Quite early in the fall, when as yet the frosts had but slightly tinted the woodland foliage, some hunters while after turkeys, saw a dog in hot pursuit of a deer, and so close was the chase that the fatigued animal leaped from a high bank into deep water in Paint Creek and expired immediately. This dog proved to be a little half-starved, lemon, black and white pup, not more than seven months old, and having around his neck a section of dilapidated bed cord. Such a performance by a strange pup so very young and alone, attracted no little attention and talk, especially among the sporting gentlemen, who kept first-class dogs, and doted more upon their hounds than upon their lands and houses. Mr. James Gibbs was one of these, and by right of discovery, took the pup in charge and named him “Gamer.” The dog proved a stray in the settlement, and no owner could be found, and mere supposition gave a satisfactory explanation. “The pup had broken away from an emigrant wagon to get after the deer.” At maturity, true to instinct, Gamer refused to follow deer, but became the embodiment of all the virtues and qualifications of a thoroughbred fox-hound. His fleetness, his extraordinary “_cold nose_,” or ability to carry a “cold trail;” his industry, perseverance, and sagacity, made him the model and marvel of all who knew him. He always led the pack far in advance, and so exact was he to hound nature, that in case the fox doubled short and came back near enough to be seen and turned upon by all the other dogs, he would continue around the course and unravel every winding step. His voice was quite as marked and remarkable as any of his other qualities: so much so, that for many years it lingered in the ears of surviving friends like the far-off echo of an Alpine horn. He could be distinctly heard across the great valley, bounded east by the Rattlesnake and west by Patton and Stone Monument Hills, a distance of more than five miles in an air line. His cry was musical, prolonged and varied, opening with a deep loud bass, and closing with a high, clear note, it would come to the listener sharp and distinct, solitary and alone, when the united cry of all the pack would be dead in the distance.