Although still unable to satisfy himself as to the whereabouts of his foe, he finally seemed to decide that that was not a healthy neighborhood for him, and, taking his back trail, started to get out of it by a series of twenty-foot leaps. I was tempted to hazard a shot at him, but could see such a small portion of his body when standing that the chances were against making a hit. Besides, as already stated, I felt sure of a shot at shorter range by keeping still. I watched and listened closely in every direction. The sun had gone down. Night was silently wrapping her somber mantle over the vast wilderness, and the only sounds that broke the oppressive stillness were the occasional croakings of the raven as he winged his stately flight to his rookery, and the low, solemn sighing of the autumn breezes through the pine tops. I was benumbed with cold, and was tempted to desert my post and make a run for camp. I raised my rifle to my shoulder to see if I could yet see the sights, for stars were beginning to sparkle in the firmament. Yes; the little gold bead at the muzzle still gleamed in the twilight, with all the brilliancy of one of the lamps of heaven. I turned to take a last look in the direction of the carcass of my morning's kill, and--imagine my astonishment if you can--there stood the young buck, licking the body of his fallen mate! How he ever got there through all those brush and weeds without my hearing or seeing him will always remain a profound mystery to me. But a ball from my express entering his shoulder and passing out at his flank laid him dead by the side of his companion, and completed the best score I ever made on deer--three in one day--and I had fired but three shots in all.
Mr. George T. Pease lives in a log shanty, in the heart of the great Wisconsin pine woods, five miles west of Wausaukee station, on the Milwaukee & Northern Railroad. A beautiful little lake stretches out in front of his door, in which numerous black bass make their home, and several brooks meander through the wilderness not far away, all of which abound in the sprightly, sparkling brook trout. Deer roam over the hills far and near, and when the first "tracking snow" comes, in the van of icy winter, their hoof-prints may be found within a hundred yards of the cabin any morning. Pease is a genial, kind-hearted old man, in whose humble quarters the true sportsman is always welcome. Reared in these woods, and bred in the pure atmosphere that abounds here, a hunter by trade and from necessity, he is a simple, honest child of nature. With the exception of four or five years spent in the service of his country, during the war of the Rebellion, he has lived and hunted in this region since the days of his boyhood, and his gray hairs bespeak for him the respect men always feel for the honest old woodsman.