No, sir,
we'll just leave him in a safe place for the night and send for him in
the morning."
"And do you call that a good head to get stuffed Roderick?" the young
man asked, still gazing on his splendid prize.
"Aw, well, I hef seen better heads, and I hef seen worse heads," the
keeper said, evasively. "But the velvet is off the horns whatever."
This was tremendously strong tobacco that Roderick had handed him, and
yet, as it seemed to him, he had never smelt a sweeter fragrance
perfuming the soft mountain air. Nor did these appear grim and awful
solitudes any longer; they were friendly solitudes, rather; as he sat
and peacefully and joyously smoked, he studied every feature of
them--each rock and swamp and barren slope, every hill and corrie and
misty mountain-top; and he knew that while life remained to him he would
never forget this memorable scene--with the slain stag in the
foreground. No, nor how could he ever forget that wan glare of sunlight
that had come along the plateau where the deer were quietly feeding?--he
seemed to see again each individual blade of grass close to his face, as
well as the noble quarry that had held him breathless.
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