n.

When not tied to a tree Sitting Bull's part in the hunting was to
interfere with matters as much as possible. As a hunting dog he had only
one advantage; he didn't bark. But he deserved no credit for that. It
wasn't his nature to bark. As Bull tore enthusiastically about, Whitey
would watch him with a rueful smile, and say, "The only way he could
help would be by going home, and of course he can't do that."

"In early October a crisp morning found Injun and Whitey leaving camp to
begin what for them was a special day's hunting. They were going for
deer. The deer loved the secluded shores of the lake, and some distance
from the camp a run led to a spot where the animals came down to drink.
This morning the camp was down the wind from that spot; so it was ideal.
The boys planned to go in the canoe, and Sitting Bull was securely tied
to a tree to await their return. But Bull looked so longing, so lonely,
there was so much entreaty in his eyes, that Whitey allowed his heart to
overrule his head.

"He can't raise much of a row in the canoe, and he won't bark," Whitey
said rather shamefacedly. "Let's take him along."

Injun said nothing, as usual, but he didn't look disapproving. So they
got into their canoe and paddled up the wind until near the run, where
they found a low, overhanging branch and ran the canoe under it. So
masked they waited for Mr. Deer to come and drink.

In about an hour he came and with him was Mrs. Deer, or maybe it was his
daughter, and not his wife, for she looked so young and timid one hardly
could picture her as the mate of Mr. Deer. He was a big fellow who would
weigh about four hundred pounds, and had fourteen points--little
branches shooting off his horns.

It was Injun's turn to shoot first, and he pulled back his bowstring and
braced himself to let go. Right here it may be said that at thirty yards
an arrow propelled by an Indian-made bow is just as deadly as a bullet,
if it hits its mark. But Injun shot a little high and caught the buck in
the shoulder. He threw up his head and let out a roar of battle, looking
every inch the magnificent creature that he was, and just churned the
waters of the lake, which he was in up to his knees.

He didn't have very long to bellow his defiance, for Whitey's
Springfield rifle spoke. Now Mr. Deer turned almost completely over from
the shock, but again the hit was not in a vital spot. The canoe was
rocking a little, and Mr. Deer was not exactly posi