losing a chance at such a splendid buck. It was something to see him as
he stooped to drink in the glare of the jack, a midnight forest picture
such as one wants to remember. Long may he flourish! We wouldn't have
started out to rid him of his glorious life if we weren't half-starved
on flapjacks and ends of pork. Let's get back to camp! I guess you felt
a few new sensations to-night, eh, Neal Farrar?"




CHAPTER II.

A SPILL-OUT.


Indeed, shocks and sensations seemed to ride rampant that night in
endless succession; a fact which Neal presently realized, as does every
daring young fellow who visits the Maine wilderness for the first time,
whatever be his object.

Ere turning the canoe towards home, Cyrus drove it a few feet nearer to
shore, again warily listening for any further sound of game. Just then
another wild, whooping scream cleft the night air; and, on looking
towards the bank, Neal beheld his owlship, who had finished the
squirrel, seated on an aged windfall,[1] one end of which dipped into
the water.

[Footnote 1: A forest tree which has been blown down.]

The gray bird on the gray old trunk formed a second thrilling midnight