University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE STILL-HUNT.

The autumnal morning was yet dark as midnight,
when Dolph Pierson, arising from his bearskin, awoke
Harry, who ere long had the whole house afoot and
stirring. The kitchen clock was striking four, when
the party assembled in the little parlour in which they
had supped but a few hours before; yet so smartly had
Timothy bestirred himself, that not only had all the
relies of the supper been removed, but a hearty extemporaneous
breakfast had replaced it on the large round
table.

There was the Yorkshire ham, which had not suffered
so deeply by the last night's onslaught, but that enough
remained to furnish forth sundry meals even for hunters'
appetites. There was the huge brown loaf; the dish

of golden butter; the wooden bowl, full to the brim
with new-laid eggs, wrapped in a steaming napkin;
and last, not least, two mighty tankards smoking with
a judioious mixture of Guinness's double stout, brown
sugar, spice, and toast; for to no womanish delicacies
of tea and coffee did the stout huntsmen seriously incline.

As they entered the room, the old hunter, who was
busily employed drying a pound of rifle-powder on a
pewter plate, heated on the wood embers, raised his
eyes from his occupation, and kept them riveted on the
figure of Harry Archer, for a far longer period than it
was his wont to bestow on anything of mortal mould.

After gazing at him for some moments thus, he
nodded his head approvingly, as who should say “Not
such a bad turn-out, after all!” and then resumed his
somewhat perilous occupation of stirring the powder in
the plate with the point of his long wood-knife, as he
held it an inch or two only above a glaring bed of
hickory embers; but neither on Frank Forester, nor on
old Tom Draw, did he youchsafe to bestow one second's
observation.

And in truth, Harry in his hunting-dress was an object
worthy of some consideration, so perfect was every
part of its equipment, both in its fashion, and its adaptation
to its peculiar use.

On his head he wore a cap exactly like that of an English
whipper-in, or huntsman, with this exception only,

that it had a projecting rim behind, to shelter the back
of his neck from rain, or the dewdrops which might fall
from the branches, and that in lieu of being black, it
was of a deep umber-brown, to correspond with the
colour of the autumnal leaves.

The black silk handkerchief, knotted about his
sinewy neck, displayed not an inch of white linen above
it, and was itself partially concealed by a buckskin
hunting-shirt, exquisitely wrought by the hand of some
Indian maiden, far in the forests of the west. Prepared
with skill peculiar to those wild tribes, this garment
combined the suppleness, the warmth, and the durability
of leather, with the high finish and rich colour of
the best broad-cloth. That colour was a nameless hue,
between brown and purple, approaching nearly to the
tints of the copper beech, or rather to something between
that and the cinnabar brown of the buckeye, or horse-chesnut.
It was fringed handsomely, and embroidered
in places with black porcupine-quills; and was girt
about his waist by a black leather girdle, with a
buckle of blue steel, supporting a pouch of martin skin,
and a hunting-knife with a buckhorn hilt, and a blade,
a foot in length, of the best Sheffield steel. He wore
no tomahawk; but his powder-flask, made of a buffalo
horn mounted with dark blue steel, was slung across his
left shoulder by a plaited whip-thong of black leather.

His nether man was clad in a pair of Pike and Elphick's
elaborate buckskins, which had bestridden the pig-skin

many a day in Leicestershire, and soared in flying
leap over the bankfull Whissendine. Not now, however,
were they resplendent as of old in the glory of white pipe-clay,
but wore a more harmonious if less striking hue of
dull olive-green, as did the leggins of the same material,
which reached to his knee and covered the fastenings of
his firmly-wrought Indian moccasins.

Two things only remain to be noticed of all his
accoutrements—that in the buckskin garter which secured
the buskin of his right leg he had a short strong
two-edged dirk, the knee-knife of the Highlander; and
that he bore a superb double-barrelled rifle by Moore,
that prince of makers, warranted, at two hundred yards,
when held by a steady hand, to put both balls through
the same bull's eye; a feat many a time and oft performed
by its present owner.

