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"The Big Buck”

By Benjamin S. Kotlowsky

I

MET my friend, Dave Sloan, at a wedding in Southern Kentucky. It was a rollicking fes

tivity, held at the house of a wealthy tobacco planter, who was giving away his last and youngest daughter to a fresh, manly-looking young fellow, who was, as usual, a second, or third: for your true Southerner never marries "out of the family," and every planter in South Kentucky was a Southerner, of course.

Amidst the merry crowd, I very soon made out the tall, lank figure of my friend, Dave Sloan, whom I had not met for several years. It would be difficult to mistake him in any crowd, for he was as lean and as sharp as a rail-splinter, with his beaklike nose and projecting chin. There was about him, too, the decided, haughty carriage of the high-blooded animal, and with his head thrown back in a hearty, fox-hunting guffaw, there was something indescribably keen, game and dashing in his appearance.

As I expected, when I approached him I found him in the midst of a glowing description of his last run with dogs, and closely surrounded by an auditory of young men, for Dave was no great hand with the women.

Gip' had just seized a big 'tenprong' buck on the bound, by the throat, and brought him to his knees," when Dave caught my eye. The names of "Spot," "Rags" and "Rattler" died away upon his tongue, in the thickcoming utterance, as he stared at me for a moment of doubtful recognition.

"Halloa, Joe Kutler! By old Princess!" (Dave always swore by his favorite slow-track dog, Princess, who

never gave tongue on a false trail.) "Why, my boy, how are you? Just in time-the bucks are just in the 'blue.' The dogs are as lean as I am, and as fierce as starved tigers for a chase."

"I'm your man; but lean as you are, Dave, why, you make them carry weight in a high wind, don't you? They say you've got the finest pack west of the Alleghanies, now!"

"West of the Alleghanies! Pshaw, man, nothing to equal them on top of the sod! Twenty-five, all told, with throats like the trump of resurrection. When they open in full blast, they make the hills skip like young lambsand the trees bend before the sound like in a hurricane! I tell you, they make the Mississippi walk up stream and the catfish stand straight up on their tails out of the water to listen to them."

"That'll do, Dave! When do you go back home?"

"Start in the morning-you'll be all ready? Don't let you off under three weeks-we have the cream of the hunting season now?”

"Won't promise for all that timebut I will be ready for you in the morning!"

"That's a good boy. Bring nothing but your rifle-if you want birds, I have guns enough, and Pussy's nose is as keen as a brier!"

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Banks," as they are called, up some thirty miles, nearly parallel with the present course of the Mississippithough greatly elevated above the present bottom-and constituting what is thought to be the old bank of the river.

From seven to ten miles in width, this singular tongue of land is without an inhabitant, except the settlement of the Sloan's, about a mile from Columbus-though composing some of the richest land of the State-from the fact of its being an old military reserve, and covered, as Dave said, "six deep with titles"-which had sufficed. to keep at bay even the unscrupulous squatters so that it was literally given over to the possession of wild animals, and constituted at that time the greatest hunting ground within hundreds of miles.

Here the Sloans-who were of wealthy and aristocratic "Old Dominion" stock-had opened a large plantation, immediately upon the river bank, where it descended two hundred and fifty feet perpendicuarly to the water.

From the portico of the MansionHouse placed upon this lofty perch, you could command a clear view of the majestic river, to its junction with the Ohio, thirty miles above. This was no insignificant sight, you may rest assured, with sometimes thirty steamboats in view at a time-rolling like huge omnibuses along the Broadway of Creation, as Dave, who had once visited New York, afterwards insisted upon calling his favorite river.

Such a hullabaloo as greeted us when we alighted at the gate! The hounds had first discovered us, and to the shout of their master gave us a reverberating echo. Then the pickaninnies came pouring in sooty legions out of the cabins of the "extensive quarter," which flanked the mansion in the background-their black, shiny faces stretched in yells and grins, exhibiting an ivory ecstacy of delight at the return of "Massa Dave"-while the hounds nearly tumbled us into the dirt with their rude gambols. In a moment

the whole plantation seemed alive, and Dave's favorite hunter, Lars, which had the freedom of the yard, came prancing into the melee.

The ladies of the hospitable mansion met us at the door, and I was greeted with that gentle and high-bred frankness for which a true Virginia woman has always been noted-which has that indescribable, motherly and sisterly something in it which makes the stranger think at once that he has found home.

