THE WHITETAIL DEER 223 



man galloped toward one end of the belt of timber in 

 which they were, and started to ride down through it, 

 while I ran Muley to the other end to intercept them. 

 They were, of course, quite likely to break off to one 

 side ; but this happened to be one of the occasions when 

 everything went right. When I reached the spot from 

 which I covered the exits from the timber, I leaped off, 

 and immediately afterward heard a shout from my fore- 

 man that told me the deer were on foot. Muley was 

 a pet horse, and enjoyed immensely the gallop after 

 game; but his nerves invariably failed him at the shot. 

 On this occasion he stood snorting beside me, and finally, 

 as the deer came in sight, away he tore only to go about 

 200 yards, however, and stand and watch us, snorting, 

 with his ears pricked forward until, when I needed him, 

 I went for him. At the moment, however, I paid no heed 

 to Muley, for a cracking in the brush told me the game 

 was close, and I caught the shadowy outlines of the doe 

 and the fawn as they scudded through the timber. By 

 good luck, the buck, evidently flurried, came right on the 

 edge of the woods next to me, and as he passed, running 

 like a quarter-horse, I held well ahead of him and pulled 

 trigger. The bullet broke his neck and down he went 

 a fine fellow with a handsome ten-point head, and fat 

 as a prize sheep; for it was just before the rut. Then 

 we rode home, and I sat in a rocking-chair on the ranch- 

 house veranda, looking across the wide, sandy river bed 

 at the strangely shaped buttes and the groves of shimmer- 

 ing cottonwoods until the sun went down and the frosty 

 air bade me go in. 