In spite of its weight, which was nearly twenty
pounds, it was both a manageable and handy weapon;
for not being very long, and the metal being heaviest at
the breech, it was so admirably balanced in the hand, as
to fatigue the arm far less, whether at a trail or a present,
than the much less ponderous but longer rifle of
the Dutch hunter.

The barrels were browned to a nicety, and all the
mountings tempered in wood-ashes to so deep a blue,
that, like all the rest of Harry's dress, there was no
fear of a stray sunbeam glistening from any brilliant

point, and so betraying his approach to the fearful
quarry.

Tom Draw wore as usual his dark home-spun suit,
with heavy boots, and a dark gray felt hat, which garb,
if it possessed no beauty, had at least this advantage,
that it was inconspicuous and quiet. His buckshot cartridges—for
he eschewed the rifle—and copper flask
were buried in the vast pockets of his voluminous unmentionables,
and from a slit in the side of these, like
that in which a carpenter carries his wooden rule, peered
the stout haft of a gigantic butcher-knife.

His other weapon was the huge ten-pound double-barrelled
shot-gun of twelve-guage, with which he was
wont to exterminate all genera of game, from the minute
sandpiper to the huge brown bear.

Frank had as usual been exceedingly elaborate, but
as usual also somewhat unfortunate in his attire, for,
inclining somewhat at all times to the kiddy in the style
of his dress, he had unluckily leaned to it at the very
time of all others when it is least admissible, and had
mounted a hunting-shirt and cap, the latter adorned
with a waving bucktail, of the brightest pea-green
plush, with fringes of the same colour. His buck-skin
breeches were of as fair a white as he would have
donned to meet the Quorn at Billesdon Coplow; and
his legs were encased in stout russet gaiters, and his feet
shod in strong ankle-shoes. His knife was silver hilted;
his rifle, which was of much smaller calibre and lighter

fashion than his friend's, and his powder-horn, were
silver-mounted; and, in a word, his whole appearance
was much fitter for a fancy ball, than for a still-hunt in
the forest.

Archer knew all this, it is true, quite as well as the
hunter, and felt its absurdity quite as keenly; yet,
though with Forester he had been for years on terms of
more than brother's intimacy, he had given him no hint
on the subject, and as they sat down to the sociable
breakfast, he suffered his eye to run over Forester's gay
dress, when he knew that Dolph was observing him, and
then catching the eye of the latter, addressed to him an
almost imperceptible motion of the head, which the old
hunter understood as well as if a volume had been
spoken, though he could not conceive the reason of it.

The fact was simply this, that Harry was so well
acquainted with his friend's character, that he did not
doubt for the moment, that if Frank should be advised
to don a graver garb, his pride of wooderaft would take
alarm, and he would swear that deer were attracted by
gay colours, and would persist in wearing them as de
rigueur; whereas, if left to himself, he would probably
discover his error in one day's hunting, and learn by his
own experience that which he would surely refuse if
urged by another.

All this, at an after period, Harry explained duly to
the old hunter, who merely shook his head in reply, and
marvelled to his heart's content; but at the moment,

beyond the glance and slight gesture, no sign or word
was exchanged between them.

The ham and eggs were speedily despatched, and the
tankards drained to the lees by all except old Pierson,
who quietly addressed himself to a bowl of milk, produced
by mine host at Dolph's especial desire. This
done, some sandwiches were prepared, the dram-bottles
filled, the rifles and shot-guns loaded and capped, the
contents of powder-flasks and pouches investigated, and
then all was pronounced to be ready for a start, and that
before they had been half an hour out of their beds, and
while the stars were yet shining brightly in the cerulean
sky, and ere one flash of dawn had appeared in the
eastern horizon.

“Tim,” said his master, “it will be of no use for you
to go with us to-day, and it will make too many. So
look well to the nags, will you? and see if you cannot
get us something eatable for dinner. Did you not say,
Dolph, that you had some venison?”

