CHAPTER XII. 



THE DEER I SHOULD NOT HAVE KILLED 



THE DEER I SHOULD NOT HAVE KILLED SPLENDID WHITE TAILS 

 HE MUST HAVE A DEER ALL THE GUILT OF A MURDERER 

 HOW THE HUNTER SHOT HIS BUCK NO WOODCRAFT IN 

 KILLING CHICKENS AND BUTCHERING CATTLE, AND NO FUN 

 IN IT EITHER REAL SPORT IN PHOTOGRAPHING BIG GAME 

 EVERY W 7 ILD ANIMAL KILLED MAKES ONE LESS IN THE 

 WORLD A GUMMER AND A LUNGER HOW THE AUTHOR'S 

 LIFE WAS SAVED BECAUSE HE LOOKED MORE LIKE A MOOSE 

 THAN A DEER THE KING OF BIG AMERICAN GAME ANIMALS 

 THE LiITLE FAWN AT BELTON, MONTANA BUCKS ARE 

 DANGEROUS AT CERTAIN TIMES IN THE YEAR FIVE FULL- 

 GROWN DEER NOT LARGER THAN RABBITS KILLED BY THE 

 POISON BREATH OF A FURNACE A PIGMY MUSK DEER 

 HOOFS MEASURING ONE-QUARTER OF AN INCH THE 

 BROADEST PART SUSPENDED BY THEIR TEETH. 



Armed with a camera, a sketch book, and field 

 glasses, but otherwise unarmed, I once took 

 a journey to the woods where I was met by 

 a botanist friend of mine and we put up 

 for a short time at a small hotel on the 

 verge of the forests. Often in the morning while 

 dressing, I could see from my window the deer 

 digging potatoes with their forefeet in the hotel 

 potato patch. Each day in our tramps we would 

 meet with one or more of these beautiful creatures, 



