I lost no time in getting out and entering an old slashing to the east of the camp where the foreman said signs were plentiful. I had not gone more than half a mile, when, turning to the left, on an old logging road, I saw several fresh tracks of deer that had been feeding there that morning. It was now eleven o'clock in the forenoon and I had no hope of finding the game on foot at that late hour, but depended entirely upon jumping a deer from its bed and upon having to risk, in all probability, a running shot. I moved very cautiously, however, and was on the _qui vive_ for any straggler that might perchance be moving.

Every foot of ground that came within the scope of my vision was carefully scanned and every sound or movement of leaf or shrub, no matter how slight, received the most careful attention, during long and frequent pauses, before proceeding on my way.

I followed the road through various turns, along the bed of a slight ravine, and as I rounded one of its abrupt bends that gave me a view of a considerable expanse of hill-side, I stopped again to reconnoitre. The ground was covered with a dense growth of weeds, raspberry briers, and wild-cherry bushes that had sprung up since the timber had been cut off, all of which had been stricken by recent frosts, and dried by subsequent sun and wind. In these dry weeds I saw a slight movement, and on careful examination was able to distinguish a faint outline of a doe, standing partially behind a large stump, a hundred yards away. Her head and shoulders were entirely hidden by the stump, and I had to step back some distance before I could get sight of a vital part to shoot at. As her shoulder came in view I knelt on my right knee, rested my left elbow on my left knee, and, drawing a fine bead on her shoulder, fired. She dropped in her tracks. My aim was a little higher than I intended, and the bullet, pa.s.sing through her shoulder blades high up, severed the spine between them on its way, killing her as suddenly as if it had entered the brain. At the report of the rifle a young buck bounded out of the brush near by and waved me a vaunting farewell as he disappeared over the ridge, not giving me even a fair running shot. I dressed the doe and went back to camp for dinner, the welcome notes of the huge old tin horn, floating in musical cadence through the forest, summoning me at that moment to that much needed repast.

After dinner I went out on another old unused logging road, leading to the south, and, following it a few hundred yards, branched off to another which led to the southwest. A number of fallen trees, lying across these, gave me frequent opportunities to mount their prostrate trunks and look over large tracts of surrounding country. In thus sauntering and looking I had spent an hour or more when, on pa.s.sing an unusually dense clump of tall dry weeds that stood near the road, I was startled by a sudden crashing and rattling among them, and an instant later two large does broke cover at the farther side and started across a narrow open s.p.a.ce. But before they reached the farther side of it the voice of my Winchester express was reverberating among the lofty pines, and a cloud of smoke hung between me and where I had last seen them. I sprang to one side to avoid this, but they had both disappeared in the thicket, and I could still hear one of them crashing away toward the green woods. I felt sure that I had hit the other, and, going to where I had last seen her, I found blood, hair, and several small bits of flesh on the ground and the neighboring weeds. Following the trail a distance of fifty feet, I found her lying dead with her throat cut, and, in fact, a considerable portion of it shot away. The express bullet, driven by a heavy charge of powder, has such a high velocity that when it strikes flesh it invariably makes a big hole in it. One hind leg was also broken squarely off at the knee and the bone protruded through the skin.

I stood pondering and puzzling over this strange phenomenon. How in the name of wonder could one bullet break her hind leg and cut her throat? I stooped down and examined the wound. To my surprise, I found that it had not been made with a bullet at all. The joint was dislocated and the skin torn away until the disjointed member hung only by a narrow segment. Then the mystery was deeper than ever. What could possibly have caused this violent and terrible wound? It had been made after I shot, for at that time the agile creature was bounding over logs and through clumps of brush with all the grace and airiness of her sylph-like nature. I turned, took up her back track, and, following it thirty or forty feet, came to a fallen tamarack sapling about six inches in diameter, that laid up about a foot from the ground. The track showed that the poor creature, in one of her frantic leaps, just after being hit, came down with her fore feet on one side of this pole and her hind feet on the other; that one hind foot had slipped on the soft earth and slid under the pole to her knee, and that the next bound had brought it up against the pole in the form of a lever--much as a logger would place his handspike under it in attempting to throw it out of his way--and the pole, being far too long and heavy to yield to her strength, the leg had been snapped short off.

