Not long after this adventure, my brother-in-law shot a deer through the heart, which ran full a hundred yards before he dropped.

Two or three years after, in the township of Douro, where I now reside, I was walking down to the saw-mill about half a mile from my house, with my American rifle in my hand, when, on coming close to the river, I saw a large buck swimming down the middle of the stream near the mill-dam.  I ran down to the spot as fast as I could, for I expected he would land on the opposite shore, at the corner of the dam.  The surmise proved to be correct.  He was in the act of climbing up the bank when I fired, and he fell back into the river.  Recovering himself, however, he scrambled out and made off.  I crossed the bridge and went round to the spot where he landed, and followed on the track.

While in chase I was joined by an old hunter, who had been out since day-light, still-hunting (deer-stalking); so he agreed to go with me and examine the track, which we followed for about half a mile without seeing any blood.  But at last we came to a place where the buck had stood and pawed up the ground.  My companion, remarking upon the circumstance, said—­

“He was quite satisfied the fellow was hit; and you will find,” added he, “if we get him, that he is hit on the top of the back, and that is the reason there is no blood to be seen.”

The track led us round nearly in a circle; for we came back to the river within a few yards of where I had fired at the buck.  My companion now suggested that we should recross the river and follow up the stream on the opposite bank.  “For,” said he, “we shall probably find him on one of the islands opposite your house.”

Acting on his suggestion, we retraced our steps, and found, as he had predicted, that the buck, after taking the water, had swum up the river and taken refuge on the west side of the lower island.  We saw him standing near the edge of the water, partially hidden by the trunk of a fallen pine, when we both fired our rifles at the same instant.  This did not, however, drop him, for he bounded across the island, and took the opposite channel in gallant style.

As the distance from which we fired was less than a hundred yards, we concluded that one of us at least had hit him.  Reinforced by my old hound Towler, who, attracted by the firing, had joined us, we recrossed the river, and put the dog on the track.  Towler was in high spirits, and soon made the wood ring with music pleasant to the hunter’s ear.

We momentarily expected to see our quarry again take the water; but from the continued howling of the hound in the same spot, I began to think the buck was standing at bay, which was really the case; for on my near approach he was busily employed with his head down, keeping off old Towler by making sudden plunges at him every now and then.  The moment he saw me, he made a rush for the river, but as he passed me on the full bound, I fired at his fore-shoulder; and though he still continued his course to the river, I knew by the jet of blood which followed my shot that his fate was sealed.  Near the river he made a sudden turn, striking his head against a hemlock tree, and at the same instant a shot from my companion stretched him lifeless on the ground.  And thus concluded an exciting chase of more than two hours.