lent opportunity with their rifles, and both Basil and Norman sent
their bullets into the wolverene's back. Francois also emptied his
double-barrelled gun at the same object, and the shaggy brute sank dead
to the bottom of the lake. Strange to say, not one of the party had
thought of firing at the buck. This persecution by so many enemies had
won for him their sympathy, and they would now have suffered him to go
free, but the prospect of fresh venison for supper overcame their
commiseration, and the moment the wolverene was despatched all set about
securing the deer. Their guns were reloaded, and, scattering along the
shore, they prepared to await his return. But the buck, seeing there
was nothing but death in his rear, swam on, keeping almost in a direct
line out into the lake. It was evident to all that he could not swim
across the lake, as its farther shore was not even visible. He must
either return to where they were, or drown; and knowing this to be his
only alternative, they stood still and watched his motions. When he had
got about half-a-mile from the shore, to the surprise of all, he was
seen to rise higher and higher above the surface, and then all at once
stop, with half of his body clear out of the water! He had come upon a
shoal, and, knowing the advantage of it, seemed determined to remain
there.

Basil and Norman ran to the canoe, and in a few minutes the little craft
was launched, and shooting through the water. The buck now saw that it
was likely to be all up with him, and, instead of attempting to swim
farther, he faced round and set his antlers forward in a threatening
attitude. But his pursuers did not give him the chance to make a rush.
When within fifty yards or so, Norman, who used the paddles, stopped and
steadied the canoe, and the next moment the crack of Basil's rifle
echoed over the lake, and the wapiti fell upon the water, where, after
struggling a moment, he lay dead.

The canoe was paddled up, and his antlers being made fast to the stern,
he was towed back to the shore, and carried into camp. What now
surprised our voyageurs was, their finding that the wapiti had been
wounded before encountering either the wolves, wolverene, or themselves.
An arrow-head, with a short piece of the shaft, was sticking in one of
his thighs. The Indians, then, had been after him, and very lately too,
as the wound showed. It was not a mortal wound, had the arrow-head been
removed; but of course,