I describe this incident merely as one of the many strange and mysterious ones that come under the observation of woodsmen, and not with any desire to give pain to sensitive and sympathetic readers.

The beautiful animal did not suffer long from this hurt, however, for she was dead when I reached her, within perhaps three or four minutes after I fired the fatal shot. I saved her head and had it mounted and it hangs beside that of the buck whose taking off has been described and whose throat was also neatly severed by the bullet. They were two remarkable shots.

After dressing this deer I returned to the old burn in which I had killed the doe in the morning, and took a stand on a high, flat-top stump, which commanded a good view of a large tract of surrounding country. I felt certain that the young buck that was with her when I killed her would come back toward night to look up his companion, for he probably did not realize that she was dead. I stood within thirty yards of her carca.s.s and for an hour kept a close watch in every direction, turning slowly from one position to another, so that any game that came in sight could not detect the movement and would, if seeing me at all, consider me one of the numerous old high stumps with which the landscape was marked. Toward sundown a large, handsome buck came out of the green woods half a mile away, walking deliberately toward me. I could see only a proud head and spreading antlers, and an occasional glimpse of his silvery-gray back as he marched with stately but cautious tread through the dry weeds. He stopped frequently to look and listen for danger, or the coy maidens of his kind, of whom he was in search. Oh, how I longed for a shot at him! With bated breath and throbbing heart I watched his slow progress across the open country. But, alas! the wind (what little there was) was wrong. When within about 200 yards of me he scented me and bounded squarely sidewise as though a rattlesnake had bitten him, uttering at the same time one of those peculiarly thrilling whistles that might have been heard in the stillness of the evening a mile or more. He struck a picturesque att.i.tude and scanned the country in every direction, trying to locate the danger but could not. After a few seconds he made another high bound, stopped, and whistled again. I stood perfectly still, and he could make nothing animate out of the inanimate objects about him. He leaped hither and thither, snorted, whistled, and sniffed the air as we have seen a wild colt do when liberated in a pasture field after long confinement in his stall.

Although still unable to satisfy himself as to the whereabouts of his foe, he finally seemed to decide that that was not a healthy neighborhood for him, and, taking his back trail, started to get out of it by a series of twenty-foot leaps. I was tempted to hazard a shot at him, but could see such a small portion of his body when standing that the chances were against making a hit. Besides, as already stated, I felt sure of a shot at shorter range by keeping still. I watched and listened closely in every direction. The sun had gone down. Night was silently wrapping her somber mantle over the vast wilderness, and the only sounds that broke the oppressive stillness were the occasional croakings of the raven as he winged his stately flight to his rookery, and the low, solemn sighing of the autumn breezes through the pine tops.

I was benumbed with cold, and was tempted to desert my post and make a run for camp. I raised my rifle to my shoulder to see if I could yet see the sights, for stars were beginning to sparkle in the firmament. Yes; the little gold bead at the muzzle still gleamed in the twilight, with all the brilliancy of one of the lamps of heaven. I turned to take a last look in the direction of the carca.s.s of my morning's kill, and--imagine my astonishment if you can--there stood the young buck, licking the body of his fallen mate! How he ever got there through all those brush and weeds without my hearing or seeing him will always remain a profound mystery to me. But a ball from my express entering his shoulder and pa.s.sing out at his flank laid him dead by the side of his companion, and completed the best score I ever made on deer--three in one day--and I had fired but three shots in all.

CHAPTER XXIX.

Mr. George T. Pease lives in a log shanty, in the heart of the great Wisconsin pine woods, five miles west of Wausaukee station, on the Milwaukee & Northern Railroad. A beautiful little lake stretches out in front of his door, in which numerous black ba.s.s make their home, and several brooks meander through the wilderness not far away, all of which abound in the sprightly, sparkling brook trout. Deer roam over the hills far and near, and when the first "tracking snow" comes, in the van of icy winter, their hoof-prints may be found within a hundred yards of the cabin any morning. Pease is a genial, kind-hearted old man, in whose humble quarters the true sportsman is always welcome. Reared in these woods, and bred in the pure atmosphere that abounds here, a hunter by trade and from necessity, he is a simple, honest child of nature. With the exception of four or five years spent in the service of his country, during the war of the Rebellion, he has lived and hunted in this region since the days of his boyhood, and his gray hairs bespeak for him the respect men always feel for the honest old woodsman.

