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