“Guess you had better come with me,” he said; and, shouldering his rifle, he turned and pushed his way through the reeds. Soon we saw through the branches the glitter of water, and came out upon the bank of a river, smaller than that up which we had passed in the steamboat in the morning. Here, concealed in the rushes, was a canoe, which he quickly launched, swinging the head round to where we were standing. Without speaking, he motioned us to get into the frail craft, then followed himself, laying down his gun and taking up a paddle. With a few strokes he drove the canoe out into mid-channel. Very soon the night fell, and the fireflies darted among the bushes on the shore. We now heard the barking of dogs, deep-toned and long-continued. Ten minutes more and the canoe was laid alongside a shelving bank, some five or six feet high. Our boatman, quickly leaping ashore, fastened the chain of the canoe to a stump near the water’s edge, and bade us disembark. We followed our protector as best we could in spite of the growing darkness, till, after traveling a few hundred yards, as far as one might judge in such a blind journey, we halted before a dimly visible log house. The man unfastened the door, whereupon two huge deerhounds leaped out, frisking and barking, and, in their canine fashion, expressing the height of joy upon the return of their master. Upon perceiving us, they showed signs, lively and unpleasant, of doubt and animosity, till they were roared down by the deep voice of our conductor. A match was struck and a pine knot kindled. Heaping some dry wood upon the hearth, the hunter speedily had a blazing fire, whose ruddy glow showed up distinctly the rough interior of the house. One of the first acts of our protector was to unroll a bundle from the corner and spread upon the floor a buffalo robe, upon which he bade me sit. From the blazing fire he lit a rude lamp, which he hung upon the roof. Then he produced his iron pot, and sharpening his knife, with the pot in one hand and the knife in the other, went out into the darkness. He soon returned with water from the river in the pot, and in his hand a piece of deer meat. The pot was set upon the fire; the meat, cut into pieces and powdered with salt, put into it, and a handful of meal added, making a savory compound, which to us hungry boys seemed a delicious supper. The serving of the meal was primitive. There was but one plate in the establishment; this the owner relinquished to his visitors, after having heaped it with smoking food, himself feeding leisurely from the pot. We learned that our entertainer was an Englishman, who, in consequence of liberal views on poaching matters, had thought it more prudent to put the broad Atlantic between himself and his native village. Here, deep in the backwoods, he lived a Robinson Crusoe kind of life, miles away from human habitation, supporting himself with his gun.