6o THE WILDERNESS HUNTER. 



while the deer literally turned a terrified 

 somersault backwards. I flung myself to the 

 edge and missed a hurried shot as it raced 

 back on its tracks. Then, wheeling, I saw 

 the little hunter running towards me along 

 the top of the cut bank, his face on a broad 

 grin. He leaped over one of the narrow 

 clefts, up which a game trail led ; and hardly 

 was he across before the frightened deer 

 bolted up it, not three yards from his back. 

 He did not turn, in spite of my shouting and 

 handwaving, and the frightened deer, in the 

 last stage of panic at finding itself again 

 almost touching one of its foes, sped off 

 across the grassy slopes like a quarter horse. 

 When at last the hunter did turn, it was too 

 late; and our long-range fusillade proved 

 harmless. During the next two days I re- 

 deemed myself, killing four deer. 



Coming back our wagon broke down, no un- 

 usual incident in ranch-land, where there is 

 often no road, while the strain is great in 

 hauling through quicksands, and up or across 

 steep broken hills ; it rarely makes much dif- 

 ference beyond the temporary delay, for 

 plains-men and mountain-men are very handy 

 and self-helpful. Besides, a mere break-down 

 sinks into nothing compared to having the 

 team play out ; which is, of course, most apt 

 to happen at the times when it insures hard- 

 ship and suffering, as in the middle of a snow- 

 storm, or when crossing a region with no water. 

 However, the reinsmen of the plains must 

 needs face many such accidents, not to speak 

 of runaways, or having the wagon pitchpole 

 over on to the team in dropping down too 



