The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1886-12-03

raised the hammer, and pulled with all |
my strength. 1t did not ego of" At |
last discovering the reason, / righted |
the hammer with a click. The deer |
raised his lordly head, snUffed the air, |
and was gone in a series of magniti- |
cent leaps,
How beautiful / cried. forgetting
in the novelty of the sight my own stu
pidity, of which, however, I was not
long to remain unmindfuL The look
of contempt that greeted me as 1
turned to Uncle John withered me.
you'll never kill a deerl Never
see such a chance since 1 was born;
not ten yards off. Poohp' And the
irate old hunter rode of, leaving me to
follow or go back, as I chose.
have been mortified several times
in my recollection; have been 'spelled
down" as n child in school; have
missed the target in archery bourna-
ments, and have been snubbed by a
prospective mOther-in-law; but never
do remember that my pride was 50
lacerated as now, The sunshine sud-
denly lost It's brightness, the fresh,
fragrant stiffness was no longer de-
light, and desperate thoughts flashed
through my brain of putting an end to
my wretched existence. At last l de-
tcrmined that instead OF returning
home TO brood over my sorrow, l
would strike off by myself into the
woods, and redeem my reputation by
taking home at night some trophy &c
my skin.
The Soothing sunshine and delicious
air by degrees restored my equanimity,
and hope was high in my bosom I
scanned all the TaVines closely, and
looked wisely on the ground for tracks
Of beasts. / rode long and far, and
when the sun was high threw myself
beside little spring that bubbled from
the rocks, and ate my luncheon, allow
ing my horse to Craze near me. On
my right was a small patch of green
heritage, across which the tall pines
cast a sOmber shadow. There was NOS
n sound except that of the h6fse feed
ing. l was toe high for birds; they
were below in the valleys, though now
and then a vulture sailed mpirsticaIly
around some distant peak. The lone
illness and silence of the place began to
( be oppressive. Suddenly there was a
ruAle in the tall grass under the pines.
Looking UP / saw the head of a deer
l seized my rifle, and, leveling it, fired
with steady hand. A deafening re-
port crashed through the stiffness, and
there escaped into the air white deer!
! sprang to the place. In the blood
stained grass lay the noble animal,
struggling with death.
Ielt a thrill of superstitious horror;
something as an old Egyptian must
have felt had he killed unwittingiy the
sacred ibis, or tho Ancient Mariner
when he slEw the albatross. l tried to
stanCh the blood, but the murderOus
ball had done its work too well.
Hardly knowing what 1 did, l took the
head of the dying creature into my
lap. In the large soft eyes were re-
Elected the rocks and the swaying
pines, As the breath grew fainter the
head turned with a convulsive move
ment, and the fast glazing eyes looked
into mine with a gaze so human in its
intelligence that l was almost crazed
with grief and terror. I hurried from
the spot, only to lind that my horse,
probably frightened by the riie-shot,
Rad disappeared. l was alone and
miles from home. I discovered, too,
that l lacked one of the most recess
sary requisites of the true hunter
| ability to find my way under all cir
CumStanceS.
1t was already afternoon. I started
10 60 back on foot the way I had come
as nearly as ] could remember IT,
When I reached a point high enough
| TO command a view l did not feel re-
| assured, for the mountains looked all
/ alike, and range after range stretched
away on every side. silent and relent-
! less rs the tomb. There was not a
/ living thing in sight but buzzard cir
| cling about far-Of peak.
! At last l set off in q direction where
/ / thought / recognized familiar rocks.
! The killing of the white hart weighed
! heavily upon my spirits, and filled me
/ with vague fears. The stories of the
/ night before added to my uneasiness.
! There was the danger that | might
meet a bear. 1 had my rifle and three
dozen cartridges in my belt. but Uncle
John had said: "Give grizzlies a wide
| berth.
! What could l do if 1 met one?
! The way grew more and more intri-
/ cate. Now | had to climb over bowl
/ ders, and now force my way through
/ tangled underground. from which
! emerged into the shadow of pines so
| gloomy that twilight seemed suddenly
| to have fallen. There was n crashing
! of bushes, as of some heavy body push
/ ing itself through l tried TO run, but
the rOughness of the ground made me
stumble at every step. The noise came
nearer I knew that it could benothing
! else buta bear, and every other anxiety
was swallowed up in present terror. l
remembered that grizzlies do not climb
/ unless the tree is neither too large nor
too small. Ten yards to the left stood
! a slender tree. with trunk clear for
fifteen feet.
l sprang toward it, and although I
I had never been able to climb a tree be-
/ fore, I climbed now without moment
| of hesitation, and scrambled to a seat
among the branches. | shook so viO-
| lently that l had To hold on by main
/ force TO keep from falling. ! had been
there probably thirty seconds when
/ there shuffied from the bushes with
awkward but impressive gait, q mon
strous grizzly bear.
l had dropped my gun in the excite
ment. and even had l kept it l should
not have dared to fire. As the great
beast shambled along. saw that he
was lame. IL was old CubfoOt. the
terror and autocrat of the mountains.
He was headed directly for my tree.
My blood curdled and my breath
stopped. 1 have no distinct recollec-
ton of the next few seconds. lie ap-
preached within ten feet of my hiding
place, rolling his heavy head from
side 10 side as if aware of an unseen
foe. Then he passed on and was lost
among the trees. | remained motion
less for nearly an hour, fearing to de
scend Then l crept noiselessly in the
direction whence old Clubfoot had
come. My rifle, which must have
fallen against the PROSTATE trunk by
which l found it, was broken short oil
at the breech, the bear having struck
at it with his paw in passing.
Imagine my surprise when emerged