The Canton mail. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 18??-1882, 1876-03-11


circle of light around, and Pierre Estril
had fastened the long-handled pan to hi
saddle in a manner known to hunter
who scour the woods without compan
ions. '
1t was altogether an improbable hunt
Cows and calves would come staring al
the light, but not deer. The fog wa
settling down into a misty drizzle, and
Pierre began to get very impatient, fol
he knew it was not far from midnight.
"See here, Jacques" he said, "Pm
going down into Brule swamp. We are
just on its edge now. I'm sure all the
deer are there tonight in the thickets
The swamp is tso full of ruts, and holes
of soft mud, for you to get through on
your little pony. Pm going to station
you here under this big gum tree, which
will keep the drizzle of; and don't stir
from it, or I'll lose you; and be perfect
ly quiet. You are not afraid TO be left,
ara your i,--s Is u izsfl
"Afraidl" why, Jacques hooted at
the idea. But the child was sleepy and
tired, and very hungry, and wanted to
get back to mamma, and the nice hot
gumbo she would have ready for them.
Are you going to stay longf he
asked, dolefully. = >
Not more than a quarter of an hour;
perhaps not that long" --.il ~ :. ]
Jacques gave a little tired sigh, a hil
father moved of, whispered . few words
to his nodding companion, and then his
curly head sunk down on the patient
pony's neck, and the boy was fast
asleep. -
1t is probable the little negro followed
his example, and the pony, feeling the
rein loosened, began cropping the grass,
moving slowly in the direction Pierre
Estrin had taken. = 50!
Es.rin, in the meantime, pursued his
way with no success. The deer had evil
IDENTIFY gone too. deep in the coverts for
him to find them. He was an impatient
man, and the foggy drizzle, which grew
thicker, combined with his own loss Of
temper to make him lose the way. As
hunters say, he was turned round, !"
and wandered aimlessly about, feeling
himself lost. At last he came to an oak
which he knew to be not mile from the
opening. A little back, enveloped in
the thick yapors, shone pair of eyes.
"Aha I" thought Pierre, exultingly i
behold my game 7" - :
He raised his gun, took deliberate aim,
and, bangl bang!" went off both bar
rels almost simultaneously. 50
A wild agonised scream followed tia
report.
Terrified, yet scarce realizing the full
measure of his misfortune, Pierre threw.
himself from his horse and rushed to the
spot. What sight blasted his eyes
The pony lay dead on the gound, and his
own boy, his little Jacques, lay writhing
beside it, with pitiful walls and means.
'"Oh, papa, why did you shoot me?
Take me home, take me home, and let my
mamma help mev' 49, q.
As in a horrible dream, the wretched
man replenished his fire pan, and took up
his child to examine his wounds. Per-
haps, after all, he is not severely wound
ed. He tore off the blouse; he staunched
the blood en- the tender white chest. No
hope-only few minutes now. With Il
cry like a wild animal, he tosk up his
child, and Is he stepped fotward, STUN
bled over the corpse of the little negro,
who had died Instantly - .ZL
&c A glorious shot!" he yelled and still
raging, still mad, With one arm he caught
up little Edmond, fastened his body by
the strings to the back of his saddle, and,
still holding his child, vanlted in, his
seat. sFiGt H. Esl A
o, fearful ride through the dark forest,
with those pitiful, sob6ing means tearing
his heart and crazing his brain
Once the boy spoke, but that faint,
catching breath, those feeble words, surely
are not merry Jacques! Is he not in
horrible dream and will he not waken
from it and find the leving arms szound
his neck, and the loud clear yoiee cali
ing. Papa, papai"
Yes, faint, Tutoring arms are feebly
raised to his meek, and the nisessble nzil
bows his head. .
You didn't mean to hurt me, poor
papa. Tell mamma, tell her SHAFT
One sigh, and poor mamma will
never hear the sweet voice of her child
again.
She had waited and waited. Two or
three time the sough Of the wind seemed
to bring her the refrain:
$50 gay. so sayr 81
but at Last the well-known gallop, of
Pierre's horse smote upon her ear. One
push at the fire, which blazed up, one
glance at the smoking gumbo, and she
fastened to the door to welcome them.
What is Pierre staggering in with his
deer for? He is in the door. He lays
his burden on the bed, and sinks down
in merciful swoon.
Days and days passed before he re-
covered full consciousness. The mother
had fought her agony alone and unsup-
ported, had guessed the terrible truth of
the children's death, and faced it with |
all the fortitude of astrong nature !; but
still the man lay on his bed, at times
raving, at others unconscious.
When he recovered, there was veil |
over his mind. He knew he had killed
his child, but it seemed the deed had |
been done years and years before. In
telling the story-I heard it from his |
own lips-he would pause and try to re-
member, though it has not been two
years since the tragedy occurred.
Pierre Estrin did not profit by the
teachings of his misfortunes. He had |
always been gloomy man, but he now
became a morose and desperate charac-