THE WAYS OF SPORTSMEN 279 



minutes. Every muscle ached and seemed about 

 to rebel against his will. If the buck held to his 

 course he would pass not more than fifteen feet to 

 one side of the gun, and the man that held it thought 

 he might almost blow his heart out. 



There was one more tree for him to pass behind, 

 when the gun could be raised. He approached the 

 tree, rubbed his nose against it, and for a moment 

 was half hidden behind it. When his head appeared 

 on the other side the gun was pointed straight at his 

 eye — and with only No. 4 shot, which could only 

 wound him, but could not kill him. 



The deer stops ; he does not expose his body back 

 of the fore leg, as the hunter had wished. The lat- 

 ter begins to be ashamed of himself, and has about 

 made up his mind to let the beautiful creature pass 

 unharmed, when the buck suddenly gets his scent, 

 his head goes up, his nostrils expand, and a look 

 of terror comes over his face. This is too much 

 for the good resolutions of the hunter. Bang ! goes 

 the gun, the deer leaps into the air, wheels around 

 a couple of times, recovers himself and is off in a 

 twinkling, no doubt carrying, the narrator says, a 

 hundred No. 4 shot in his face and neck. The man 

 says: "I 've always regretted shooting at him." 



I should think he would. But a man in the 

 woods, with a gun in his hand, is no longer a man 

 — he is a brute. The devil is in the gun to make 

 brutes of us all. 



If the game on this occasion had been, say a wild 

 turkey or a grouse, its discriminating eye would have 



