fathomed my intentions and flown ahead to alarm the deer, which
are now bounding away for denser cover.

I brush ahead heedlessly, knowing that caution here only wastes
time, and study the fresh trail where the quarry jumped away in
alarm. Straight down the wind it goes. Cunning old buck! He has
no idea what Bluejay's alarm was about, but a warning, whether of
crow or jay or tainted wind or snapping twig, is never lost on
the wood folk. Now as he bounds along, cleaving the woods like a
living bolt, yet stopping short every hundred yards or so to
whirl and listen and sort the messages that the wood wires bring
to him, he is perfectly sure of himself and his little flock,
knowing that if danger follow down wind, his own nose will tell
him all about it. I glance at the sun; only another hour of
light, and I am six miles from home. I glance at the jay,
flitting about restlessly in a mixture of mischief and curiosity,
whistling his too-loo-loo loudly as a sign to the fleeing game
that I am right here and that he sees me. Then I take up the back
trail, planning another day.

So the days went by, one after another; the big buck, aided by
his friends the birds, held his own against my craft and
patience. He grew more wild and alert with every hunt, and kept
so far ahead of me that only once, before the snow blew, did I
have even the chance of stalking him, and then the cunning old
fellow foiled me again masterfully.

Old Wally was afield too; but, so far as I could read from the
woods' record, he fared no better than I on the trail of the
buck. Once, when I knew my game was miles ahead, I heard the