A Sportsman 85 



I recall another instance of an experienced deer 

 hunter of powerful build, a friend of mine, who had 

 a wounded buck come upon him so suddenly that he 

 could only seize him by the horns as they tumbled 

 over together, and which he held down for some time, 

 but found he could not get away from, for every time 

 he loosened up, the buck would renew his attack, 

 declining any retreat. For more than half an hour he 

 carried on the struggle, and though powerful enough 

 to hold the deer down, he felt his strength declining, 

 while that of the buck seemed as much as ever. He 

 had an ordinary pocket-knife which he finally managed 

 to get out and open, and stabbed the buck with the 

 short blade many times without reaching a vital spot, 

 and began to despair that he would ever get out of the 

 scrape, as he was becoming exhausted. He nerved 

 up, however, and centred the work of his knife at the 

 throat and finally severed the jugular vein, and the 

 buck, fighting to the last, gradually weakened by the 

 loss of life-blood, yielded to the inevitable. Bruised 

 and bleeding, the victor related to me, he was so faint 

 that he laid himself out beside the vanquished for 

 more than an hour before he could wend his homeward 

 way. 



With the fall of snow the deer stalker finds new 

 delight. With the luxury of well-stockinged and moc- 

 casined feet, he goes forth to new realms of enchant- 

 ment. The atmosphere is of buoyant and stimulating 

 energy. The arboreal and shrub life is invested with 

 crystallizations of dazzling purity, each one being a 

 marvel beyond the art of man. The consciousness of 

 being alone in a wide expanse of forest, beyond 



