etter fight than th' young dogs,
he tore up with his front hoofs so bad they like t' died.

"Run th' buck knowed he couldn't, 'n' there he stood at bay t' fight to a
finish 'n' sell out dear 's he could. If it hadn't been a real kindness
t' kill him, I'd never 'a shot that brave old buck, 'n' left our hunters
t' buy any horns they _had_ t' have down t' Ottawa. But he was already
pore 'n' thin 's deer come out in March, 'n' if we let him go 'd be sure
t' starve or be ate by th' wolves. So I put a .303 behind his shoulder,
'n' brother 'n' me ran up 'n' chunked th' dogs off.

"'N' what do youse think we found had blinded that buck? Been lately in
a terrible fight with another buck. His head 'n' neck 'n' shoulders was
covered with half-healed wounds where he'd been gashed 'n' tore by th'
other's horns 'n' hoofs; 'n' somehow in the fight both his eyes 'd got
put out! Guess when he lost his eyes th' other buck must a' been 'bout
dead himself, or it 'd 'a killed him 'fore quittin'.

"Then it hit brother 'n' me all of a heap that we'd be up agin it jest a
leetle bit too hard t' stand if we hauled a blind buck into camp; fellers
'd swear that t' get t' kill a buck at all brother 'n' me had t' range
th' bush till we struck a blind one; 'n' then they'd probably want us t'
go out 'n' see if we couldn't find some sick or crippled 'nough so we
could get to shoot 'em.

"Brother was for leavin' him 'n' sayin' nothin'; but th' old feller had a
grand pair o' horns it seemed a pity t' lose, 'n' so I just drove a .303
sideways through his eyes; 'n' when we got t' camp we 'counted for th'
two shots in him by tellin' them he was circlin' back past us 'n' we both
fired t' wonst.

"'N' by cripes! t' this day nobody but youse knows that Con Teeples
dogged 'n' still-hunted th' bush for two weeks for horns 'thout killin'
nothin' but a blind buck."

CHAPTER XI

THE LEMON COUNTY HUNT

One crisp winter morning a party of us left New York to spend the week
end at the Lemon County Hunt Club. It was there I first met Sol, the
dean of Lemon County hunters and for eight seasons the winner, against
all comers, of the famous annual Lemon County Steeple Chase. At the
hurdles, whether in the great public set events or in private contests,
Sol was never beaten, while in the drag hunts it was seldom indeed he
was not close up on the hounds from "throw-in" to "worry."

To the Club Mews he had come under the tragic name of Avenger, but su