But we must go back to our hunter, who stood, in the gray light of dawn, without coat or waistcoat, outside his cabin, listening to the baying of the dogs, as they drove the deer. In this part of the country, lying along the lake, it was the custom for one party, aided by dogs, to drive the deer into the water, when another would pursue them in boats, and when the game was a little tired, shoot it without difficulty. Sweatland had a neighbor who hunted with him in this manner, and he it was who had already started a noble buck, which dashed into the lake, while Sweatland stood listening for the direction of the dogs. In the enthusiasm of the moment, he threw his hat on the beach, jumped into his canoe, and pulled out after the animal, every nerve thrilling with intense interest in the pursuit. The wind, which had been blowing steadily from the south during the night, had now increased to a gale, but he was too intent upon securing the valuable prize which was breasting the waves in advance, to heed the dictates of prudence. The race promised to be a long one, for the buck was a powerful animal, and was not easily to be beaten by a log canoe and a single paddle. A considerable distance from the land had been obtained, and the canoe had already shipped a heavy sea, before he overtook the deer, which turned and made for the opposite shore. Upon tacking to pursue him, Sweatland was at once apprised of his danger by the fact that, with his utmost exertions, he not only made no progress in the desired direction, but was actually drifting out to sea. He had been observed, as he left the shore, by his neighbor, and also by his family, and as he disappeared from sight, great apprehension was felt for his safety. The alarm was soon given in the neighborhood, and it was decided by those competent to judge, that his return would be impossible, and unless aid was afforded him, that he was doomed to perish. Actuated by those generous impulses which often induce men to risk their own lives for the salvation of others, three neighbors took a light boat and started in search of the wanderer. They met the deer returning, but saw nothing of their friend. They made stretches off shore in the probable range of the hunter, until they reached a distance of five or six miles from land, when, meeting with a heavy sea, in which they thought it impossible for a canoe to live, and seeing no signs of it on the vast expanse of waters, they reluctantly, and not without danger to themselves, returned to shore, giving Sweatland up as lost. Meantime, the object of their search was laboring at his paddle, in the vain hope that the wind might abate, or that aid might reach him from the shore. "An antlered dweller of the wild Had met his eager gaze, And far his wandering steps beguiled Within an unknown maze."