Deer-Hunting in Southern Sierras 4I 



suckle as it falls over the scrub oak, stops at the tall 

 arrow grasses, thrusts aside the wild sunflowers, and leaps 

 from the rocky pass into the open where the arroyo 

 ends. He may wander down the stream, or perhaps 

 climb up the sides and stroll out on to the west mesa, 

 hiding in the little washes where the wild rose fills the 

 air with perfume, feeding here and there as his fancy 

 dictates. 



At such times I have seen him, when the eastern 

 sky was ablush with vivid tints, the snow-caps of San An- 

 tonio suffused with the golden light of the coming day. 

 You look twice and again, so well does he match the 

 chaparral, so harmonious the tint ; indeed no one would 

 suspect that this placid-faced, large-eyed creature stand- 

 ing like a statue, big in the haze, was a grape-eater, that 

 he had pillaged the ranch below Las Cacitas the night 

 before, and the one before that had played havoc in a 

 Cafiada ranch. But it is the same, and you have laid in 

 the chaparral waiting for him night after night, and now 

 he is gone, and off somewhere with lowered head he 

 creeps through the bush and makes good his escape. 



All the ranges of the southern Sierras abound in the 

 black-tailed deer ; an attractive creature, at the present 

 time difficult to shoot if fair play is given. Indeed, 

 I can conceive no more difficult sport than to hunt the 

 deer in the Sierra Madre without dogs. The extraordi- 

 nary character of the mountains, the steepness and 

 depth of the cafions soon tire out the hunter. I had 

 hunted deer in the Adirondacks, in Virginia and Florida, 