I spent several days hunting with him in November, 1885, and the intervening nights--or a large portion of each--in talking with him. I learned in that short time to esteem and value him as one of the best guides and hunters I ever knew, and one of the truest friends I have.

Although he has been hunting so many years and has always been a close observer of the habits of game; although thoroughly posted on woodcraft in all its details, he is not egotistical as are so many old woodsmen.

He never intrudes his opinions on any subject unless asked for them; never dictates what anyone under his guidance shall do. He modestly suggests, and if you do not agree with him, defers cheerfully to your judgment.

He is intelligent, well-informed generally, full of interesting reminiscences of his life in the wilderness, and relates many thrilling episodes in his experience in hunting deer, bear, wolves, etc. He told me that once, when hunting on the Menominee river, he saw a doe lying down, and raised his rifle to shoot her. But before firing he noticed that she had seen him and was struggling to get up. As she did not succeed in this, he concluded that she must have been wounded, and started toward her. She kept struggling, but was unable to rise, and on going to her he found that she had lain down near a large hemlock root, that had curved out of the ground, forming an arch or loop three or four inches high. One of her hind legs had slipped under this root to the knee, and when she had attempted to get up she had probably been thrown violently on her side, dislocating the hip joint and thus rendering it utterly impossible for her to draw the imprisoned leg from under the root. He said the poor creature had apparently been in this pitiable plight several days; that she was starved and emaciated almost to a shadow, and had tramped and pawed a hole in the earth more than a foot deep, over the entire s.p.a.ce reached by her fore feet. Had she not been discovered, the poor creature must soon have died from starvation. As it was, she was so weak that when he released her leg from this strange trap she was unable to stand, and he reluctantly killed her, as the speediest, most humane, and, in fact, the only means of ending her misery.

I reached the old man's cabin at about noon. We hunted diligently all the afternoon, and though we saw plenty of fresh tracks everywhere in the newly-fallen snow, neither of us could get sight of a deer, and when we met at the shanty at dark and exchanged notes, Pease was sorely disappointed. The next forenoon was a repet.i.tion of this experience, and when we met again at the cabin for dinner, both empty-handed, his disappointment was intensified into despondency. We separated after the noon meal, and when we came in at night, I looked even more dejected and disgusted than ever, and a.s.serted, with a good deal of emphasis, that I did not believe the "blasted" country was any good for game; that I thought he or someone had hunted the deer and shot at them until they were so wild that no man could get within 500 yards of one. He insisted that such was not the case; that he had been killing plenty of deer that fall, and that others had killed a few in the neighborhood, but not enough to spoil the hunting, as I claimed. He said our want of success utterly astonished him; that he was truly sorry; that he could not account for it, and that we should surely make a killing on the morrow.

"Have you seen any fresh tracks to-day?" I asked.

"Oh, yes, plenty of them; haven't you?"

"Well, yes, two or three; but I think the deer that made them were ten miles away when I got there."

"Why," said he, "when I started out this afternoon I skirted along that big swamp, where you hunted in the morning, and I saw where four deer had crossed your track since you went along. One of them was an awful big buck. I took up his trail and followed it in hopes of overtaking him and getting a shot. He roamed and circled around among the hills and through the swamps for, I reckon, more than five miles. I walked just as still as I possibly could, for I knew we were mighty nigh out of meat, and I am gettin' mighty tired of bacon anyhow. But somehow that buck heard me or smelt me, or something, and the first and last I saw of him was just one flip of his tail as he went over a ridge about three hundred yards away. I sat down on a log and waited and studied a long time what to do or where to go next; and finally I concluded I'd just come in and get supper ready by the time you got here. Set up, sir, and have a cup of coffee and some of these baked potatoes and some of this bacon. It ain't much of a supper, but maybe we'll feel a little better after we eat it, anyway."