“I telled my boy to bring 't down the fust thing.
He'll be here afore it's light. Yes, its a prime saddle;
two inches of fat all over 't.”

“Divide it into haunches, Timothy, and roast it yourself.
You know how—covered with puff-paste.”

“Ay! I ken brawly. But what o'clock must I
have t'haunch ready? It winna do to keep't waiting
loike.”

“No, indeed, it will not. What time shall we be
back, Dolph?”

“Not afore seven, if then; there's no saying.”

“At eight, then, we will dine; make some soup, if
you can get either beef or mutton. And hark you, I
daresay you can catch some yellow bass, or pickerel;
there are both in the pond here—you can take my
tackle. If you cannot, see and buy some eels, and let
us have a matelot. With the soup and the haunch,
that will do. Have the champagne frozen to-night.
And now go and let Smoker loose.”

“What's Smoker?” asked the hunter.

“The best deer-hound American eyes ever looked
upon. Fresh from the Highlands—a present from Mr.
Scrope, by the way—almost as great a deerstalker as
yourself, Dolph.”

“Do you mean to take him along?”

“Not, if you say `No.' But if we wound a buck,
he'll pin him certainly before he's gone a mile.”

“I dar' say; but his yell will lose us ten for every one
he catches. Beside, the Dutchmen hereaway will shoot
him sartin. They're death on all hounds, and wun't
have no huntin' here nohow, 'less it's still-huntin'.”

“Smoker never hunted except still in his life. If
you catch him speaking once to the hottest scent, I'll
give the Dutchmen leave to shoot him. If they shoot
him without leave, Brown Bess here,” and he tapped
the breach of his ponderous rifle as he said the words,

“will take part in the conversation; and when she
barks, she is apt to bite, you know.”

“I know. But that wouldn't bring the dog back,
nuther. Hows'ever, if he runs mute, and fights mute,
they won't harm him, nor carn't, nuther. What breed
is he?”

“He will run mute, fight mute, and die mute, I'll
warrant him; though I hope not the last, yet awhile.”

“Well, what you says, you says; and what you says
you knows; so I'm agreeable. But you haven't telled
me what breed he is.”

“You shall see; you shall see. Here, Smoker, Smoker!”
and at the word, the door, which had been left
ajar, flew violently open, and a noble Scottish wire-haired
deer-greyhound came bounding into the room,
and at a gesture from its master, reared erect, laying
his shaggy paws upon his shoulders, and gazing into
his eyes, face to face.

“By thunder! he's a beauty,” cried the impassive
hunter, for once moved by surprise and admiration out
of his wonted quietude. “He could a'most pull down
a heifer, single-handed.”

“He has done that same! and no deer can stand
before him one half mile in the open.”

“I dar' be sworn on't. Great Jehu! what a leg!
my old arm's a fool to it. And for his chest, it'll out-measur
ar' a man here.”

“Not forgetting Tom Draw,” said Harry, laughing,

“who only measures sixty-two inches round his
chest, while Smoker is just sixty-seven.”

“I niver see sich another.”

“Nor I. Yet I have seen scores of the breed—I
might almost say hundreds. No, indeed, Smoker is a
non-such, and he's as good as he's handsome. Well,
shall we take him?”

“'Twould be a sin to have him hurt, I swan; and
sartin as death, if he hollers on a trail, some of them
Dutch fellows will make him smell H—!”

“They may, if he hollows!”

“Take him, then, sure! I'd give ten dollars to see
him pull one down.”

“If we wound one, you shall see it.”

“By thunder! then I'll wound the very fust one I
shoots at this good day.”

“Then you won't bring home nauthen,” sneered
Tom Draw.

“Jest twice what you will, with t'other gentleman,
I'll stand treats,” cried Dolph.

“Done!” shouted the fat man.

And “Done!” replied the hunter, confidently; and
then he added, “but we'll git nothen, none of us, if we
stays here much longer. Let's up traps, and track it.”

