1 52 DAN BEARD'S ANIMAL BOOK 



then we would clap our hands and watch them 

 spread 



THEIR SPLENDID WHITE TAILS 



as they bounded away unharmed in the woods. 

 Just before we pulled up stakes to start for a camp 

 further back in the forest, a hunter, a good shot, 

 but poor woodsman, complained bitterly of his 

 hard luck in not being able to get a deer to bring 

 home with him or even to get sight of one. 



It was our last day at this place when this 



hunter put his rifle into my hands and told me 



^_^ 



HE MUST HAVE A DEER. 



The season was open for deer, but I am 

 not a killer. With the gun over my shoulder 

 I walked back about two miles where a 

 buck was feeding in a windfall. A child could 

 have shot this deer; it required no skill and 

 no courage to kill it as it stood broadside towards 

 me. I fired, but just as I pulled the trigger the 

 deer started forward, so instead of the bullet strik- 

 ing him in the shoulder, as it should do, it pierced 

 his side (paunched him), the poor animal stag- 

 gered a short distance when the botanist fired to 

 put it out of misery and it fell under a tree and 

 lay there kicking until we came up and cut its 

 throat. I felt 



ALL THE GUILT OF A MURDERER; 

 we hung -the body up by its heel joints, disem- 



