filled with brush and alders, he heard a queer sound like
the playful squealing of some wild animal. Slipping off his saddle and
leading his horse by the bridle over the thick turf, Sandy cautiously
approached the edge of the valley, the margin of which was steep and
well sheltered by a growth of cottonwoods. After peering about for
some time, the lad caught a glimpse of a beautiful sight. A young doe
and her fawn were playing together in the open meadow below,
absolutely unconscious of the nearness of any living thing besides
themselves. The mother-deer was browsing, now and again, and at times
the fawn, playful as a young kitten, would kick its heels, or butt its
head against its mother's side, and both would squeal in a comical
way.

Sandy had never seen deer in a state of living wildness before, and
his heart thumped heavily in his breast as he gazed on the wonderful
sight. He half groaned to himself that he was a great fool to have
come away from home without a gun. What an easy shot it was! How
nicely he could knock over the mother, if only he had a shot-gun! She
was within such short range. Then he felt a sinking of the heart, as
he imagined the horror of death that would have overtaken the innocent
and harmless creatures, sporting there so thoughtless of man's hunting
instincts and cruelty. Would he kill them, if he had the weapon to
kill with? He could not make up his mind that he would. So he crouched
silently in the underbrush, and watched the pretty sight as if it were
a little animal drama enacted here in the wilderness, mother and child
having a romp in their wildwood home.

"Well, I'll give them a good scare, anyhow," muttered the boy, his
sportive instincts getting the better of his tender-heartedness at
last. He dashed up noisily from the underbrush, swung his arms, and
shouted, "Boo!" Instantly deer and fawn, with two or three tremendous
bounds, were out of the little valley and far away on the prairie,
skimming over the rolls of green, and before the boy could catch his
breath, they had disappeared into one of the many dells and ravines
that interlaced the landscape.

But another animal was scared by the boy's shout. In his excitement he
had slipped the bridle-rein from his arm, and the old sorrel,
terrified by his halloo, set off on a brisk trot down the road. In
vain Sandy called to him to stop. Free from guidance, the horse
trotted along, and when, after a long chase, Sandy caught up with his
s