Hunting in Many Lands 



break off to one side, but this happened to be 

 one of the occasions when everything went 

 right. When I reached the spot from which I 

 covered the exits from the timber, I leaped off, 

 and immediately afterward heard a shout from 

 my foreman that told me the deer were on 

 foot. Muley is a pet horse, and he enjoys im- 

 mensely the gallop after game ; but his nerves 

 invariably fail him at the shot. He stood 

 snorting beside me, and finally, as the deer 

 came in sight, away he tore — only to go about 

 200 yards, however, and stand and watch us 

 with his ears pricked forward until, when I 

 needed him, I went for him. At the moment, 

 however, I paid no heed to Muley, for a crack- 

 ing in the brush told me the game was close, 

 and in another moment I caught the shadowy 

 outlines of the doe and the fawn as they 

 scudded through the timber. By good luck, 

 the buck, evidently flurried, came right on the 

 edge of the woods next to me, and, as he 

 passed, running like a quarter horse, I held 

 well ahead of him and pulled the trigger. 

 The bullet broke his neck and down he went — 

 a fine fellow with a handsome ten-point head, 

 and fat as a prize sheep ; for it was just before 

 the rut. Then we rode home, and I sat in a 



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