heredity in shaping character. Perhaps his love for
the free life of the plains is a heritage derived from some long-gone
ancestor; but there can be no doubt that to the earlier experiences
of which I am writing he owed his ability as a scout. The faculty for
obtaining water, striking trails, and finding desirable camping-grounds
in him seemed almost instinct.

The tents being pitched upon a satisfactory site, Will called to Turk,
the dog, and rifle in hand, set forth in search of game for supper. He
was successful beyond his fondest hopes. He had looked only for small
game, but scarcely had he put the camp behind him when Turk gave a
signaling yelp, and out of the bushes bounded a magnificent deer. Nearly
every hunter will confess to "buck fever" at sight of his first deer, so
it is not strange that a boy of Will's age should have stood immovable,
staring dazedly at the graceful animal until it vanished from sight.
Turk gave chase, but soon trotted back, and barked reproachfully at his
young master. But Will presently had an opportunity to recover Turk's
good opinion, for the dog, after darting away, with another signaling
yelp fetched another fine stag within gun range. This time the young
hunter, mastering his nerves, took aim with steady hand, and brought
down his first deer.

On the following Sabbath we were encamped by another deep, swift-running
stream. After being wearied and overheated by a rabbit chase, Turk
attempted to swim across this little river, but was chilled, and would
have perished had not Will rushed to the rescue. The ferryman saw the
boy struggling with the dog in the water, and started after him with his
boat. But Will reached the bank without assistance.

"I've hearn of dogs saving children, but this is the first time I ever
hearn of a child saving a dog from drowning," ejaculated the ferryman.
"How old be you?"

"Eight, going on nine," answered Will.

"You're a big boy for your age," said the man. "But it's a wonder you
didn't sink with that load; he's a big old fellow," referring to Turk,
who, standing on three feet, was vigorously shaking the water from his
coat. Will at once knelt down beside him, and taking the uplifted foot
in his hands, remarked: "He must have sprained one of his legs when he
fell over that log; he doesn't whine like your common curs when they get
hurt."

"He's blooded stock, then," said the man. "What kind of dog do you call
him?"

"He's an Ulm dog," said Will.