THE WHITE TAIL DEER. 67 



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 there- 

 of 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 verandah, or walking 

 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 difficult to find. Twice 

 we lay out from dusk until dawn, in spite of 

 the mosquitoes, but saw nothing; and the 

 chances we did get we failed to profit by. 



One morning, instead of trudging out to 

 hunt I stayed at home, and sat in a rocking- 

 chair on the verandah reading, rocking, or 

 just sitting still listening to the low rustling 

 of the Cottonwood branches overhead, and 

 gazing across the river. Through the still, 

 clear, hot air, the faces of the bluffs shone 

 dazzling white ; no shadow fell from the cloud- 

 less sky on the grassy slopes, or on the groves 

 of timber ; only the faraway cooing of a 

 mourning dove broke the silence. Suddenly 

 my attention was arrested by a slight splash- 

 ing in the water ; glancing up from my book 

 I saw three deer, which had come out of the 

 thick fringe of bushes and young trees across 



