182 THE STILL-HUNTER. 



Do you see that thick clump of dark green sumac 

 in the bottom ? Give a good " Phew !" 



Your " Phew!" is followed by an instant smash-crash, 

 bump, bump y bump, and straight up the opposite side of 

 the pocket go two airy creatures of yellowish brown, 

 not running or even jumping, but me rely glancing from 

 the ground like sunbeams from a mirror. You made 

 your "-Phew !" too loud entirely, and you should have 

 kept out of sight while you did it. 



Bang ! goes your repeater, and the dirt flies from 

 the ground that one's feet have just left. Bang 

 wang bang slang whang! it goes; the dirt flies in 

 every direction around the glossy pelt, as with a reg- 

 ular bump, bump, bump, and all four feet grouped close 

 together, they seem to merely skim the. ground like 

 birds. But faster than you can send the hissing lead 

 they clear the hill-side, and with a faint bump, bump, 

 bump, and a dissolving view of shining white but- 

 tocks, they fade over its crest into the brush beyond. 



It is not quite so easy as it would appear to be to 

 hit such vibratory beauty as that. They are a differ- 

 ent institution from the deer you have heretofore 

 seen, and are the hardest animal of their size to hit 

 with the rifle when running. 



At the water-hole we find a few old-looking cattle- 

 tracks in the edge and a few faint symptoms of old 

 deer-tracks. But be not too hasty. Do you not see 

 that all the ground for yards around has been run 

 over by myriads of quails ? A dozen deer could have 

 watered at that spring this morning, yet the ground 

 might now show no sign of them. Let us circle 

 around it fifty or a hundred yards or more away, ex- 

 amining carefully the sides and bottom of this branch 

 valley that leads in here from one side. This branch 



