“Where is it?” exclaimed Joe, his superstition vanishing as he anticipated some sport; and, gliding quickly to Glenn’s side, he beheld, under the branches of a low scrubby oak tree, the head and ears of a large doe. It was intently watching our pedestrians, and stood motionless in the ambush, on which it vainly relied to obscure it from the eyes of an enemy. “You must not fire,” said Glenn, placing his hand on the shoulder of Joe. Joe lowered his musket reluctantly, and turning his eyes to his master, seemed inclined to relapse into the belief that all was not right and natural in their proceedings. “Now go to it,” said Glenn, gently taking the gun from Joe. “I’d rather not,” said Joe. “Why? A doe cannot hurt you—it has no horns.” “I don’t fear it—I’m only afraid it will run away,” said Joe, eager to secure the prize. “Try it, at all events; if it should run very fast, I think I shall be able to arrest its career with the gun,” said Glenn, who prepared to fire, provided the deer was likely to escape the clutches of Joe. “Here goes!” cried Joe, leaping through the small bushes towards the covert. The deer moved not until Joe reached within a few feet of it, when, making a mighty spring, it bounded over the head of its assailant, and its sharp feet running through the icy surface of the snow, penetrated so far down, from the force of its weight, that it was unable to escape. It now lay quite still, with its large blue eyes turned imploringly to its foe. Joe seized it by the hind feet, and exultingly exclaimed that the prize was safely his own. The trembling and unresisting animal appeared to be as perfectly submissive as a sheep in the hands of the shearer. “You have it, sure enough!” said Glenn, coming up and viewing the scene with interest. “Lash me if I haven’t!” said Joe, much excited. “Have you got any sort of a string about you?” “No.” “Please cut down a hickory withe, and peel the bark off for me, while I hold its legs.” Glenn drew out his hunting knife, but paused when in the act of executing his man’s request, and turning, with a smile playing upon his lip, said— “Perhaps, Joe, this is but another dream; and if so, it is folly to give ourselves any unnecessary trouble.” “Lash me if it ain’t reality!” replied Joe, as the deer at length began to struggle violently. Extricating its feet from his grasp, the doe bestowed a well directed kick on its foe’s head, which tumbled him over on his back. The animal then sprang up, but aware there was no chance of escape by running, faced about and plied its bony head so furiously against Joe’s breast and sides that he was forced to scamper away with all possible expedition. “Has it bruised you, Joe? If so, this is certainly no dream,” remarked Glenn. “Oh, goodness! I’m battered almost to a jelly. I’ll take my oath there’s no dreaming about this. Let me go after Ringwood and Jowler.”