After his mother and three lovely young sisters, Dave's next greeting was to his mulatto foster-mother, who stood with a loving and humble smile upon her good looking face in the background along with her son, Dave's foster-brother and body servant, Sambo.

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Sambo roused us, with the dawn, and we went out to see the dogs fed, preparatory for the morning hunt. It was, indeed, a magnificent pack, such as I had never seen together before. Fifteen of them were of the same family and of great size and power, standing very high upon their legs, and marked with great uniformity with black spots upon a pure white ground.

"Gip," the sire and leader of this noble group, was of a pure white body, with a single black spot in the center of the forehead. He was a most powerful animal, and able to cope with the largest buck, alone. He was a stag hound, carefully crossed upon the short-legged and long-bodied foxhound.

"Music"-the dam-was a foxhound of the "true Spartan breed," with a voice like a distant alarm-bell, while the organ of old "Gip" was as sonorous as the boom of "old ocean"

against hollow cliffs.

"THE BIG BUCK."

But among them all, my eye instantly detected a magnificent creature—a black-tan hound, that to me seemed absolutely perfect, as a specimen of canine symmetry. His coat was as fine as the most glossy silk; from his head, which was pointed like a serpent's, his fine, broad and thin ears, with their great, swelling veins, depended more than an inch below the tip of his nose. His neck, like a young stag's; his chest, barrel-ribbed, and deep as a panther's; his loins, as clean as a grey-hound's, with a broad, strong back; limbs that seemed to have been hammered by some wondrous skill out of fine steel; and such a voice: bugles, clarions, cymbals, bells, winds, waters, echoes, mingled, clashing, rolling, roaring, in one tide of rushing sound; altogether they were nothing to that voice. "Nowhere, or nothing," as Dave exclaimed, "to the voice of 'Black Terror' and 'Smiles," as he named a beautiful tan slut of smaller size, which stood beside this noble animal.

The history of this splendid couple was a singular one, and Dave gave it to me on the spot.

He was sitting in the portico one morning, looking out over the river, which was very much swollen, and filled with driftwood. He observed some strange, black objects, which seemed to be struggling with the current. He called to Sambo for his spy glass, and saw at once that they were two animals of some sort, who were trying hard to climb upon the drift wood which floated in the middle of the mighty stream.

Here was an adventure at any rate; and, followed by Sambo, Dave descended the steep bank of the river. When he reached the water, he found that his boat had been torn away by the current. Here was a nonplus with a vengeance! Dave was staggered, but only for a moment, when the low, plaintive howl of a hound reached him across the waters.

It was a terrible venture; but Dave's coat was off in an instant, and, looking

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round at Sambo, he only heard him say: "Go in, Massa Dave, I'm here," when he plunged into the turbid current, followed by the brave boy. Dave said that if it had been a man's voice it could not have "hurt him" more than the sound of that hound's plaintive howl.

Suffice it, the adventure, after nearly having cost them both their lives, was successfully accomplished, by bringing these two hounds, which were coupled together by a chain, to shore, some four miles below, by the help of the drift wood, which they pushed before them. The poor animals were nearly exhausted, and had probably been in the water for many hours but quickly recovered.

Dave vowed that a whole plantation couldn't buy them. They had probably fallen from some steamboat, and had got caught by their chains to some drift wood, which had prevented them from swimming ashore.

The whole kennel was fed upon bread exclusively, during the hunting season, and were never permitted to touch any meat except what they themselves killed. This kept them in fine bottom and wind for running, and made them very savage.

*

*

*

*

The Chase of the Big Buck.

A delicious breakfast is rapidly despatched, the horn is sounded, and we are off for our stands in the deep forest.

Sambo, who "drives," turns to the left, at the corner of the plantation, followed by the whole pack, while we follow a bridle-path, leading straight ahead, into the depths of the forest.

In a half a mile I am stationed just on the verge of the "old bank," as it is called, of the river, with the deep forest, through which Sambo is driving, on my left, and, on my right, af-' ter a sheer descent of twenty feet, a tremendous swamp, which was now dry, except where traversed by deep lagoons filled with quicksands. Dave rode on about half a mile further to his stand.

My instructions were, not to let the hounds pass my stand, if I missed the deer, which would attempt to get by me in the almost impenetrable swamps, where, if the dogs followed him, they would be lost for the remainder of the day.

