"IN MEMORY"
Up in the mountains, about two miles northwest of Moose Lake, was a hole
which old Mother Nature had carelessly left there, and afterwards
thoughtfully filled with water. The water was blue--probably in
imitation of the near-by sky--so the place was called Blue Lake.
At Moose Lake there was a cabin and a canoe, as you may remember, and to
Injun and Whitey that had seemed too civilized for a pioneer hunting
trip. So they had fished the canoe out of the lake, and had made a
portage with it. The canoe was light, and a boy could carry it over his
head for quite a distance before he got tired or fell over a rock.
Blue Lake was an ideal place for a wild camp. It was almost circular and
nearly a mile in diameter. To the north its shore blended with the
heights that led to the peaks; heights clad with a rugged growth of
pines and firs that extended toward the timber line. There was nothing
gentle or park-like about the Blue Lake.
Its chilly depths were spring-fed, and sheltered trout that were far
from logy. They would put up an awful fight for life, and as the boys
were using back-to-nature poles, made from the branches of trees, the
fish tried the patience even of Injun.
When not tied to a tree Sitting Bull's part in the hunting was to
interfere with matters as much as possible. As a hunting dog he had only
one advantage; he didn't bark. But he deserved no credit for that. It
wasn't his nature to bark. As Bull tore enthusiastically about, Whitey
would watch him with a rueful smile, and say, "The only way he could
help would be by going home, and of course he can't do that."
"In early October a crisp morning found Injun and Whitey leaving camp to
begin what for them was a special day's hunting. They were going for
deer. The deer loved the secluded shores of the lake, and some distance
from the camp a run led to a spot where the animals came down to drink.
This morning the camp was down the wind from that spot; so it was ideal.
The boys planned to go in the canoe, and Sitting Bull was securely tied
to a tree to await their return. But Bull looked so longing, so lonely,
there was so much entreaty in his eyes, that Whitey allowed his heart to
overrule his head.
"He can't raise much of a row in the canoe, and he won't bark," Whitey
said rather shamefacedly. "Let's take him along."
Injun said nothing, as usual, but he didn't look disapproving. So they
got into their canoe and paddled up the wind until near the run, where
they found a low, overhanging branch and ran the canoe under it. So
masked they waited for Mr. Deer to come and drink.
In about an hour he came and with him was Mrs. Deer, or maybe it was his
daughter, and not his wife, for she looked so young and timid one hardly
could picture her as the mate of Mr. Deer. He was a big fellow who would
weigh about four hundred pounds, and had fourteen points--little
branches shooting off his horns.
It was Injun's turn to shoot first, and he pulled back his bowstring and
braced himself to let go. Right here it may be said that at thirty yards
an arrow propelled by an Indian-made bow is just as deadly as a bullet,
if it hits its mark. But Injun shot a little high and caught the buck in
the shoulder. He threw up his head and let out a roar of battle, looking
every inch the magnificent creature that he was, and just churned the
waters of the lake, which he was in up to his knees.
He didn't have very long to bellow his defiance, for Whitey's
Springfield rifle spoke. Now Mr. Deer turned almost completely over from
the shock, but again the hit was not in a vital spot. The canoe was
rocking a little, and Mr. Deer was not exactly posing to be shot at. And
there was another excuse that I have mentioned before--buck fever: the
disease that comes when a big buck deer jumps up from nowhere, and
causes the hunter to lose his head and do the wrong thing.
You would think that Injun and Whitey would have been over that? Well,
perhaps they should have been immune, but you will remember that our
mighty hunters were just boys, and even frontier boys can be excused for
a sudden attack of a complaint that grownups have. And the grownup who
says that he never has had it, at some time in his life, that Mr.
Grownup has not done any deer hunting, or that Mr. Grownup lies. And
what's more, some grownups never get over it.
Perhaps Sitting Bull had given the fever to Injun, for the dog was
trembling so that he shook the canoe; each particular hair stood on end,
and if any one had stroked Bull, he probably would have got the electric
shock of his life. Anyway, Injun sure had buck fever for the first time
in his young life, for in bracing himself for his next shot he sat too
far back on his left leg, and when he let go his arrow, over went the
canoe. All hopes for a successful issue of that battle would have ended
right there had not Injun's arrow by a lucky shot gone straight into Mr.
Deer's heart. With one mighty lunge in the air he fell back in the water
toward the shore, where his horns and part of his body remained above
the surface. When the canoe went over, Whitey held his rifle high over
his head, so it was still dry and ready for use--a needless precaution
in this case.
I hate to write this part of the story. The deer's daughter--she must
have been his daughter--had lots and lots of chances to run away, but
she didn't do it. She just stood there like the poor, timid, scared
thing she was, with every quiver of her graceful body, every look of her
big, brown, childlike eyes saying, "Please, why did you kill my father,
who was my only protector? And please, please don't hurt me!"
Did you, Mr. or Miss Reader, ever have a helpless animal look at you in
that way? If you did, you know it's awful--awful to remember!
Whitey fired. He couldn't miss at that distance. And he ran forward to
force Miss Deer to fall on the bank, clear of the water, which she did.
She looked at Whitey while he was shoving her over, Whitey nor no one
else can ever describe that look, and Whitey, boy as he was, turned away
his head as she fell. Injun stood by dripping, silent, his face a mask
for his feelings. And Sitting Bull was shivering, but not with cold or
excitement; he had caught the dying look of the doe. And Bull's ugly
face reflected the feelings of his heart, that was both brave and
gentle, for actually, yes, actually! there were tears in Bull's eyes.
The canoe was brought to shore, the water was dumped out of it, the
paddles were recovered. Then a rope was fastened to Mr. Deer, and by
means of a log lever he was hauled out of the lake and dressed. But
Injun didn't talk and Whitey didn't talk. And Bull didn't wander around
as usual and smell the scents that gave him so much excitement and
delight, and that the boys couldn't smell at all. The deer's head, hide,
and some of the meat were put into the canoe. The rest of the meat was
tied high in trees, safe from marauding animals. The boys didn't touch
Miss Deer. They got into the canoe with Bull and paddled away. They
didn't look back.
The rest of the day and evening were spent in a constrained silence.
Sitting Bull felt the constraint. He lay on the ground, his great head
between his paws, and moodily watched the boys. Several hours had
passed; it was night, at the camp-fire; still no words had been spoken.
Finally Whitey stopped looking into the fire and stood up straight.
"Injun, where's the spade?" he asked. "I've got something to do."
Injun answered Whitey's question, but asked none of his own. "Me go
help," he said.
With Sitting Bull as a passenger, they paddled the canoe back over the
moonlit lake until they came to the run. And the two boys dug a grave
for Miss Deer, and laid her in that grave just as she fell, and covered
it with a pile of stones so the coyotes couldn't touch her. And when the
morning sun came up over the hills, Injun and Whitey were in a new camp
miles away.
Injun said nothing to Whitey and Whitey said nothing to Injun, but to
the day of his death Injun never shot at a Miss Deer again. And although
Whitey is now a middle-aged man, to this day he has never again shot at
a Miss Deer. Nor has he ever forgotten the look in the eyes of that Miss
Deer which those boys buried on the bank of Blue Lake, twenty-six years
ago.
THE END
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