This was satisfactory; but still it was not the big buck, and we started out again after dressing and hanging up the deer. For many hours we saw nothing, and we had swung around within a couple of miles of the horses before we sat down behind a screen of stunted cedars for a last look. After attentively scanning every patch of brush in sight, we were about to go on when the attention of both of us was caught at the same moment by seeing a big buck deliberately get up, turn round, and then lie down again in a grove of small leafless trees lying opposite to us on a hill-side with a southern exposure. He had evidently very nearly finished his day's rest, but was not quite ready to go out feeding; and his restlessness caused him his life. As we now knew just where he was, the work was easy. We marked a place on the hill-top a little above and to one side of him; and while the cowboy remained to watch him, I drew back and walked leisurely round to where I could get a shot. When nearly up to the crest I crawled into view of the patch of brush, rested my elbows on the ground, and gently tapped two stones together. The buck rose nimbly to his feet, and at seventy yards afforded me a standing shot, which I could not fail to turn to good account.
A winter day is short, and twilight had come before we had packed both bucks on the horses; but with our game behind our saddles we did not feel either fatigue, or hunger, or cold, while the horses trotted steadily homeward. The moon was a few days old, and it gave us light until we reached the top of the bluffs by the river and saw across the frozen stream the gleam from the fire-lit windows of the ranch-house.
When the great hurricane swept over Apia Harbor, in Samoa, seven years ago, and wrecked the six American and German war-ships that were gathered there, the world was thrilled with the story of the heroism of the sailors on the United States man-of-war _Trenton_. Of all the incidents of that memorable disaster, the one which will live longest in the memory of readers is the bravery with which the men of the _Trenton_ faced death. Their vessel had snapped her anchor chains, and was steadily drifting toward the rocks, but the men lined the rigging and gave rousing cheers to the British ship _Calliope_, which, with all steam on, was headed for the open sea. The _Trenton_'s band was also ordered on deck, and to the strains of "The Star-spangled Banner" the old ship went to her death. As she passed the _Vandalia_, over which the waves were breaking, the _Trenton_'s men cheered the few survivors in the rigging, and the feeble shout that came in response was the saddest feature of the disaster. When the _Trenton_'s band struck up, amazement fell upon the Americans and other foreigners on shore who were trying to save the lives of those whom the current brought to the beach. Then, when the strains of the national air were recognized, a great shout went up, and men wept to think of heroism that laughed at death.