You would think that Injun and Whitey would have been over that?  Well, perhaps they should have been immune, but you will remember that our mighty hunters were just boys, and even frontier boys can be excused for a sudden attack of a complaint that grownups have.  And the grownup who says that he never has had it, at some time in his life, that Mr. Grownup has not done any deer hunting, or that Mr. Grownup lies.  And what’s more, some grownups never get over it.

Perhaps Sitting Bull had given the fever to Injun, for the dog was trembling so that he shook the canoe; each particular hair stood on end, and if any one had stroked Bull, he probably would have got the electric shock of his life.  Anyway, Injun sure had buck fever for the first time in his young life, for in bracing himself for his next shot he sat too far back on his left leg, and when he let go his arrow, over went the canoe.  All hopes for a successful issue of that battle would have ended right there had not Injun’s arrow by a lucky shot gone straight into Mr. Deer’s heart.  With one mighty lunge in the air he fell back in the water toward the shore, where his horns and part of his body remained above the surface.  When the canoe went over, Whitey held his rifle high over his head, so it was still dry and ready for use—­a needless precaution in this case.

I hate to write this part of the story.  The deer’s daughter—­she must have been his daughter—­had lots and lots of chances to run away, but she didn’t do it.  She just stood there like the poor, timid, scared thing she was, with every quiver of her graceful body, every look of her big, brown, childlike eyes saying, “Please, why did you kill my father, who was my only protector?  And please, please don’t hurt me!”

Did you, Mr. or Miss Reader, ever have a helpless animal look at you in that way?  If you did, you know it’s awful—­awful to remember!

Whitey fired.  He couldn’t miss at that distance.  And he ran forward to force Miss Deer to fall on the bank, clear of the water, which she did.  She looked at Whitey while he was shoving her over, Whitey nor no one else can ever describe that look, and Whitey, boy as he was, turned away his head as she fell.  Injun stood by dripping, silent, his face a mask for his feelings.  And Sitting Bull was shivering, but not with cold or excitement; he had caught the dying look of the doe.  And Bull’s ugly face reflected the feelings of his heart, that was both brave and gentle, for actually, yes, actually! there were tears in Bull’s eyes.

The canoe was brought to shore, the water was dumped out of it, the paddles were recovered.  Then a rope was fastened to Mr. Deer, and by means of a log lever he was hauled out of the lake and dressed.  But Injun didn’t talk and Whitey didn’t talk.  And Bull didn’t wander around as usual and smell the scents that gave him so much excitement and delight, and that the boys couldn’t smell at all.  The deer’s head, hide, and some of the meat were put into the canoe.  The rest of the meat was tied high in trees, safe from marauding animals.  The boys didn’t touch Miss Deer.  They got into the canoe with Bull and paddled away.  They didn’t look back.