TWENTY YEARS IN THE ROCKIES. 27! 



elk had made a straight line for our evening camp, so we 

 bore further westward, where we found plenty of fresh deer 

 signs. As we were climbing a steep bank above a deep creek, 

 having our guns carelessly dangling in the slings, through 

 some quaking-asps I saw the outlines of a black-tail deer. I 

 jumped from my pony and in a moment had the old Bullard 

 ready for business. As I crawled up a little, I discovered 

 five other deer in different places, but could see none of them 

 plainly. But there was no chance to get a better shot, so I 

 drew a bead on the one standing nearest me and fired. 



The instant the gun cracked there was a scampering 

 through the burnt timber, and they were gone. I fired two 

 more shots after them, but without effect. I began to think 

 that we were, as Chappell had said, "hoodooed," or that the 

 deer were bewitched. I went to where my mark had been 

 standing and found that my ball had struck two bushes, the 

 first being torn almost off. I discovered pieces of deer hair 

 but no blood. I never had made such a shot in my life be- 

 fore, for the deer had stood broadside, not over seventy-five 

 feet away, and it was a clear miss. 



While we were talking the matter over, a large buck 

 came to the edge of the opening, not a hundred yards below 

 us. He stood out in perfect outline with his head erect, his 

 massive antlers gleaming in the last rays of the setting sun. 

 His large eyes were like coals of fire, his hair was on end, 

 for it was the rutting season. I could see that a small tree 

 was directly in our line of sight, but one step would clear 

 away this trouble, and, as I moved to one side, raising my 

 gun, the buck jumped behind a tree and was gone. I ran 

 after him, hoping to get one shot, but he had disappeared, and 

 I at last surely began to think I was doomed to disappoint- 

 ment for the entire trip. These two sore disappointments 

 were so close together that I called them twins. 