No sooner said than done; five minutes more and
they were all in the open air, under the calm, cold
azure canopy of heaven, with its myriads of bright stars

twinkling with that peculiar brilliancy which they at all
times derive from a slight touch of frost.

The mountains, on either side the narrow glen,
loomed up superbly dark, like perpendicular walls, of
the deepest purple hue, opaque, solid, earthfast, against
the liquid and transparent blackness of the starry firmament.
The broad, clear mill-pond at their base lay
calm and breezeless, with no reflection on its silvery
breast, save the faint specks of purer whiteness which
mirrored the eternal planets, motionless, sad, and silent,
yet how beautiful. The dews were still falling heavily,
and there was in the air, among the trees, on the waters,
that undefinable soft rustling sound, which yet is
scarce a sound, which we cannot determine, even when
sensible of it, whether we hear or feel; but other sound
of man or beast there came none through that deep and
narrow valley. Ever near morning, although before
the earliest east has paled, the accurate observer will
find in nature the deepest stillness.

The shrill cry of the katydid, the cicala of the west,
which carols so exultingly all the night long over her
goblets of night-dew, has lulled itself at last to rest.
The owls that hooted from every dell and dingle, so long
as the moon rode the heavens, have betaken themselves
to their morning slumbers. The night-frogs have ceased
to croak from the wooded hill; the very cocks, which
have crowed twice, are silent; and the watch-dogs, feeling

that their sagacity will be required but a few hours
longer, have withdrawn to their cozy kennels.

There is in this stillness something peculiarly grand,
solemn, and affecting. Involuntarily it reminds one of
the morning sleep of the young child, which, perturbed
and restless during the earlier watches of the night, falls
ever into the soundest and most refreshing slumber,
when the moment is nearest at which it shall start up,
reinvigorated and renewed, to fresh hope, fresh life,
fresh happiness.

And in the mind of Harry, ever alive to thick-coming
fancies, thoughts such as there were awakened, during
their swift walk up the vale on that clear still autumnal
morning, far more than the keen sportsman's eagerness,
or the exciting ardour of the chase.

After they had walked, however, some twenty minutes
in complete silence, the whole programme of the
day's sport having been abandoned to the old hunter's
sagacity, Harry became curious to know what were his
arrangements for the contemplated still-hunt.

Withdrawing, therefore, from his mouth the cigar
which he had been sedulously cultivating, he said to
the hunter in a low voice—

“Well, Dolph, how is it to be?”

“You goes with me, in course. We'll take the birch
canoe at the bridge, and follow the crick down, still as
death, to Green's Pond. It's like we'll cotch them as
they come down to drink, at gray daybreak. Then,

when we reach the pond edge, we'll round the western
eend, and so creep up the brook that comes down
through the cedars, clear from the mountain top, and
work up that to leeward, 'till we strikes Old Bald-head
yander;” and as he spoke, he designated the huge
crest of a distant hill, crowned, far above its robe of
many-coloured foliage, with a gray diadem of everlasting
granite. “There's a green feedin'-ground jest
under yan bare crag, with nothen only a few stunted
yellow birches and a red cedar here and there, where
there's a herd a'most allus; and if so be we happen on
'em there, they've no chance to wind us, nor to see us,
nuther, unless they've got a doe set out, sentinel-like,
up the rocks; and then we'll stalk the whole west
mountain down to the outlet, where we'll meet the rest
on 'em, and take a bite and sup at something, maybe;
and then we'll send the boys with the ponies to fetch
up the game, if so be we've the luck to kill any on't;
and we'll all paddle up the crick agin at night, and so
take chance to git 'em at the evenin' drink. The flies
has quit botherin' 'em, since the cold has sot in, and
we wunt find none in the pond, I'm a thinkin'.”

