But Meetuck was an innate gentleman, and modestly declined; so Fred advanced, took a good aim, and fired.
The deer bounded away, but stumbled as it went, showing that it was wounded.
"Ha! ha! Meetuck," exclaimed Fred, as he recharged in tremendous excitement (taking twice as long to load in consequence), "I've improved a little, you see, in my shoot--oh bother this--ramrod!--tut! tut! there, that's it." Bang went Meetuck's musket at that moment, and the deer tumbled over upon the snow.
"Well done, old fellow!" cried Fred, springing forward.

At the same instant a white hare darted across his path, at which he fired, without even putting the gun to his shoulder, and knocked it over, to his own intense amazement.
The three shots were the signal for the men to come up with the sledge, which they did at full gallop, O'Riley driving, and flourishing the long whip about in a way that soon entangled it hopelessly with the dogs' traces.
"Ah, then, ye've done it this time, ye have, sure enough.

Musha! what a purty crature it is.

Now, isn't it, West?
Stop, then, won't ye (to the restive dogs); ye've broke my heart entirely, and the whip's tied up into iver so many knots.

Arrah, Meetuck! ye may drive yer coach yerself for me, you may; I've had more nor enough of it." In a few minutes the deer and the hare were lashed to the sledge--which the Irishman asserted was a great improvement, inasmuch as the carcass of the former made an excellent seat--and they were off again at full gallop over the floes.