I've often thought how
grateful I should be that such an animal was my friend and companion in
the hunt and not my pursuer. How quickly the dog adjusts himself to the
bow! At first he is afraid of the long stick. But he soon gets the idea
and not waiting for the detonation of the gun, he accepts the hum of
the bowstring and the whirr of the arrow as signals for action. Some
dogs have even shown a tendency to retrieve our arrows for us, and
nothing suits them better than that we go on foot, and by their sides
can run with them and with our silent shafts can lay low what they
bring to bay. In fact, it is a perfect balance of power--the hound with
his wondrous nose, lean flanks and tireless legs; the man with his
human reason, the horn, and his bow and arrow.
We who have hunted thus, trod the forest trails, climbed the lofty
peaks, breathed the magic air, and viewed the endless roll of mountain
ridges, blue in the distance, have been blessed by the gods.
In all, we have shot about thirty deer with the bow. The majority of
these fell before the shafts of Will Compton, while Young and I have
contributed in a smaller measure to the count.
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