“But what will you do with Draw, and Mr. Forester?
You must remember that old Tom cannot foot it
now—”

“Not as he used to could,” replied Dolph, “not as he
used to could, I allow; still it 'ud take more nor a slouch
to worry the old critter down. And that green-coated

chap; I guess he ar'n't no great shines at travellin', no
how—”

“Ah! that's just where you're out, Dolph, and you're
not out very often either. He can travel like a hunted
wolf, I tell you; and he's a prime sportsman, and a
crack shot at small game, though not much used to
work of this kind. But you must send them where
they'll get shots, or they'll be mad at us; and it would
not be fair either, to throw them over.”

“In course not; I counts to put them on the best
easy ground. When we take the canoe, three of my
boys will meet them with two ponies, so they can ride
down to Cobus Vanderbeck's mill, on the outlet, where
it's broad, and full of islands like, and channels.
They'll git canoes there sure, and two o' the boys will
paddle them, and the t'other, why he'll follow with the
ponies. It'll be all they'll do to git to the pond by the
time we strikes it, though we've got fourteen miles to
walk, not countin' what we crosses over and agin' in
beatin' like. Oh! that's prime feedin'-grounds, them
islands, and the boys, they knows every inch on 'em;
and they'll come on the deer quarterin' upwind, too, so
they won't smell 'em. I wouldn't wonder, not one
mite, if they was to git ten shots this day. But, Lord,
heart alive! we'll beat 'em some.”

“Why, how many do you count upon our getting?”

“I'll be most mighty onsatisfied, now I tell you, if
we don't git six fair ones.”

“Six won't beat ten.”

“You knows better nor that; you and I'll kill five
out of six, sartin.”

“So will Tom, easy.”

“Yes; if they stand still and wait for him. Don't
you tell me; if we get six, and they ten shots, we'll
beat them to etarnal smash.”

“I hardly think we shall get sixteen shots among
us.”

“I do, Mister Aircher. Deers is as plenty this fall,
as they's been scace these six years agone.”

“Here we are at the bridge; but I don't see the boys
or the ponies.”

“Oh! they'll be here torights. I'll call 'em.” And
putting his fore-finger into his mouth, he produced a
long shrieking whistle, which rang through the hills
more like the cry of some fierce bird of prey than any
sound of the human voice.

Such as it was, however, it found a reply in a second,
and directly afterward the clatter of horses' hoofs was
heard coming rapidly down the hard road; and a minute
after the boys, represented by one white lad of some
eighteen years of age, Dolph's second son, and two of
what Tom Draw called stinkin' black buck niggers,
came in sight, with a couple of rough, hardy-looking,
low, round-barrelled ponies.

“Here we leave you, Frank. You and Tom go to-day
with Dolph's son,” said Harry Archer. “You

will ride about three miles and then take the canoes.
You have the best ground and the easiest walking—or
I should rather say the least walking; for yours will be
almost all boat-work. Dolph says that you will get ten
shots to our six; so look sharp, that we don't beat you.”

“I wisht to heaven you may git ten and we six, boy,”
cried Tom, “and then you'd see who'd beat, I reckon.
Oh! I am most onmighty glad to see them ponies.
You've been comin' too fast for the old man, altogither—
another mile would have busted me up clean. I am glad,
by Cin! to see the pony.”

“It's more than the pony is to see you, if he has any
nous at all,” said Archer, and so they parted.

And weary work was before them, ere they met again
at the outlet of the lake, at which they were to arrive
from two diametrically opposite quarters.

Harry stepped lightly into the birch canoe, which lay
moored in very shallow water, and the sagacious hound,
accustomed of yore to every variety of field sport, crept
into it, as gingerly as if he were treading upon eggs,
and coiled himself up in the very centre of the frail
vessel, as if he knew exactly how to balance it, in a
position from which nothing could have disturbed him
short of the absolute command of his master.

Last Dolph the hunter entered, and assumed his place
in the stern, Harry occupying the bow, but with their
faces toward the head of the canoe, and the gripes of
their rifles ready to be grasped at the shortest notice.

“Ready!” said Dolph, in that low guarded tone which
is peculiar to the forester of North America.

