The Black-Tail Deer 193 



who could make such a long range hit now and then. 

 And I have noticed that such a hunter, in talking 

 over his experience, was certain soon to forget the 

 numerous misses he made, and to say, and even to 

 actually think, that his occasional hits represented 

 his average shooting. 



One of the finest black-tail bucks I ever shot was 

 killed while lying out in a rather unusual place. I 

 was hunting mountain-sheep, in a stretch of very 

 high and broken country, and about midday, crept 

 cautiously up to the edge of a great gorge, whose 

 sheer walls went straight down several hundred 

 feet. Peeping over the brink of the chasm I saw 

 a buck, lying out on a ledge so narrow as to barely 

 hold him, right on the face of the cliff wall oppo- 

 site, some distance below, and about seventy yards 

 diagonally across from me. He lay with his legs 

 half stretched out, and his head turned so as to give 

 me an exact centre-shot at his forehead; the bullet 

 going in between his eyes, so that his legs hardly 

 so much as twitched when he received it. It was 

 toilsome and almost dangerous work climbing out 

 to where he lay; I have never known any other in- 

 dividual, even of this bold and adventurous species 

 of deer, to take its noonday siesta in a place so bar- 

 ren of all cover and so difficult of access even to the 

 most sure-footed climber. This buck was as fat 

 as a prize sheep, and heavier than any other I have 

 ever killed; while his antlers also were, with two 

 exceptions, the best I ever got. 



END OP PART ONE 

 I VOL. IV. 



