LET US GO AFIELD 



of the Wisconsin season. These things speak for 

 red hats. 



So clad, alone in the curious, still, soft gray 

 diffused light of the dawn, the chill leaves your true 

 hunter's heart when he hears across the forest that 

 most stirring of all hunting sounds the crisp, sharp 

 crack of a rifle. When you hear it you wonder what 

 luck the shooter had, what luck you are going to 

 have if his luck has been bad and the game happens 

 to come your way. Perhaps, if you are an amateur, 

 you fidget a bit, and look through your rifle-sights 

 and wonder if you are going to miss. 



It is far better not to miss. Your friends will 

 be polite about it; but the truth is the whole hunt 

 hates a man who misses after enjoying the product 

 of the whole machinery of a drive in which per- 

 haps a dozen men are enlisted. It behooves you 

 to draw fine and take that second sight, not to blaze 

 away as you would at quail with a shotgun. 



In good deer country a well-planned drive will 

 usually turn out a deer or two, and one or all will 

 be apt to be killed if the party is made up of experts. 

 A great many deerhunting parties hang together 

 year after year, and there is a sort of weeding-out 

 process that eliminates poor shots and men of jumpy 

 nerves. The writer has known half a dozen deer to 

 be killed in a day by a well-organized driving party. 



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