And “Ready!” responded Archer, in the like wary accents.
And at the word each dipped his paddle in the
clear water, and away shot the light vessel, propelled
almost without an effort on the part of the rowers; and in
two or three minutes at farthest they had lost sight of the
rustic bridge, and the group assembled to watch their
departure. The stream was in this place very narrow,
in no spot above twelve or fourteen feet across, but
proportionably deep and rapid, flowing over a bottom
of yellow sand and gravel, through a wide boggy
meadow.

“Are there trout here, Dolph?”

“Lots on 'em, clear down to the pond. But no one
niver cotched none in the pond; nor no pickerel,
which is plenty in the pond, up hereaways in the crick;
and that seems to me cur'ous.”

“Not at all, Dolph. Not at all curious. The pond
water is too warm for the trout, and this spring brook is
too cold for pickerel.”

“Likely. I ar'n't no fisherman, nohow.”

“How far do you call it down to the pond? I have
forgotten.”

“Six mile.”

“And how far to the first chance for deer?”

“That's it,” he answered, pointing forward to a low
tract of scrubby brush wood, at about half a mile's distance,

into which, some twenty minutes afterward, the
cance was borne by the rapid current of the brook
under a deep arch of emerald verdure.

“Lay by your paddle, and take up the rifle now,
and lie flat on your face. I'll keep her goin' as slick
as can be.”

No sooner had he spoken than Harry did as he was
directed, and making his rifle ready for the most sudden
emergency, he stretched himself out horizontally in the
bottom of the boat, with his keen eye alone gleaming
out watchfully above the sharp bows, and lay there as
quietly as if he had been a statue carved in wood.

At this instant the birch canoe shot under the arch
of dense umbrage, for the most part still verdant, where
it was composed principally of alders, but in places
coloured by the autumnal frosts with almost every hue
of the rainbow, and varying from the deepest crimson
to the most brilliant orange and chrome yellow.

By this time the sun had risen, and a pale yellow
lustre had crept inch by inch, as it were, over the pale
horizon, till the stars were all put out, cach after each,
according to the various degrees of their intensity, and
the whole universe was laughing in the glorious sun-light.

Mile after mile, they floated on in silence—silence
unbroken except by the dash of the mute hunter's padple—now
darting across lonely pools, encircled by tall
trees, clad in all gorgeous tints, and carpeted with the

broad smooth green leaves of the water-lily—pools
from which the gay summer-duck, or the blue-winged
teal flashed up on sudden wing before their glancing
prow—now shooting down swift rapids, overarched by
bushes so densely umbrageous that it was difficult to
force a way between their tangled masses.

Still no sight or sound met their eyes or ears which
betokened in any sense the vicinity of the wild cattle
of the hills, and Archer was beginning to wax impatient
and uneasy, when suddenly, bursting from out a thick
heavy arbour, the canoe shot into a little pond, as it
were, below which was a quick-glancing rapid, divided
into three channels by a small green island, nearly before
the boat's head, and a huge block of granite, a vast
boulder, which had been swept down in some remote
period from the overtopping hills, farther to the left.
The island was not at the utmost three yards across,
yet on it there grew a tall silver-barked birch, and under
the shade of the birch stood two beautiful and graceful
deer, one sipping the clear water, and the other gazing
down the brook in the direction opposite to that from
which the hunters were coming upon them.

Neither of the three channels of the stream was above
twelve or fourteen feet across, and that to the right was
somewhat the deepest; it was, therefore, through this
that the hunter had intended to guide his boat, even
before he saw the quarry.

No breath of air was stirring in those deep, sylvan

haunts, so that no taint, telling of man's appalling presence,
was borne to the timid nostrils of the wild animals,
which were already cut off from the nearer shore
before they perceived the approach of their mortal foes.

The quick eye of Archer caught them upon the
instant, and almost simultaneously the hunter had
checked the way of the canoe, and laid aside his
paddle.

