The Whitetail Deer 67 



gard the silent, deserted buildings as mere out- 

 growths of the wilderness, no more to be feared than 

 the trees around them or the gray, strangely shaped 

 buttes behind. 



Lines of delicate, heart-shaped footprints in the 

 muddy reaches of the half-dry river-bed showed 

 where the deer came to water; and in the dusty 

 cattle-trails among the ravines many round tracks 

 betrayed the passing and repassing of timber wolves, 

 once or twice in the late evening we listened to 

 their savage and melancholy howling. Cotton-tail 

 rabbits burrowed under the veranda. Within doors 

 the bushy-tailed pack-rats had possession, and at 

 night they held a perfect witches' sabbath in the 

 garret and kitchen ; while a little white- footed mouse, 

 having dragged half the stuffing out of a mattress, 

 had made thereof a big fluffy nest, entirely filling 

 the oven. 



Yet, in spite of the abundant sign of game, we 

 at first suffered under one of those spells of ill-luck 

 which at times befall all hunters, and for several 

 days we could kill nothing, though we tried hard, 

 being in need of fresh meat. The moon was full 

 each evening, sitting on the ranch veranda, or walk- 

 ing homeward, we watched it rise over the line of 

 bluffs beyond the river and the deer were feeding 

 at night ; moreover, in such hot weather they lie very 

 close, move as little as possible, and are most diffi- 

 cult to find. Twice we lay out from dusk until 