I had not long to wait; for I just could begin to hear my heart beat in the restored silence, and a neighboring squirrel had only just commenced barking at me, when a low and distant bay, followed by a faint whoop, showed that a trail had been struck. Gradually the sounds gathered, as voice after voice joined in, until at last the thunder bass of old Gip boomed out, and old Music followed with a blast; and now the clashing clangor of Black Terror's tongue leads off the bursting symphony, and the forest rang to reverberations which startled the heart into my very throat.

Peal on peal-and now a sudden silence-my blood is running like mill-tails. Heavens! what music! How the leaves flutter, and the trees sway to my vision!

"Whoop!" in a smothered gasp. If I could only yell! Here they come; I wonder the forest isn't level to the mighty roll of sound! Ha! lost again! No! it is only muffled as they go down some valley! Now they rise again! How it deafens! they must be right upon me! they will be running over me, deer, dogs, and all! here he comes! and out bounded, within ten feet of me, a tremendous buck, with his mighty antlers thrown back upon his rump! He has paused an instant.

Crack! away with one prodigious bound, he clears the twenty feet of bank, and is crashing through the

swamp.

What a roar! here they are! bristles up, tongues out, Black Terror ten paces ahead, Gip next, then Music, and all the rest in a crowd, looking savage as harried wolves. You might as well talk of stopping the Mississippi-they have smelt the blood. Black Terror's leap is as long as the buck's! Old Gip roars again! they are out of sight! That's Dave's yell.

Hark! his horse's feet, already! He is coming, furious, because I did not stop the buck!

And furious he was, sure enough! I began to exclaim at the top of my voice, before he came in sight, but it

was no use.

"Why the deuce didn't you stop that deer! Are the dogs gone? Black Terror will never stop. Confusion, man! were you asleep?"

"He was as big as an elephant, Dave. Here's plenty of blood," said I, trying to appear cool, and pointing to the ground, with my gun, "he's done for."

Dave sprang to his feet and examined the signs. "Oh, thunder! you have shot him too far back, and through the loins; he will take to the river-what a track! it must be the 'big buck,' I shall lose Black Terror! Come ahead, and let's cut him off before he gets there, if we kill our horses!" And away he dashed through the wood.

I followed as fast as possible, and such a ride! Through vine-matted thickets, over dead trees, leaping at breakneck speed the wild lagoons, we clattered.

At length we burst upon open ground, and Dave gave a yell. "Too late! too late! the Big Buck, by old Princess! he'll take the river."

Dave's yell had slightly startled the buck, which was making for the river, along the bank of a wild lagoon. He turned sharp, and attempted to leap the lagoon, he disappears-on we rush, but Dave knows what he is about, and his horse too—while my mare leaps. Plump, we land in the middle of the lagoon, followed by a roar of laughter from Dave.

"Next time, shoot farther forward, old boy!"

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THE DIFFERENCE.

There was no time for mincing matters. I let go my gun, which sank out of sight forever. Rising in my saddle, with a desperate effort I reached the stout limb of a bending cottonwood tree, which I dragged down, and to which I managed to secure my bridle by a strong knot. I succeeded finally, by the aid of the cottonwood, in reaching the bank, and by this time, when I looked back, I found that my poor mare had sunk in the quagmire nearly up to her

eyes.

I now looked around, and saw Dave,

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busy enough, between beating off the dogs and attempting to secure the buck, which had stuck fast also in the quicksand. He succeeded in throwing a rope about his horns, and when the "driver" came up, we dragged it out at our leisure, after having rescued my poor "Bangs," who from hanging so long by her head-stall, had grown quite black in the face.

The buck was a prodigious animal, and had several times before been chased by Dave, when it always took to the river, and had thus lost him several fine hounds.

THE DIFFERENCE

A child, thrilled by new joys in country ways,
Played through long, happy, summer days,
A thousand new-found joys beneath the sun,
With purple hills to climb when all was done—
But at the sunset's fading and the night,
Fled whence those joys that lately shone so bright?
In place of dauntless Knight with tryst to keep-
A homesick child, lonely-drifting to sleep.

And now to-day has gone; the purple mountains lay
Hazier, it seemed, than even yesterday,
Impossibly, immeasurably far-

And over them to-night there shines a star;
But here a child has found again the way—

A lonely child, homesick and tired of play,
No longer given, as is childhood's due,

To dream, and wake to happy dreams come true.

ALICE FELICITA COREY.

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