"Halloo, Geordy! you have got him fast, I see. Where are the dogs?"
"Gone," said Geordy.
"There's Ruler in the east—what's he after?"
"A deer," says Geordy.
"And Rouser to the south—what's he after?"
"Another deer," says Geordy.
"And Nimrod to the southwest—I need not ask what he's after, for he follows nothing but deer. Your second barrel snapped, of course?"
"I don't say that," says Geordy; "I had wounded the six last deer I'd fired at, so I thought I'd kill one to-day, and while I looked to see if that was really dead the others slipped by me."
"Done like a sportsman, Geordy; one dead deer is worth a dozen crippled ones. I remember once your powder was too weak; and next, your shot were too small; and next, your aim was somewhat wild; and one went off bored of an ear, and another nicked of a tail. You are bound to set up an infirmary across the river for the dismembered deer you have dispatched there! You have done well to kill—let it grow into a habit. Nimrod to the southwest, said you? That rascal is a born economist; and not a foot will he budge in pursuit of a living deer after your horn has told him there is venison in the rear! Ruler will drive his deer across the river; Rouser, to the marshes. Nimrod's quarry is the only one likely to halt and give us another chance."
And sure enough, there came Nimrod trotting back on his track, his nose cocked up in air as if to indorse and verify the inferences of his ear, his tail curled and standing out from his body at an angle of forty-five degrees.
"This is the safe play—hang up the deer—sound your horn till the hounds come in from their several chases—and then
