A-Hunting of the Deer, and other essays. Charles Dudley Warner

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СКАЧАТЬ shoulder of Bartlett, and stood upon the shore of the lake. If she could put that piece of water between her and her pursuers, she would be safe. Had she strength to swim it?

      At her first step into the water she saw a sight that sent her back with a bound. There was a boat mid-lake; two men were in it. One was rowing: the other had a gun in his hand. They were looking towards her: they had seen her. (She did not know that they had heard the baying of hounds on the mountains, and had been lying in wait for her an hour.) What should she do? The hounds were drawing near. No escape that way, even if she could still run. With only a moment’s hesitation she plunged into the lake, and struck obliquely across. Her tired legs could not propel the tired body rapidly. She saw the boat headed for her. She turned towards the centre of the lake. The boat turned. She could hear the rattle of the oar-locks. It was gaining on her. Then there was a silence. Then there was a splash of the water just ahead of her, followed by a roar round the lake, the words “Confound it all!” and a rattle of the oars again. The doe saw the boat nearing her. She turned irresolutely to the shore whence she came: the dogs were lapping the water, and howling there She turned again to the centre of the lake.

      ​The brave, pretty creature was quite exhausted now. In a moment more, with a rush of water, the boat was on her, and the man at the oars had leaned over and caught her by the tail.

      “Knock her on the head with that paddle!” he shouted to the gentleman in the stern.

      The gentleman was a gentleman, with a kind, smooth-shaven face, and might have been a minister of some sort of everlasting gospel. He took the paddle in bis hand. Just then the doe turned her head, and looked at him with her great, appealing eyes. “I can’t do it! my soul, I can’t do it!” and he dropped the paddle. “Oh, let her go!”

      “Let thunder go!” was the only response of the guide as he slung the deer round, whipped out his hunting-knife, and made a pass that severed her jugular.

      And the gentleman ate that night of the venison.

      The buck returned about the middle of the afternoon. The fawn was bleating piteously, hungry and lonesome. The buck was surprised. He looked about in the forest. He took a circuit and came back. His doe was nowhere to be seen. He looked down at the fawn in a helpless sort of way. The fawn appealed for his supper. The buck had nothing whatever to give his child—nothing but his sympathy. If he said anything, this is what he said: “I ’m the head of this family; but, really, this is a novel case. I ’ve nothing whatever for you. I don’t know what to do. I ’ve the feelings of a father; but you can’t live on them. Let us travel.”

      The buck walked away: the little one toddled after him. They disappeared in the forest.

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