Part 18 (2/2)

'Maple Leaves,' your church hymns 'n' love songs, 'n' fancy French op'ras like they have down t' Ottawa that Warry Hilliams took me to wonst! Why, say, do youse think any o' them is in it with a hound chorus, th' deep ba.s.s o' th' old hounds 'n' th' shrill tenor o' th' young ones--risin' 'n'

swellin' 'n' ringin' through th' bush till every idle echo loafin' in th'

coves o' th' ridges wakes up 'n' joins in her best, 'n' you'd think all th' hounds in this old Province was runnin' 'n' chorusin' 'tween the Bubs 'n' Mud Bay; 'n' then th' chorus dyin' down softer 'n' softer till she's low 'n' sweet 'n' sorta holy-soundin', like your own woman's voice chantin' t' your youngest--say, do youse think there's any music in th'

world 's good 's th' hounds make runnin'?

”Well, I sot there behind th' balsams till th' dogs was drawin' near, 'n'

then I slips softly through th' bush t' where I'd left Mr. Hunter; 'n'

how do youse s'pose I found him, 'n' it no more'n half past seven in th'

mornin'? Youse never 'd guess in a thousand year. I'll jest tumpline th' whole bunch o' youse 't one load from th' landin 't' th' Bertrand farm if that feller wa'n't settin' with his back t' th' stump, facin' up th' runway, his rifle 'tween his knees 'n' his fool head lopped over on one shoulder, _dead asleep_! No wonder they never see nothin', was it?

”First I thought I'd wake him. Then I heard a deer comin' jumpin' down th' runway, 'n' knowin' 'for I could get him wide awake 'nough t' c.o.c.k 'n' sight his gun th' deer 'd be on us, I slipped up behind th' stump 'n'

laid my rifle 'cross its top, th' muzzle not over a foot above his noddin' head. I was no more'n ready 'fore here come--a buck? No, I guess not, 'cause they was jest crazy for some good buck heads; no, jest a doe, but a good big one. Here she come boundin' along, her head half turned listening t' th' dogs, 'n' never seein' _him_, he sot so still.

When she got 'thin 'bout fifty feet I fired 'n' dropped her--'n' then h.e.l.l popped th' other side o' th' stump! Guess he thought he was jumped by Injuns. Slung his gun one way 'n' split th' bush runnin' th' other, leapin' deadfalls 'n' cras.h.i.+n' through tangles so fast I had t' run him 'bout fifty acres t' get t' cotch 'n' stop him.

”That feller was with us jest about ten days longer, but he never got time t' tell us jest what he thought was follerin' him or what was goin'

t' happen if he got cotched. Likely 's not he'd been runnin' yet if I hadn't collared him.

”O' course they was glad at last t' get some venison--leastways youse'd think so t' see them stuffin' theirselves with it--but they never let up a minute round camp roastin' brother 'n' me for not runnin' them a buck; swore that we hadn't run 'em any was proved by my gettin' nothin' but th'

doe.

”Finally, they up 'n' wants a still-hunt! Them still-hunt, that we could scarce get along the broadest runway 'thout makin' noises a deer'd hear half a mile! Still-hunt! Still-hunt, after we'd been runnin' the hounds for a week and they'd shot off 'bout a thousand rounds o' ca'tridges round camp 'n' comin' back from d.o.g.g.i.n', till there wa'n't a deer within eight miles o' th' lake that wa'n't upon his hind legs listenin' where th' next bunch o' trouble was comin' from. But still-hunt it was for our'n, 'n' at it we went for th' next two days. Don't believe we'd even 'a started, though, if we hadn't known two days at th' most 'd cure them o' still-huntin'. Gettin' out 'fore sun-up, with every log in th'

_brules_ frosted slippery 's ice 'n' every bunch o' brush a pitfall, climbin' 'n' slidin' jumpin' 'n' balancin,' any 'n' every kind o' leg motion 'cept plain honest walkin,' was several sizes too big a order for them. So th' second mornin' out settled their still-huntin'.

