Prevod
V svežih novembrskih dneh sta mladi Kedar in njegov zvesti suženj Lauto lovila ob reki Calawassee v upanju, da bosta prišla na strel jelenu — jelenu z enim samim rogom, ki se jima je, kadar koli sta ga srečala v močvirju, izmuznil z lahkotnim korakom, ki ju je spravljal v obup. Kedarja je to jezilo. Naredil je globok požirek in si odločno zapel suknjič. »Pri moji duši,« je dejal, »danes bom dobil tega jelena ali pa sam umrl!« Nato se je zasmejal staremu sužnju, ki ga je prosil, naj prekliče prisego, saj je bilo s to živaljo nekaj nenavadnega — med tekom ni puščala sledi in je šla skozi najgostejši gozd, ne da bi jo ustavila drevesa ali podrast. »Pah!« je odvrnil lovec. »Pripelji pse. Četudi je ta jelen sam zlodej, ga bom dobil, še preden mine dan!« Moža sta bila brž v sedlih in nista bila dolgo v gozdu, ko sta pred seboj zagledala enorogega jelena, ki je lahkotno stopical, a se vendar premikal z osupljivo hitrostjo.
Kedar, ki je jezdil spredaj, je z bičem pognal konja in sledil jelenu v nasad cipres blizu reke Chechesee. Ko se je žival ustavila ob mlaki, je ustrelil. Strel je v gostem gozdu zamolklo odjeknil, jelen pa se je mirno obrnil, opazoval zasledovalca, dokler se mu ni ta povsem približal, nato pa spet odstopical. Kedar ga je zasledoval ves dan. Pasjega laježa ni bilo slišati od nikoder in drvel je skozi gozd, kričal in preklinjal kakor sam hudič ter tako tepel in ostrožil konja, da so bili ubogi živali glava in boki rdeči od krvi. Prav ob sončnem zahodu se je Kedar spet znašel na bregu reke Calawassee, nedaleč od kraja, od koder je zjutraj krenil, in znova zaslišal lajež svojih psov. Njegov plen je bil naposled videti izčrpan; preplaval je reko, stekel v goščavo na nasprotnem bregu in obstal. »Zdaj ga imam!« je zavpil lovec. »Hej, Lauto! Moj je!« Stari črnec je zaslišal klic in pohitel naprej. Slišal je, kako se gospodarjev konj otepa v močvirju ob reki — nato so se zaslišali pljusk in kletev, in ko je suženj prispel do brega, je po počasnem toku priplavalo le še nekaj mehurčkov. Jelen je stal v goščavi in strmel z očmi, ki so žarele skozi spuščajočo se temo, stari Lauto pa je s krikom strahu in žalosti zbežal od tam.
Izvirnik
Through brisk November days young Kedar and his trusty slave, Lauto, hunted along the Calawassee, with hope to get a shot at a buck--a buck that wore a single horn and that eluded them with easy, baffling gait whenever they met it in the fens. Kedar was piqued at this. He drained a deep draught and buttoned his coat with an air of resolution. “Now, by my soul,” quoth he, “I'll have that buck to-day or die myself!” Then he laughed at the old slave, who begged him to unsay the oath, for there was something unusual about that animal--as it ran it left no tracks, and it passed through the densest wood without halting at trees or undergrowth. “Bah!” retorted the huntsman. “Have up the dogs. If that buck is the fiend himself, I'll have him before the day is out!” The twain were quickly in their saddles, and they had not been long in the wood before the one-horned buck was seen ahead, trotting with easy pace, yet with marvellous swiftness.
Kedar, who was in advance, whipped up his horse and followed the deer into a cypress grove near the Chechesee. As the game halted at a pool he fired. The report sounded dead in the dense wood, and the deer turned calmly, watched his pursuer until he was close at hand, then trotted away again. All day long he held the chase. The dogs were nowhere within sound, and he galloped through the forest, shouting and swearing like a very devil, beating and spurring the horse until the poor creature's head and flanks were reddened with blood. It was just at sunset that Kedar found himself again on the bank of the Calawassee, near the point he had left in the morning, and heard once more the baying of his hounds. At last his prey seemed exhausted, and, swimming the river, it ran into a thicket on the opposite side and stood still. “Now I have him!” cried the hunter. “Hillio, Lauto! He's mine!” The old negro heard the call and hastened forward. He heard his master's horse floundering in the swamp that edged the river--then came a plash, a curse, and as the slave arrived at the margin a few bubbles floated on the sluggish current. The deer stood in the thicket, staring with eyes that blazed through the falling darkness, and, with a wail of fear and sorrow, old Lauto fled the spot.