I surrounded one side of the rough pine table suddenly, and when I got my mouth so full I couldn't talk plain, I said, in a careless, uninterested sort of a way:

"I saw where you sat down on that log."

"Did you?"

"Yes; I sat down and rested there, too. I was just about as tired and as disgusted and as mad as I am now; but after sitting there ten or fifteen minutes, I trudged along through that maple thicket just below there, and when I got through it I saw a big buck smelling along on a doe's track, up on the side-hill, and I killed him and then started on after the doe, and----"

Pease had dropped his knife and fork and was looking at me with his mouth half open and his eyes half shut.

"What did you say?" he inquired in a dazed, half-whispered tone.

"I say I killed the buck and then started----"

"You killed a buck?"

"Yes."

"When?" he gasped, with his mouth and eyes a little wider open.

"This afternoon," said I, calmly and complacently.

"Where?"

"Why just below that thicket; just below where you sat down on the log."

The old man sat and gazed at me for two or three minutes while I continued to eat as if nothing unusual had happened.

"Are you joking?" he said at last.

"No; I'm telling you the straight truth. The liver and heart are hanging out there on the corner of the cabin; go out and look at them."

"Well, I'll be dad blasted!" shouted the old man, as he jumped up and grasped me by the hand. "Why on earth didn't you say so when you first came in? What did you want to deceive me for? Why did you want to do all that kicking about the hunting being so poor?"

"Oh, I just wanted to have a little fun with you."

Throughout that evening Pease was one of the happiest men I ever saw. He seemed, and, in fact, said he was, twice as proud to have me, his guest, kill a deer as he would have been to have killed it himself.

He chatted cheerfully until eleven o'clock before showing any signs of sleepiness. This was about all the game I cared to kill, so I asked Pease to go into the station and get a team to come out and take my meat in. In order to pa.s.s the forenoon pleasantly, I took my rifle and started into the woods again. I went at once to the buck I had killed, reaching the carca.s.s shortly after sunrise. I cut down a jack pine, and, tr.i.m.m.i.n.g off the boughs, made a bed. Then I laid down, took out a book and commenced to read, while waiting for the team and for any deer that might happen along.

But I had not read half a dozen lines when I heard a slight rustling and cracking in the frozen snow, and, looking in the direction of the noise, I saw a young spike buck walking slowly and deliberately down the hill not a hundred yards away. I caught up my express and made a snap shot at him, but in my haste and surprise missed him clear. At the report he stopped, threw up his head and presented a beautiful picture, as well as a fair, easy target.

"Now, my lad," I said to myself, "you are my meat sure."

I was so confident of success this time that I scarcely took any aim at all. Again I scored an inglorious miss and the deer started away on a series of long, high bounds. I threw in another cartridge, held ahead of him, and as he struck the ground the second time I pulled for the third time. Then there was a circus of a kind that a hunter rarely sees. The buck fell to bucking, bleating, and kicking. His hind feet would go into the air like a couple of arrows and with such force that they would snap like a whip cracker. Then he would rear on his hind feet and paw the air; then jump sidewise and backward. He threw himself twice in his gyrations, and each time was on his feet again almost before I could realize that he had gone down. This gymnastic exhibition lasted perhaps two or three minutes, during which time I was so paralyzed with laughter that I could not have shot within six feet of him if I had tried.

Besides, I wanted to see the performance out. Finally the bucker recovered his wits and skipped out. I followed and found that he was discharging blood at such a rate that he could not go far. He went into a large thicket. I jumped him three times before I could get a fair shot at him, and could hear him wheeze every time I came near him. Finally I saw him lying a few yards away, but his head was still up and I sent a bullet through his neck. On examination I found that my first shot had cut the point of his breastbone off and had ruptured both his oesophagus and trachea. I dragged him out and laid him by the side of the big buck, and when Pease came in with the team an hour later he said:

"Well, I'll be dad blasted if he hain't got another one."

I shall always remember that hunt as one of the pleasantest of my life, considering the length of time it occupied.

CHAPTER x.x.x.