Chapter III 



Deer-Hunting in the Southern Sierras 



WHEN living on the immediate slope of the 

 Sierra Madre, I was within rifle-shot of 

 three caftons down which tumbled the 

 waters from the upper range. Sometimes the water 

 ran under leafy arcades where the fragrant bay quivered 

 in the soft wind, then out into the open, above which 

 the dark blue of the larkspur stood out in relief against 

 the green of nodding brakes, then gliding down the 

 face of some green slide where dainty maidenhair and 

 other ferns trembled in the rush of air. Then the water 

 would gurgle and leap through polished rocks, dart out 

 into the open again, and swing merrily along, bearing 

 freight of acorns, pine needles, oak leaves, or a branch 

 of trailing vetch to strand them on a mimic bar of 

 shining sands. 



These sand-bars were found everywhere in the 

 arroyo. I established relations with and consulted them 

 as to the coming and going of the forest animals, and 

 if word had been left me, the message could not have 



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