HUNTING FROM THE RANCH. 49 



ranch, even of recent years. In the fall of 

 1890 I was riding down a canyon-coulie with 

 my foreman, Sylvane Ferris, and a young 

 friend from Boston, when we almost rode over 

 a barren blacktail doe. She only ran some 

 fifty yards, round a corner of the coulie, and 

 then turned and stood until we ran forward 

 and killed her — for we were in need of fresh 

 meat. One October, a couple of years before 

 this, my cousin, West Roosevelt, and I took a 

 trip with the wagon to a very wild and rugged 

 country, some twenty miles from the ranch. 

 We found that the deer had evidently been 

 but little disturbed. One day while scram- 

 bling down a steep, brushy hill, leading my 

 horse, I came close on a doe and fawn ; they 

 merely looked at me with curiosity for some 

 time, and then sauntered slowly off, remain- 

 ing within shot for at least five minutes. For- 

 tunately we had plenty of meat at the time, 

 and there was no necessity to harm the grace- 

 ful creatures, A few days later we came on 

 two bucks sunning themselves in the bottom 

 of a valley. My companion killed one. The 

 other was lying but a dozen rods off; yet it 

 never moved, until several shots had been 

 fired at the first. It was directly under me 

 and in my anxiety to avoid overshooting, to 

 my horror I committed the opposite fault, and 

 away went the buck. 



Every now and then any one will make 

 most unaccountable misses. A few days after 

 thus losing the buck I spent nearly twenty 

 cartridges in butchering an unfortunate year- 

 ling, and only killed it at all because it be- 

 came so bewildered by the firing that it hardly 