He was already stretching out his hand to grasp the
ready rifle, when Archer's piece rose to his shoulder
with a steady slow motion; the trigger was drawn, and
ere the close report had time to reach its ears, the
nearer of the two bucks had fallen, with its heart cleft
asunder by the unerring bullet, into the glassy ripple
out of which it had been drinking, tinging the calm
pool far and wide with its life-blood.

Quick as light, as the red flash gleamed over the
umbrageous spot, long before it had caught the rifle's
crack, the second, with a mighty bound, had cleared
the intervening channel, and lighted upon the gray
granite rock. Not one second's spade did it pause there,
however, but gathering its agile limbs again, sprang
shoreward.

A second more it had been safe in the coppice. But
in that very second, the nimble finger of the sportsman
had cocked the second barrel; and while the gallant
beast was suspended in mid air, the second ball was
sped on its errand.

A dull, dead splash, heard by the hunters before the
crack, announced that the ball had taken sure effect,
and, arrested in its leap, the noble quarry fell.

For one moment's space it struggled in the narrow
rapid, then, by a mighty effort rising again, it dashed
forward, feebly fleet, keeping the middle of the channel.

Meanwhile the boat, unguided by the paddle and
swept in by the driving current, had touched upon the
gravel shoal and was motionless.

Feeling this as it were instinctively, Harry unsheathed
his long knife, and with a wild shrill cheer to
Smoker, sprang first ashore, and then plunged recklessly
into the knee-deep current; but ere he had made
three strides, the fleet dog passed him, with his white
tushes glancing from his black lips, and his eyes glaring
like coals of fire; as he sped mute and rapid as the wind
after the wounded game.

The vista of the wood through which the brook ran
straight was not at the most above fifty paces in length,
and of these the wounded buck had gained at least ten
clear start.

Ere it had gone twenty more, however, the fleet dog
had it by the throat. There was a stern, short strife,
and both went down together into the flashing waters.
Then, ere the buck could relieve itself, or harm the noble
dog, the keen knife of Archer was in its throat—
one sob, and all was over.

“I swon,” cried the hunter, “them was two smart

shots inyhow—and that 'ere dog's hard to beat. Let's
liquor.”

Liquor they did accordingly—and after that proceeded
to disembowel the two deer, to flesh the gallant Smoker,
and then to hoist their quarry up into the forks of two
lofty maples, where they should be beyond the reach
of any passing quadruped or biped plunderer.

This done, they again paddled onward, and shortly
after ten o'clock reached the Green Pond, without
obtaining any other shot. An hour more carried them
around the head of that great forest lake, but without
moving any worthier game than a team or two of wild
ducks, and two or three large blue-winged herons.

At the lake's head, they moored their little skiff, and
thence struggled up the difficult and perilous chasm of
its head waters, through brakes of tufted cedars, over
smooth, slippery rocks, up white and foamy ledges to
the gray summit of the mighty hill.

Three hours had been consumed in this strong toil;
and though every tuft of moss, every sere leaf that
might bear a footprint, had been wistfully examined—
though every trunk against which a stag might fray his
antlers had been noted, no trail had been found, and
their hearts began to wax as faint as their limbs were
weary.

Both were toil-worn and broken when they reached
the summit, but even so the hunter declined the proffered
cup of Ferintosh; and, content with bathing his brow

and hands in the cold element of which he dared not
drink, so weary was he and so faint, he soon announced
that he was ready to proceed.

A few steps brought them to the very crest of the
huge mountain, and there casting himself down on the
bare rock, he wormed his way like a serpent to the
brink, which overhung the valley, and signed Harry to
follow his example.

For nearly ten minutes they dragged themselves painfully
over the rough gray stones, before they reached
the abrupt ledge of the rocky platform. A moment
before they did reach it, however, Dolph Pierson paused,
took off his cap, and laid it on the rock, looked to the
caps of his rifle, and made a gesture of his hand, indicating
the necessity of the greatest caution.

Ten seconds afterward they had reached the extreme
verge, and carefully advancing their heads beyond the
brink, they gazed anxiously down into the valley at
their feet.