The Mule-deer 57 



Sometimes in the early fall, when hunting from 

 the ranch, I have spent the night in some likely 

 locality, sleeping rolled up in a blanket on the 

 ground so as to be ready to start at the first 

 streak of dawn. On one such occasion a couple 

 of mule-deer came to where my horse was pick- 

 eted just before I got up. I heard them snort or 

 whistle, and very slowly unwrapped myself from 

 the blanket, turned over, and crawled out, rifle in 

 hand. Overhead the stars were paling in the 

 faint gray light, but the ravine in which the deer 

 were was still so black that, watch as I would, I 

 could not see them. I feared to move around lest 

 I might disturb them, but after wriggling toward 

 a little jutting shoulder I lay still to wait for the 

 light. They went off, however, while it was still 

 too dusk to catch more than their dim and form- 

 less outlines, and though I followed them as rap- 

 idly and cautiously as possible, I never got a shot 

 at them. On other occasions fortune has favored 

 me, and before the sun rose I have spied some 

 buck leisurely seeking his day bed, and have been 

 able either to waylay him or make a running stalk 

 on him from behind. 



In the old days it was the regular thing with 

 most ranchmen to take a trip in the fall for the 

 purpose of laying in the winter's supply of venison. 

 I frequently took such trips myself, and though 

 occasionally we killed wapiti, bighorn, prong- 



