I glance at the sun; only another hour of
light, and I am six miles from home. I glance at the jay,
flitting about restlessly in a mixture of mischief and curiosity,
whistling his too-loo-loo loudly as a sign to the fleeing game
that I am right here and that he sees me. Then I take up the back
trail, planning another day.
So the days went by, one after another; the big buck, aided by
his friends the birds, held his own against my craft and
patience. He grew more wild and alert with every hunt, and kept
so far ahead of me that only once, before the snow blew, did I
have even the chance of stalking him, and then the cunning old
fellow foiled me again masterfully.
Old Wally was afield too; but, so far as I could read from the
woods' record, he fared no better than I on the trail of the
buck. Once, when I knew my game was miles ahead, I heard the
longdrawn whang of Wally's old gun across a little valley.
Presently the brush began to crackle, and a small doe came
jumping among the trees straight towards me. Within thirty feet
she saw me, caught herself at the top of her jump, came straight
down, and stood an instant as if turned to stone, with a spruce
branch bending over to hide her from my eyes. Then, when I moved
not, having no desire to kill a doe but only to watch the
beautiful creature, she turned, glided a few steps, and went
bounding away along the ridge.
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