50 The Wilderness Hunter. 



As evening drew on we rode riverwards ; we slid down 

 the steep bluff walls, and loped across a great bottom of 

 sage brush and tall grass, our horses now and then leap- 

 ing- like cats over the trunks of dead cottonwoods. As 

 we came to the brink of the cut bank which forms the 

 hither boundary of the river in freshet time, we suddenly 

 saw two deer, a doe and a well grown fawn — of course 

 long out of the spotted coat. They were walking with 

 heads down along the edge of a sand-bar, near a pool, on 

 the farther side of the stream bed, over two hundred 

 yards distant. They saw us at once, and turning, galloped 

 away, with flags aloft, the pictures of springing, vigorous 

 beauty. I jumped off my horse in an instant, knelt, and 

 covered the fawn. It was going straight away from me, 

 running very evenly, and I drew a coarse sight at the tip 

 of the white flag. As I pulled trigger down went the 

 deer, the ball having gone into the back of its head. The 

 distance was a good three hundred yards ; and while of 

 course there was much more chance than skill in the shot 

 I felt well pleased with it — though I could not help a re- 

 gret that while making such a difficult shot at a mere 

 whitetail I should have missed a much easier shot at a 

 noble bighorn. Not only I, but all the camp, had a prac- 

 tical interest in my success ; for we had no fresh meat, 

 and a fat whitetail fawn, killed in October, yields the best 

 of venison. So after dressing the deer I slung the carcass 

 behind my saddle, and we rode swiftly back to camp 

 through the dark ; and that evening we feasted on the 

 juicy roasted ribs. 



