egation of deer as a man sees but once in a lifetime. I had
camped over night on low land, among heavy timber, but soon after
striking camp, came to a place where the timber was scattering and the
land had a gentle rise to the westward. Scarcely had I left the low
land behind, when a few deer got out of their beds and commenced lazily
bounding away. They were soon joined by others; on the right flank, on
the left and ahead, they continued to rise and canter off leisurely,
stopping at a distance of one or two hundred yards to look back. It
struck me finally that I had started something rather unusual and I
began counting the deer in sight. It was useless to attempt it; their
white flags were flying in front and on both flanks, as far as one
could see, and new ones seemed constantly joining the procession. Among
them were several very large bucks with superb antlers, and these
seemed very little afraid of the small, quiet biped in leaf-colored
rig. They often paused to gaze back with bold, fearless front, as
though inclined to call a halt and face the music; but when within a
hundred yards, would turn and canter leisurely away. As the herd neared
the summit of the low-lying ridge, I tried to make a reasonable guess
at their numbers, by counting a part and estimating the rest, but could
come to no satisfactory conclusion. As they passed the summit and loped
down the gentle decline toward heavy timber, they began to scatter, and
soon not a flag was in sight. It was a magnificent cervine army with
white banners, and I shall never look upon its like again. The largest
drove of deer I have seen in twenty years consisted of seven only.

And with much of interest, much of tramping, and not a little
vexatious delay, I came at length to a stream that I knew must be the
south branch of the Muskegon. The main river could scarcely be more
than ten miles to the westward and might be easily reached in one day.

It was time. The meal and pork were nearly gone, sugar and tea were at
low ebb and I was tired of venison; tired anyhow; ready for human
speech and human companionship.

It was in the afternoon of the ninth day that I crossed the South
Muskegon and laid a course west by north. The traveling was not bad;
and in less than an hour I ran on to the ruins of a camp that I knew to
be the work of Indians. It had evidently been a permanent winter camp
and was almost certainly the Indian camp spoken of by Bill Hance.
Pausing a short tim