the top of a ridge, over which one of the large bucks had disappeared, and on reaching it I saw him, or some other one, just behind an oak grub on the opposite side-hill. I raised my rifle and took careful aim this time, but was so nervous that I could not hold the bead on him, and when I pulled he made another series of those daring leaps that soon carried him out of sight. I fired a second shot at him as he went, but with no better result than the first.
I now crossed over to the farther edge of the slash, and, seeing no more game, started through a body of large pines to an old burn that I had been told lay a mile to the east. I was walking hurriedly through this green timber, not expecting to see game, and stepped upon a large log, when a doe and two fawns, that had been lying down in the top of a fallen tree, jumped and ran across in front of me, offering an excellent opportunity for a good shot to have killed all three of them. I slung lead after them at a lively rate, firing five or six shots before they got out of sight, but did no further harm than to accidentally clip an ear off one of the fawns close down to its head.
After they were gone I went and picked up this trophy and stopped to meditate on my ill-luck, or want of skill. I then remembered that though I had striven to hold the front sight on one or the other of the deer at each shot after the first, I had entirely forgotten to look through the notch in the rear sight. Chagrined and mortified beyond all power to describe, I trudged along and finally reached the burn I was in search of. The sun was now high in the heavens and shining brightly, so that the game was no longer on foot, but had sought the seclusion of various bits of dense cover and lain down. My only chance for a shot was, therefore, in walking them up, which I proceeded to do. The brush was dense all over this burn, so that I could rarely see twenty yards in any direction, yet I hoped against hope for another chance. I was desperate over the disgraceful failures I had made, and yet I knew I could shoot. I had killed quantities of small game with the same rifle I was then using and had killed one deer years ago with an old muzzle loader. I could always depend upon making a good fair score at the target at 200 yards, or even longer ranges, and yet I had shot away a dozen cartridges this morning at deer, some of which were standing within a few yards of me, and had not stopped one of them. I was furious, and determined that the next shot should tell.
I walked down an old logging-road several hundred yards, hoping that some belated traveler might be found crossing or walking in it, but, failing in this, I turned out and walked along the crest of a ridge, looking down both sides of it. Struggling through briers and brush, making a good deal of noise, unavoidably, I still failed to jump a deer until I left the ridge and started toward a "draw" in which was a small meadow or slough. When half way down the hill I came to a large stump, about four feet high, from which a tree had been cut when the snow was deep. I climbed upon this to take a look at the surrounding country. As I did so, a large buck that had been been lying just below it, sprang from his bed and bounded away through the brush, showing here and there a flash of his white flag and a gleam of his majestic antlers, but not enough of his body to shoot at. I was perfectly cool now. My nervousness had all disappeared. In short, I was mad. I stood watching his course and awaiting developments with all the confidence and coolness of a veteran, instead of the novice I really was. He ran down the long hill, across the swale, and up the hill on the opposite side, and, on reaching the top of it and coming out upon open ground, turned broadside and stopped to look at me, doubtless deeming himself perfectly safe at that great distance. Standing erect on that high stump I was clear above the surrounding underbrush and had a fine view of the magnificent quarry. His head was thrown high up and well back; his ears erect, nostrils distended, and even at that distance I imagined I could see the defiant gleam of his jet black eye. His glossy coat glistened in the brilliant autumn sunlight, and his spreading antlers and powerful muscular development characterized him as a giant among his kind. As I raised my rifle slowly to my shoulder, I felt that at last I had perfect control of my nerves and that I was in some measure to redeem myself from the ignominy of past failures. I had elevated my rear sight for 250 yards, and as I looked through the delicate notch in it and saw the little golden front bead glimmer on the buck's shoulder, the muzzle of the rifle was as steady and immovable as if screwed in a vice. There was no tremor, no vibration now; and holding well up to the spine and showing the full size of the bead, to allow for the distance, I pressed the trigger.
At the report the deer bounded into the air as if a dynamite cartridge had exploded under him, and, lowering his head to a line with his body, started to run. There was none of those lofty, airy leaps now, no defiant waving to and fro of the white flag. That emblem was closely furled. His pride was broken and his sole object in life seemed to be to get out of the country as soon as possible. The course he had taken lay along the top of the ridge and I had a fine view of the run from start to finish. He at once began to waver in his course, turning slightly from left to right and from right to left. He stumbled and staggered like a blind horse. He ran crashing and smashing into the dead top of a fallen tree, breaking the dry limbs, some of them three or four inches in diameter, as if they had been rye straws. When he had gone as far into this labyrinth of branches as he could get, he sank to the ground as if exhausted, but suddenly rose again, extricated himself by a few desperate struggles to the right, and sped on. He ran squarely against a good-sized sapling with such force as to throw him prostrate upon his side. Still, his great vitality was not spent, and, struggling to his feet, he dashed on again. Next he ran against a log that lay up from the ground some three feet and was set back upon his haunches. He quickly recovered, took it in good shape, and now dashed into a clump of oak grubs that still held their dry leaves. Tearing and forcing his way through these, he forged ahead with all his remaining strength and plunged headlong into another fallen tree-top. In this he struggled, trying to force his way out until he sank upon the ground from sheer loss of blood and expired. From where he stood when I shot, to where he finally fell was about 300 yards.
I stepped the distance from where I stood to where the deer was when I fired and found it to be 267 yards. Taking up his trail, I found the ground copiously sprinkled with blood where he came down at the end of his first jump, and the leaves and brush were crimsoned with it from there to where he gave up the struggle. On coming up to him I found that my bullet had drifted slightly to the left, owing to the force of a strong wind which was blowing at the time, and cut his throat almost as neatly as I could have done it with my hunting-knife. The oesophagus was entirely severed and the thorax nearly so. His body was sadly bruised and lacerated by the terrible ordeal through which he had passed, and I concluded that he must have gone stone blind when the bullet struck him. In no other way can I account for his strange conduct. I saved his head and had it mounted as a memento of one of the most remarkable scratch shots I ever made.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THREE OF A KIND.
ARLY autumn's frosts had tinged the foliage of the birch, maple, oak, and elm trees, that intermingle in the great pine forests, with a thousand rich colors and shades of gold, brown, olive, pink, and crimson, while the pines, the hemlocks, the firs, and the cedars still wore their dark mantels of perennial green, and all Nature was clad in her sweetest smiles. A solitary woodpecker, perched on the topmost branch of a dead giant of the forest, reaching out far above the surrounding network of leafy branches, from which he might survey the surrounding country, sounded his morning reveille and awaited the coming of his mate. The dry leaves with which mother earth was carpeted, rustled now and again to the bound of the saucy red squirrel, the darting hither and thither of the shy wood-mouse, or the tread of the stupid, half-witted porcupine. The chill October wind soughed through the swaying tree-tops, laden with the rich ozone that gives life, health, and happiness to all animate beings that are permitted to inhale it.