Issue link: http://www.e-digitaleditions.com/i/801177
W e slept that night as we ever do in the hills, with the front of the tent wide open so that from my pillow—the side of a saddle—I could watch the Great Dipper do its slow somersault around the North Star. When the campfire died the night before, and we went to bed, the Dipper was lying along the tops of the mountains, brimming full. It is easier to watch this great hand in the astronomical clock than to light unwilling matches from time to time in the night, and I knew that when the constellation had nearly reversed itself, it would be time to start moving. A man in camp sleeps sweetly, yet lightly. A dozen times through the dark hours the distant sharp bark of a fox, the rustle of a leaf, the deep sigh of a satiated and sleepy horse on a picket rope, the cracking of a coal in the campfire, the call of a night bird, or the snap of a twig under the tread of one of our pack string called me with a gentle thoroughness from slumber. Each time it seemed as though the position of the encircling attendants of the North Star had changed by only a slight angle; and each time I sank instantly again into the perfumed rest that comes from a bed of balsam boughs after a hard day's work. The hush that comes over all nature just before the dawn was near being my undoing after all. The Dipper seemed to have made a great sudden sweep and was dangerously far over when my eyes opened again. The canvas was throbbing with the pulse of the morning breeze, but the eastern sky was darker than the western sky, where hovered a faint glow. It took an effort of will to get out into the cold air, but necessity compelled haste, and I scrambled as gently as I could over the dewy coverlet, hurriedly put on the few clothes I had taken off the night before—dressing and undressing are mutually short operations in a hastily made camp—found my damp and clammy shoes, raked together the coals in the ashes, fanned a flame, boiled coffee, and munched a hasty breakfast of bread and some cold trout. My partner, chum, helpmate never stirred. It is wonderful how a trustful woman will sleep in the wilderness, safe in the supposition that he who sleeps beside her is competent to meet any danger that might arise. I dropped half-a-dozen cartridges into my pocket, together with a couple of biscuits in case the chase should be unduly long, shouldered 64 • S P O R T I N G C L A S S I C S An early morning hunt for black-tailed deer. By ClarenCe a. lyman