I watched the black hound swim directly to the island, and every moment I expected to see the deer dash into the water on the opposite side. A deer is a much faster swimmer than a dog, and, when both are in the water, can easily escape. When the dog reached the island he shook himself, sniffed the hot scent and then sprang forward, growling savagely. The deer must have been taken completely by surprise. I saw it jump from the bushes and turn to escape, but already the hound's teeth were fastened in its flank. Wheeling, the deer gored its pursuer, and the hound let go its hold. For an instant the two faced each other. Then the dog sprang at its opponent's throat, but was met by the sharp spikes of the buck. The spikes were much more effective weapons than broad antlers, and again the hound was tossed back. Made more wary by experience, the dog again darted in, and this time caught the deer's neck, but not before the spikes had entered its black sides. The dog did not relax its hold, and the combatants seemed bound together. I saw the hound was in danger, and rowed rapidly toward the island. When I got within shooting distance the deer had fallen to its knees, and I dared not fire for fear a scattering buckshot should strike the hound. My boat grounded against the island, and, gun in hand, I sprang ashore. But neither creature moved; the fight was over. The hound's sharp teeth had done their work, and the buck's spike-horns, hardly less sharp, had done theirs. As I stood watching them both animals expired. The next day two men drove over the rough wood-road, and stopped at the shanty. One of them left their buck-board and stepped to the door to speak to me. He was evidently an educated man, and I detected traces of a German accent. "I hear that you found a tall, black hound," he began. "Such a dog left my shanty on the Lower Saranac nearly a week ago. He looked a little like a greyhound, and I never knew him to bark." I told him such a dog had been with me, and described the animal's death. The stranger walked with me to the back of the shanty, where Rufe had nailed the dog's pelt against the side of a shed. "Poor Wolfram!" he exclaimed. "Who would have expected that a hound from the fiercest pack in the Black Forest should be killed by one of these little Adirondack deer?" It was far to the nearest tavern, and the young man seemed so dismayed at the dog's death that I urged him to spend the night in my shanty. In this way I might satisfy my curiosity about the dog. The Bavarian--for he told me he was of that nationality--gladly accepted my invitation; and, after he had dined off the venison which his hound had pulled down, I asked him to explain the dog's peculiarities.