The Black-Tail Deer. 149 



left to do but to walk on down the valley to the bottoms, 

 and then to wade the river ; as the latter was quite high, 

 we had to take off our clothes, and it is very uncomfortable 

 to feel one's way across a river at night, in bare feet, with 

 the gun and the bundle of clothes held high over head. 

 However, when across the river and half a mile from 

 home, we ran into our horses a piece of good luck, as 

 otherwise we should have had to spend the next day in 

 looking for them. 



Almost the only way in which it is possible to aim 

 after dark is to get the object against the horizon, toward 

 the light. One of the finest bucks I ever killed was shot 

 in this way. It was some little time after the sun had set, 

 and I was hurrying home, riding down along a winding 

 creek at a gallop. The middle of the bottom was covered 

 with brush, while the steep, grassy, rounded hills on each 

 side sent off spurs into the valley, the part between every 

 two spurs making a deep pocket. The horse's feet were 

 unshod and he made very little noise, coming down against 

 the wind. While passing a deep pocket I heard from within 

 it a snort and stamping of feet, the well-known sounds made 

 by a startled deer. Pulling up short I jumped off the horse 

 it was Manitou, who instantly began feeding with per- 

 fect indifference to what he probably regarded as an irra- 

 tional freak of his master ; and, aiming as well as I could in 

 the gathering dusk, held the rifle well ahead of a shadowy 

 gray object which was scudding along the base of the hill 

 towards the mouth of the pocket. The ball struck in 

 front of and turned the deer, which then started obliquely 

 up the hill. A second shot missed it ; and I then (here 



