LETTER X. 117 



beast in my life, and my little redskin was en- 

 thusiastic over the piles of white fat which he 

 collected from the entrails and back of my first 

 mule-deer. To the Indians this fat for winter use 

 is the most valuable part of the game. When we 

 brought his head into camp, old S. recognised 

 him as the buck which he had met, face to face 

 * at fifty yards, sir, close to camp, just whenever 

 I didn't happen to have anything but the axe 

 handy.' Since shooting the big buck, I have 

 killed others, and might have killed many, a day 

 never passing without, at least, one shot at a 

 mule-deer buck presenting itself unsought ; but 

 I contented myself with the three best heads I 

 saw, shooting two of them ' on the jump ' in 

 thick timber, of which they are far too fond to 

 make them ever unpleasantly popular with the 

 orthodox deer-stalker. 



If others visit these shooting-grounds, or any 

 other deer-frequented ranges near Indian villages, 

 it would be kind to deal death sparingly among 

 these creatures which supply the native with food 

 and foot-gear, and afford him, now that he may 

 neither scalp nor steal horses, the only amusement 

 which makes his too civilized life worth living. 

 Even now, in this glorious climate, Pat, I cannot 

 help feeling that if I were free to choose I'd 