”Then they wanted brother 'n' me t' still-hunt--while they laid round camp, I guess, 'n' boozed, th' way they smelled 'n' talked nights when we got in.

”'N' still-hunt we did, plumb faithful, 'n' hard 's ever in our lives when we was in bad need o' th' meat, for several days; 'n' would youse believe it? We never got a single shot. Sometimes we saw a white flag for a second hangin' on top o' a bunch o' berry bushes--that was all; most o' th' deer scared out o' th' country, 'n' th' rest wilder 'n' Erne gets when another feller dances with his best gal.

”Well, we just had t' give up 'n' own up beat. 'N' G.o.da'mi'ty! but didn't them two cheap imitation hunters tell us what they thought o' us pr'fessionals--said 'bout everything anybody could think of, 'cept cuss us. 'N' there was no doubt in our minds they wanted to do that. If they'd been plumb strangers, 'stead o' friends o' one o' our parties, it's more'n likely brother 'n' me'd wore out a pair o' saplings over their fool heads, 'n' paddled off 'n left them t' tump-line theirselves out o' th' bush. But I told brother 't was only a day or two more, 'n'

we'd chew our own cheeks 'stead o' their ears.

”The last day we had in camp they asked us t' make one more try with th'

hounds. We took th' two ridges north o' th' shanty deer-lick 'n' drove west, with them on a runway sure to get a deer if there was any left t'

start runnin'. Scarcely ten minutes after we loosed th' hounds I heard them stopped 'n' bayin', over on th' slope o' th' ridge brother was on, bayin' in a way made me just dead sure they had a bear.

”Now a bear-kill, right then t' go home 'n' lie about, tellin' how they fit with it, would 'a suited our sham hunters better 'n' a whole pa.s.sle o' antlers; so I busted through th' bush fast as I could, fallin' 'n'

rippin' my clothes nigh off--only t' find our hounds snappin' 'n' bayin'

round a mighty big buck, that when I first sighted him, seemed to be jest standin' still watchin' th' hounds. Never saw a deer act that way before, 'n' him not wounded, 'n' n.o.body'd shot. Jest couldn't figure 't out at all. But I was so keen t' get them fellers a bunch o' horns I didn't stop t' study long what p'rsonal private reasons that buck had for stoppin' 'n' facin' th' hounds.

”I was in the act o' throwin' my .303 t' my face, when brother hollered not t' shoot, 'n' t' come over t' him. 'N' by cripes! while I was crossin' over t' brother, what in th' name o' all th' old hunters that ever drawed a sight do youse think I noted about that buck? Darned if that buck wa'n't _blind_--stone blind--blind 's a bat!

”Poor old warrior! He'd stand with his head on one side listenin' t' th'

hounds till he had one located close up, 'n' then he'd rear 'n' plunge at th' hound; 'n' if there happened t' be a tree or dead timber in his way, he'd smash into it, sometimes knockin' himself a'most stiff. But when all was clear th' hounds stood no show agin him, blind as he was. Old Loud 'n' Frank, that naturally put up a better fight than th' young dogs, he tore up with his front hoofs so bad they like t' died.

”Run th' buck knowed he couldn't, 'n' there he stood at bay t' fight to a finish 'n' sell out dear 's he could. If it hadn't been a real kindness t' kill him, I'd never 'a shot that brave old buck, 'n' left our hunters t' buy any horns they _had_ t' have down t' Ottawa. But he was already pore 'n' thin 's deer come out in March, 'n' if we let him go 'd be sure t' starve or be ate by th' wolves. So I put a .303 behind his shoulder, 'n' brother 'n' me ran up 'n' chunked th' dogs off.

”'N' what do youse think we found had blinded that buck? Been lately in a terrible fight with another buck. His head 'n' neck 'n' shoulders was covered with half-healed wounds where he'd been gashed 'n' tore by th'

other's horns 'n' hoofs; 'n' somehow in the fight both his eyes 'd got put out! Guess when he lost his eyes th' other buck must a' been 'bout dead himself, or it 'd 'a killed him 'fore quittin'.

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