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Page 47
"Why, yes,--takin' it by and large, I've handled over consid'able
many of 'em. 'Tis a critter I hate to kill, Captin', though I s'pose
it seounds soft to say so. Ef 't wan't for thinkin' they'll git picked
off, anyway, I dunno but I should let 'em alone altogether".
"Why do you dislike to kill them?"
"Well, to begin with, they're a harnsum critter. They hev sech
graceful ways with 'em, kinder grand ones tew, specially them bucks,
with their crests reared up agin the sky, lookin' so bold and free
like. And them bright little does,--sometimes they hev sech a skeerd,
tender look in their eyes,--and I've seen the tears roll out on 'em,
when they lay wounded and disabled like, jest like a human critter. It
allers makes me feel kind o' puggetty to see that".
They made a noon halt, in the shadows cast by a clump of silver
birches, and did ample justice to the provision supplied from the
pantry of the Dubois house.
At four o'clock they proceeded onward towards the deer hunt. John
listened with unwearied interest to Micah's stories of peril and
hair-breadth 'scapes, by flood, field, and forest, gathering many
valuable hints in the science of woodcraft from the practised hunter.
Just at dark, they reached a broad part of the stream, and selected
their camping-ground.
The tent was soon pitched, a fire of brushwood kindled and the salmon
broiled to a relish that an epicure could not have cavilled at. The
table, a flat rock, was also garnished with white French rolls, sliced
ham, brown bread, blocks of savory cheese, and tea, smoking hot.
The sylvan scene,--the moon shedding its light around, the low music
of the gently rippling waves, the spicy odor of the burning cedar, the
snow-white clouds and deep blue of the sky mirrored in the stream,
made it a place fit at least for rural divinities. Pan might have
looked in,--ah! he is dead,--his ghost then might have looked in upon
them from behind some old gnarled tree, with a frown of envy at this
intrusion upon his ancient domain.
On the following morning, at the first faint glimmering of light,
Micah was alert. He shook our young hero's shoulder and woke him from
a pleasant dream.
"Neow's the time, Captin'", said Micah, speaking in a cautious
undertone, "neow's the time, ef we do it at all, to nab them deer.
While your gittin' rigged and takin' a cold bite, I'll tell ye the lay
o' things. Ye see, don't ye, that pint o' land ahead on us, a juttin'
out into the stream? Well, we've got to put the canoe on the water
right away, hustle in the things, and percede just as whist and
keerful as we ken, to that pint. Jest beyend that, I expect the
animils, when day's fairly up, will come to drink. And there's where
we'll get a shot at 'em".
"But what makes you expect they'll come to drink at that particular
place, Micah?"
"You see that pooty steep hill, that slopes up jest back o' the pint
o' land, don't ye? Well, behind that hill which is steeper 'n it looks
to be, there's a largish, level piece of greound that's been burnt
over within a few years, and it's grown up to tall grass and got a
number o' clumps of young trees on it, and it's 'bout surreounded by a
lot o' master rocky hills. That's the feedin' greound. There's a deep
gorge cut right inter that hill, back 'o the pint. The gorge has a
pooty smooth rocky bed. In the spring o' the year, there's a brook
runs through there and pours inter the river jest below. But it's all
dry neow, and the deer, as a gen'al thing scramble eout of their
feedin' place into this gorge and foller it deown to the river to git
their drink. It brings 'em eout jest below the pint. We have got neow
to cross over to the pint, huggin' the bank, so the critters shan't
see us, and take a shot from there. Git yer piece ready, Captin. Ef
there's tew, or more, I'll hev the fust shot and you the second. Don't
speak, arter we git on to the pint, the leastest word".
"I understand", said John, as he examined his rifle, to see that all
was right.
"Now for it", said Micah, as having finished their arrangements, they
entered the canoe.
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