t I t > * I m 



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CHAPTER I 



jN October, 1890, I placed myself and camera 

 on a ridge that runs at a right angle with the 

 course of the great deer trail from Black Moun- 

 tain (the westerly end of the Elkhead Range in 

 northwest Colorado) to Coyote Basin, in the valley of the White 

 River, where the deer winter. I had examined the trails and 

 selected the one with the most tracks in it, and going to one 

 side about forty yards, I placed the camera and tripod as low as 

 possible behind rabbitweed. When all was ready I walked to the 

 hilltop and peered over to see if any deer were coming. Just 

 over the next ridge a little band was headed in my direction, 

 and my heart beat faster at the prospect of shooting game 

 with a new "gun" — the camera. 



I watched them come down the hill and across the little 

 valley, until they were at the foot of the hill whereon I stood, 

 then slipped back to the camera, drew the slide, set the 

 shutter, and, crouching behind the brush, awaited their coming. 

 Suddenly the head and ears of a doe came in sight, and the 

 others rapidly crowded along until they were out in front, just 

 where I desired them. I gave a low whistle. Instantly they 

 were still, every eye and ear alert. (No. 1.) The click of 

 the shutter was so faint that they did not hear it, and after a 



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