  Being a story of the Adirondacks told by me in the words of him who had borne with buck-fever and bad marksmanship until, having been long out of meat and patiencey he put his confidence in me and we sallied forth. We'd greased our tongues with bacon 'til they'd shy at food an' fork An' the trails o' thought were slippery an' slopin' towards New York; An' our gizzards shook an' trembled an' were most uncommon hot An' the oaths were slippin' easy from the tongue o' Philo Scott. Then skyward rose a flapjack an' a hefty oath he swore An' he spoke of all his sufferin' which he couldn't stan' no more; An' the flapjack got to jumpin' like a rabbit on the run As he give his compliments to them who couldn't p'int a gun. He told how deer would let 'em come an' stan' an' rest an' shoot An' how bold an' how insultin' they would eye the tenderfoot; How he—Fide Scott—was hankerin' fer suthin' fit to eat "———!" says he. "Le's you an' me go out an' find some meat." We paddled off a-whisperin' beneath the long birch limbs An' we snooked along as silent as a sucker when he swims; I could hear him slow his paddle as eroun' the turns he bore; I could hear his neck a-creakin' while his eye run up the shore. An' soon we come acrost a buck as big an' bold as sin An' Philo took t' swallerin' to keep his feelin's in; An' every time he swallered, as he slowly swung eroun', I could hear his Adam's apple go a-squeakin' up an' down. He sot an' worked his paddle jest as skilful as he could An' we went on slow an' careless, like a chunk o' floatin' wood: An' I kind o' shook an' shivered an' the pesky ol' canoe It seemed to feel as I did, for it shook an' shivered too. I sot there, full o' deviltry, a-p'intin' with the gun, An' we come up clost and closter, but the deer he didn't run; An' Philo shet his teeth so hard he split his brier- root As he held his breath a-waitin' an' expectin' me to shoot. I could kind o' feel him hanker, I could kind o' hear him think, An' we'd come so nigh the animal we didn't dast to wink, But I kep' on a-p'intin' of the rifle at the deer Jest as if I was expectin' fer to stick it in his ear. An' Philo tetched the gunnel soft an' shook it with his knee; I kind o' felt him nudgin' an' a-wishin' he was me, But I kep' on a-p'intin', with a foolish kind o' grin, Enjoyin' all the wickedness that he was holdin' in. An' of a sudden I could feel a tremble in his feet; I knew that he was gettin' mad an' fillin' up with heat. His breath come fast an' faster, but he couldn't say a damn— He'd the feelin's of a panther an' the quiet of a lamb. An' his foot come creepin' for'ards an' he tetched me with his boot An' he whispered low an' anxious, an says he: "Why don't ye shoot?'' An' the buck he see the time had come fer him an' us to part An' away he ran as Philo pulled the trigger of his heart. He had panthers in his bosom, he had horns upon his mind; An' the panthers spit an' rassied an' their fur riz up behind; An' he gored me with his languidge an' he clawed me with his eye 'Til I wisht that, when I done him dirt, I hadn't been so nigh. He scairt the fish beneath us an' the birds upon the shore An' he spoke of all his sufferin' which he couldn't stan' no more; Then he sot an' thought an' muttered as he pushed a mile er so Like a man that's lost an' weary on the mountain of his woe. An' he eyed me over cur'ous an' with pity on his face An' he seemed to be a sortin' words to make 'em fit the case. "Of all the harmless critters that I ever met," says he, "There ain't not none more harmlesser—my God!— than what you be." An' he added, kind o' sorrowful, an' hove a mighty sigh: "I'd be 'shamed t' meet another deer an' look him in the eye. God knows a man that p'ints so never orter hev no grub, What game are you expectin' fer t' slaughter with a club?" An' I answered with a riddle: "It has head an' eyes an' feet An' is black an' white an' harmless, but a fearful thing to meet; It's a long an' pesky animal as any in the county; Can't ye guess?—I've ketched a pome an' I'll give ye half the bounty."
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