94 IN THE BIG HORN MOUNTAINS. 



be doubly so. But think of those noble antlers added to my 

 collection of trophies and specimens at home. 



How proudly would I hang my hat upon them in the hall 

 as I returned at night from my day's work at the office. And 

 how serenely could I rest upon that glossy coat as it formed a 

 covering for my favorite easy-chair. I am hooked up for a 

 long tramp. It is early in the morning, and I have eaten 

 such a breakfast as only a man can eat who has been cam- 

 paigning in these mountains, and who sits down in the early 

 morn to a plate smoking with the fruits of his own rifle. The 

 weather is cold, the air clear, bracing and exhilarating, and I 

 decide here and now to settle the question to my own satis- 

 faction, as to whether I at least can run down and kill a deer 

 in a fair chase. 



I took up the trail and followed it across the ridge, 

 through sage-brush, for a mile or more to where it entered a 

 body of pine timber. Up to this point the deer had kept up 

 his long jumps of about fifteen feet each, but as soon as he 

 entered the timber he slackened his pace to a walk, and a few 

 hundred yards further on stopped and turned to look back. 

 I made no effort to steal up and get a shot but walked briskly 

 on, only taking note of the trail sufficiently to follow it. As 

 soon as he obtained sight of me, or heard me approaching he 

 again bounded away, and, now appearing to realize the fact 

 that he was pursued, he plunged swiftly on, as if bound to 

 distance his pursuer and make good his escape at a single 

 effort. 



He took a southerly direction, keeping just below and on 

 the west side of the crest of the range, and for two or three 

 miles I followed the trail before I saw any evidence of his 

 slackening speed. But at last the jumps began to grow 

 shorter, gradually dropping into a trot and finally into a 

 walk. This was kept up for another mile, when I came to 



