I saw the perfection of it a few days later. I was sitting before
my tent door at twilight, watching the herons, when there was a
shot and a sudden crash over on their side. In a moment the big
buck plunged out of the woods and went leaping in swift bounds
along the shore, head high, antlers back, the mighty muscles
driving him up and onward as if invisible wings were bearing him.
A dozen great trees were fallen across his path, one of which, as
I afterwards measured, lay a clear eight feet above the sand. But
he never hesitated nor broke his splendid stride. He would rush
at a tree; rise light and swift till above it, where he turned as
if on a pivot, with head thrown back to the wind, actually
resting an instant in air at the very top of his jump; then shoot
downward, not falling but driven still by the impulse of his
great muscles. When he struck, all four feet were close together;
and almost quicker than the eye could follow he was in the air
again, sweeping along the water's edge, or rising like a bird
over the next obstacle.

Just below me was a stream, with muddy shores on both sides. I
looked to see if he would stog himself there or turn aside; but
he knew the place better than I, and that just under the soft mud
the sand lay firm and, sure. He struck the muddy place only
twice, once on either side the fifteen-foot stream, sending out a
light shower of mud in all directions; then, because the banks on
my side were steep, he leaped for the cover of the woods and was
gone.

I thought I had seen the last of him, when I heard him coming,
bump! bump! bump! the swift blows of his hoofs sounding all
together on the forest floor. So he flashed by, between me and my