He was back in the cover, wary and watching, and was not to be tempted nearer by the light.
Jim knew the buck, and knew that any delay on his account would be useless.
"I knowed 'im when I hearn 'im whistle, an' he knowed me.

He's been shot at from this boat more nor twenty times.

'Not any pine-knots on my plate,' says he.

'I seen 'em afore, an' you can pass.' I used to git kind o' mad at 'im, an' promise to foller 'im, but he's so 'cute, I sort o' like 'im.

He 'muses me." While Jim waited and talked in a low tone, the buck was evidently examining the light and the craft, at his leisure and at a distance.
Then he gave another lusty whistle that was half snort, and bounded off into the woods by leaps that struck every foot upon the ground at the same instant, and soon passed beyond hearing.
"Well, the old feller's gone," said Jim, "an' now I know a patch o' lily-pads up the river where I guess we can find a beast that hasn't had a public edication." The tension upon the nerves of the boys was relieved, and they whispered between themselves about what they had seen, or thought they had seen.
All became still, as Jim turned his boat up the stream again.