Hunting the Mule -Deer in Colorado. 



273 



( .* 



A PATTERN IN A NET OK TWIGS. 



an incursion, I ride for miles. Not a sign. I ride now with haste, for 

 not until I see sign will I begin to hunt. Suddenly, a fresh track — 

 two of them — leisurely winding downward. In a moment, alert, I 

 am on the ground, taking the rein over my pony's head as, rifle in 

 hand, I dismount, so that if I let him go he will put his foot in it 

 presently and hold himself there. (A lariat looped at the saddle- 

 fork, or held coiled in the left hand ready to drop, Indian fashion, is 

 also good.) I intend to leave him here to feed while I prowl around 

 to watch and listen, but presently I make out a peculiar pattern in 

 the net-work of low branches and little sprouts of trees. It is very 

 significant to me ; I know there can be no mistake about it, and I 

 immediately send a ball just under the center portion. The pattern 

 disappears without noise, and I reload, catch my pony, that has 

 merely stepped aside at the flash and report of my 44-caliber Creed- 

 moor, and lead him about sixty yards into the thicket, and there lies 

 a fine fat doe. 



After some dexterous use of the knife, a noose of the lariat back 

 of her shoulders, a turn forward about the " horn " of the saddle, a 

 few tugs and hitches, and the limp one hundred and fifty pounds is 

 secured by the hooks in the cinch, — for this case made and provided; 

 my patient old Cub, meantime, pretending a vicious attack upon my 

 buckskin breeches, but standing stanchly while I lift and make all 

 fast and secure. Then my gun slung across my shoulder, the sunset 

 in our faces, Cub and I jog lazily toward camp. The sage-hen rises 

 noisily and unwillingly, with much cackle, from our very feet ; noise- 

 18 



