cull one of
these light boats to within a few rods of a deer while feeding, in
plain open sight, provided always that the wind blows _from_ the
direction of the animal, and no noise is made by the boatman. The deer
will feed on, and the time for paddling is while his head is down.
When he raises it to look about him, in whatever position the boatman
is, he must remain immovable. If his paddle is up, it must remain so;
not a motion must be made, or the game will be off, with a snort and a
rush, for the shore and the woods. The deer may, and probably will
look, with a vacant stare, directly at the approaching boat without
its curiosity being in the least excited, and then go to feeding
again. The marksman must take his aim while the game is feeding; when
it raises its head high in the air, throws forward its ears and gazes
at him for a moment with a wild and startled look, then is his time to
fire. Five seconds at the longest is all that is allowed him when he
sees these motions, for within that time, with its fears thoroughly
aroused, the game will be plunging for the shelter of the woods.

The boatman paddled Spalding quietly and silently to within twelve or
fifteen rods of the deer that was feeding, when a column of white
smoke shot suddenly up from the bow of the boat; the sharp crack of
the rifle rung out over the water, and the deer went down. Spalding
was a proud man as he returned to us with a fine fat spike buck in
his boat.

These little lakes are probably sixty-five miles from the settlements,
allowing for the winding course of the rivers. Just above, where the
river enters, is a dam, built of logs some fifteen feet high, erected
by the lumbermen the last winter to hold back the water, so as to
float their logs down from this to Tupper's Lake, and so on down the
Rackett to the mills away below. Around this dam is the last carrying
place between this and Mud Lake, over which our boatmen trudged with
their boats, like great turtles with their shells upon their backs.
This is still called Bog River, and though above the dam to Mud Lake,
where it takes its rise, it is deep and sluggish, yet it is doing it
honor overmuch to dignify it by the name of a river. It was large
enough, however, to float our little craft. We left our baggage-master
here with most of our luggage, to perfect his operations in the way
of jerking venison, intending to return the next day. We might have
left everything without a guard, so far