40 HUNTING CAMPS. 



had changed to a yellow, tumbling torrent, which carried 

 down with it from the heights trunks of trees and other 

 debris. 



After a good deal of manoeuvring and a closer acquaint- 

 ance than I desired with the snow-fed water, we had crossed 

 over and were not more than fifty yards from the river 

 bank, when two guemal does, led by a beautiful buck with 

 horns far larger than any I had seen in the museums, broke 

 out of a thicket of wild currant bushes and stood for a 

 moment at gaze. Having neither my rifle nor my gun 

 owing to an accident, I seized my companion's Colt, and as 

 the buck sprang away I fired at his shoulder. The buck 

 disappeared, and my man remarked that the Colt did not 

 shoot very straight, a fact I happened to be well aware of, 

 as I had previously tried it at a target with the poorest 

 of results. 



But on this occasion I felt sure that I had heard the 

 bullet strike, and, following, I soon picked up a blood trail, 

 which brought me at length to the animal lying dead in a 

 currant brake. The bullet had entered his neck, and as I 

 had aimed at the shoulder I was very lucky to get him. 

 The horns, to which shreds of velvet still hung, measured 

 ten and a quarter inches, considerably more than those of 

 the best museum specimen. 



A few days later, as I was riding beside the river on my 

 way back to camp, I chanced to look up and saw far above 

 me, at the head of a huge rift in the cliff, a guemal buck 

 and a doe. He was standing overlooking the valley, and 

 between me and him lay several hundred yards covered 

 with rocky fragments. I dismounted and focussed him 

 with my telescope, and, judging that he had a fine head, I 

 began to stalk him. As I had only shot a few deer I was 

 resolved not to lose this one, and consequently I moved 

 with great care, worming my way among the boulders. 

 At a distance of about four hundred yards I again used the 



