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At eight o'clock in the morning, the stranger was
aroused and informed that his professional services were
needed, and urgently. He dressed, and in a few moments
issued forth: at the door was hunter John Myers,
mounted on his large sable steed; but none would have
recognized him for the merry, hearty-voiced host of the
preceding evening. He was pale, his form drooped toward
the neck of his horse, and his eyes were red with
dried-up tears.

“Doctor!” he said in a trembling voice, “will you
come and see my Sally? She's dying!”

Doctor Thomas sprang toward the hunter so suddenly
that the large black horse, who was covered with sweat,
and foaming at the mouth, threw up his head and half
reared back from the gateway.

“What say you!” he cried, “dying!”

“Come on, doctor!” the hunter said, “I'll tell you as
we go along. Where's your horse?”

Doctor Thomas ran to the place where his horse was
installed, and in five minutes had saddled him and was
mounted. He joined the mountaineer, and they both put
spurs to their steeds and took the road to the hunter's
dwelling.

“Now, my friend,” said Doctor Thomas, “I see you
are much agitated, and some accident must have happened
to your daughter. But remember that she is such
a favorite with you—as is natural and proper—that you

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can not justly estimate the hurt or injury she has received.
Much more probable is it, that you overrate the
danger. Come, tell me all.”

“That I'll do in short words. I went out this morning
as usual to hunt that buck I've been telling you of, often
and over, and I got on his track. I thought this time
I'd run him down, and I believe I became sort o' deranged
about him; my head seemed to be turning round,
I didn't know how to hunt, and I hallooed on the dogs
as if the devil was being run down and done for. Don't
think I had been drinking and my brain wasn't clear.
No, it wasn't that. Besides that, I'm powerful strong in
the head, and God has given me the strength to drink as
much as three of most men—I don't feel it. Well, it
wasn't liquor, but I was sort o' cracked—I didn't know
what I was about, and my head didn't feel right. I
thought that devil of a varmint was laughing at me—it
was the wind, I reckon—and Belt, my crack dog, seemed
to be crying as if something hurt him.”

The doctor shook his head.

“Too much cerebral excitement lately, my friend; this
deer will be your death yet, if you are not more careful.
But continue: you had vertigo. Well.”

“Well, I reckon I had something of that sort, and I
followed that buck four mortal hours from one end of the
mountain side to t'other; then he crossed over toward
Sleepy Creek: then he doubled back toward my house
and took down the mountain nigh a place called `Moss
Rock'—a big rock with a tall pine tree growing out of it.
Then I thought I had him, and I got crazy! I pushed
Elkhorn down the mountain path as if it was this level
road we are galloping on! I passed somebody, but I
didn't know him; it was Barry I thought; my head this
time was turning round! for I saw something white-like
about two or three hundred yards before me! and thought
it was the buck—and—”

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“Unhappy man! you have killed your daughter!”
cried the doctor, with pale face and trembling lips.

“Oh, my Sally! oh, my heart's dear! oh, my baby!”
groaned the hunter, almost reeling in his seat. The doctor
thought he was going to faint, and still galloping
caught him by the arm. He shrunk at the hand laid on
him; but putting it aside, said more calmly,

“No, doctor, I'm not sick—my head's pretty clear
now. Come, we must get on!”

The horses thundered along; and mouth to mouth,
devoured the space as if the excitement of their riders
possessed them also, and they felt and comprehended the
danger of the valley's “darling.”

At this rate they soon arrived at the hunter's; and the
doctor immediately hastened to Sally's chamber. The
old dame was sitting at her daughter's bedside, vainly
trying to suppress her tears—and as the doctor passed
into the little room, which as we have already informed
the reader, lay immediately behind the main apartment,
he observed Barry leaning with his head on the windowsill,
his face in his hands.

Sally was lying very easily, and seemed to suffer little
pain. A moment's examination showed the doctor that
the rifle ball had not inflicted a mortal wound, having
only lodged in the shoulder, and this comfortable intelligence
he communicated to the family. He then removed
the coarse wrapping, dressed the wound, having of course
extracted the bullet first, and bandaging the fair shoulder
with softer stuff, administered a slight opiate, and left
the young girl in a quiet slumber.

“And now, my friend,” said the doctor with a smile,
“as Miss Sally is comfortably asleep, will you let me have
some breakfast? I am somewhat hungry, inasmuch as I
have ridden well this morning.”

The doctor was made comfortable with that rapidity
and deference which for some reason, is always the lot of

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the members of this profession, and his appetite was soon
satisfied. The hunter and his guest then sat down outside
the door, whither they were followed by Barry, who
silently returned the doctor's bow.

“I broke off when I was telling you about it, doctor,”
said Hunter John, “but I hadn't much more to say.
My head was all running round, and I don't know how I
sighted my gun but I shot; and then I found I had
struck down my child, my darling!”

And bending down, the hunter let fall two large tears.

“Barry was there and helped me, or I would have gone
mad straight off. Oh, how could I keep my head at seeing
my baby there weltering in her blood, and all dabbled
over with it—her neck and all! Doctor, I ain't much in
this world, and I don't know much besides bringing down
game, but for all that I don't believe that child could love
me better if I was the highest in the land! My little flower
that I went and cut down—my pretty little flower!”

And burying his face in his hands, the mountaineer
bent to his knee with deep sobs and sighs. Barry, with
folded arms and eyes swollen with grief, leaned against a
tree.

“Come, come, sir!” said the doctor, “this is unreasonable.
You certainly did not mean to strike your daughter
with the ball from your rifle. It was aimed at what
you thought was a deer; plainly the fault of the retina,
not yours. Miss Sally is not very dangerously wounded,
and all that will result from this, will be a fever and some
weeks' confinement. At the end of that time my friend,
she will be well—perfectly.”

And as if without intending it, he glanced at Barry.
His head was turned away and he was weeping; the
good news was too much for his weakened nerves.

“May the Lord grant it,” said the mountaineer;
“Hunter John couldn't stand the loss of his baby long.
He would go after her.”

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“Don't be uneasy,” said the doctor, “I shall come
here every day to see her, and a month will entirely cure
her. Still you would do well to send to Martinsburg for
Dr. Harrison or some one. You know nothing of me.”

“Yes I do, doctor; I looked at you when you were
fixing the wrappings and taking out that ball from my
pretty baby's shoulder, and I knew from the way you did
it that you ain't an every-day doctor.”

The stranger smiled: he appreciated the compliment.

“I studied in Europe,” he replied, “and I learned there
what few learn in this country—that handling the patient
is much. It's best to be easy and quick. They are far
beyond us, over the water.”

“To tell you the truth, that's why I like you,” said the
hunter, “you fixed that shoulder like she was your own
baby; and if you cure her, there'll never be a friend
who'll go further or do more for you than John Myers.”

“Good! I think she'll get well herself, however, my
friend.”

“I begin to think so too.”

“I have had worse wounds to dress than that—and
there is no fracture—”

“Fractures you're talking of,” said the hunter, “well,
I just bethought me; will you look at my arm? It's
hurt me all along, but I hadn't time to 'tend to it.”

“What's the matter?”

“I haven't looked, but it hurt me dreadful when you
caught hold of me in the road.”

The doctor examined and found that Hunter John's
arm was badly fractured. He had rolled under his horse
on seeing his daughter fall, and Elkhorn had struck the
arm with one of his heavy hoofs, and broken it. Worthy
hunter! “he had not had time to attend to it.”

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