"WHEN HE STOPPED TO DRINK AT THE GLASSY POOL."
During the next two years he became famous throughout the settlements. Every one had heard of the big buck who was so bold about showing himself when no one was ready for him, but so crafty in eluding the hunters. He was seen from time to time in the pastures with the cattle, but never when there was a gun within reach. On many a field of earing grain he stamped the broad defiance of his ravages, till for miles about every backwoods sportsman began to dream of winning those noble antlers.
The last farm of the settlement toward the northwest, where the road leads off over wooded dips and rises to the valley of the turbulent Ottanoonsis, belonged to an old bachelor farmer named Ramsay. This farm the red buck seemed to have selected for his special and distinguished attention. He loved Ramsay's bean-fields and his corn-patch. He loved his long, sea-green turnip rows. He loved even the little garden before the kitchen window, where he easily learned to like cabbages and cucumbers and tried vainly to acquire a taste for onions and peppergrass. The visits to the garden were invariably paid when Ramsay was away at the crossroads store or during the dark hours of those particular nights when Ramsay slept soundest. The gaunt old farmer vowed vengeance, and kept his long-barrelled duck gun loaded with buckshot, and wasted many days lying in wait for the marauder or following his trail through the tumbled, sweet-smelling autumn woods of Ringwaak. At last, however, though his desire for vengeance had by no means slackened, the grim old farmer woodsman began to take a certain pride in his adversary's prowess, along with a certain jealous apprehension lest those daring antlers should fall a trophy to some other gun than his. When the buck would perpetrate some particularly audacious depredation on the corn or cabbages, Ramsay's first burst of wrath would be succeeded by something akin to respectful appreciation. He would pull his scraggy and grizzled chin with his gnarled fingers contemplatively, and a twinkle of understanding humour would supplant the anger in his shrewd, blue, woods-wise eyes as he stood surveying the damage. Such an antagonist was worth while, and Ramsay registered a vow that that fine hide should keep him warm in winter, those illustrious antlers adorn no other walls but his.
But there were many others who had similar views as to the destiny of the great Ringwaak buck, whose fame by the opening of his fourth season had spread far beyond the limits of the Ringwaak settlements. Late in the fourth autumn a couple of new settlers on the lower river decided to make a trip up to Ringwaak and try their luck. They had heard of the big buck's craft in foiling the trailers, of his almost inspired sagacity in avoiding ambuscade. But they were prepared to play an entirely new card against him. They brought with them two splendid dogs of mixed Scotch deerhound and collie blood who were not only fierce but intelligent, not only tireless but swift.
When these two long-legged, long-jawed, iron gray dogs were loosed upon his trail the big buck chanced to be watching them from the heart of a thicket on a knoll less than one hundred yards away. At least, as the crow flies, it was about that distance, but by the windings of the trail it was fully a mile. It was with equanimity, therefore, that the buck gazed down upon these two strange arrivals, till he perceived by their actions that it was his own trail they were following. Then a spark of anger came into his great liquid eyes, and he stamped his sharp hoofs, as if he would like to wait and give battle. But these were antagonists too formidable for even so hardy a fighter as he; so he decided to get away in good time. He was only half in earnest about it, however, for after all, big as they were, these were only dogs, and dogs were easy to elude. He amused himself with three or four mighty leaps, first in one direction, then in another, to give his pursuers something to puzzle over. Then he went bounding lightly away along the skirts of the mountains, northwestward, toward the more familiar and favoured section of his range. When he came to a brook he would run a little way up or down the channel before resuming his flight. And at last, when his velvet sides were beginning to heave from so much exercise, he made his accustomed loop in the trail and lay down, well satisfied to wait for the pursuers to go by.
There was only one thing that made him a little nervous as he waited in the covert overlooking his back tracks. These dogs were so silent, compared with the curs he was used to. An occasional sharp yelp, just enough to let their masters know where they were, was all the noise they made. They attended strictly to business. The buck did not expect to hear anything of them for some time, but he had hardly been lying in his covert more than five minutes when those staccato yelps came faintly to his ears. He was startled. How had the creatures so quickly solved the complexities of his trail? He had no apprehension of the sure cunning with which those dogs could cut across curves and pick up the trail anew. Still less did he realize their appalling speed. When next their voices struck upon his ear they were so close that for an instant his heart stood still. But his craft did not fail him. Without waiting to see the lean, long shapes flash by, he arose and noiselessly faded back through the covert, moving as softly as a shadow till he felt himself out of ear-shot. Then he dashed away at top speed, determined to put a safe distance between himself and these disconcerting adversaries.
"NOISELESSLY FADED BACK THROUGH THE COVERT."