170 



yards away. The ridges follow one 

 another like the teeth of a comb and 

 relatively as close. Suddenly he 

 grabbed his field glasses and gazed 

 excitedly. 



"Look, what do you see there? 

 There, beside that stump," locating 

 the spot with the glasses. I saw 

 a small deer, partly hidden by bushes. 



"Fantail?" I whispered breath- 

 lessly, knowing what it would mean 

 to Nimrod if he could really see one. 

 But even as I said it, came a dis- 

 gusted "pshaw," from him as the 

 cause came into view around a 

 boulder, a blacktail doe. The little 

 one sprang up and joined his mother, 

 followed by a second fawn. It was a 

 pretty sight to see them moving 

 leisurely along unalarmed, the wind 

 was blowing toward us. With ear 

 and tail and leg lazily they fought 

 the deer flies. Undoubtedly the 

 mother was making for some spot 

 she knew, some sylvan draw in which 

 to pass the heated midday hours. 

 In time the family group drifted out 

 of sight over the ridge into a spot I 

 was to know. 



Then was enacted a drama of the 



