THe AERIAL BLIND yi 


passed it by, yet never have gone hungry for venison without 
it. Sitting upon the blind one quiet sunny day in the fall 
of the year, watching and waiting, I had really fallen ina 
dose, when I was brought around again by an old bluejay’s 
screaming over my head. Looking down the main logging 
road I saw a fine buck walking leisurly up toward me, and 
stopping, head on, stood for a moment as if looking directly 
at me, but apparently he saw nothing to fear, and turned a 
little to one side to take a bite, when he received the shot. 
One bound, and he was out of sight in the bushes. Pumping 
in another cartridge, I stepped down the ladder and slowly 
worked down to leeward of the place where I expected to find 
him, finished, but he was not to be found so quickly. The 
leaves were thick upon the ground and after two or three 
jumps one could not track him. I picked up a wad of hair 
and saw a few drops of blood upon the leaves but no deer. 
After taking the course of the jump and then loosing all 
trace entirely, I circled around and back to the spot without 
any more signs. Unwilling to give up, knowing he was 
badly wounded, I took another circling tour, widening out, 
gradually working around again, and when nearly to the spot, 
passing through some thick evergreens just below the shooting 
I nearly stepped upon him in the thicket laying down. He 
jumped as quick as my eye met his, and I guess I was 
startled the most for I fired too quick and wild, and overshot. 
Into the thickest part of a swamp he ran. I could not see 
him, but listening attentively I knew he had again stopped. 
I should have left him alone awhile then, as this is usually the 
proper thing to do, for if I started him again without dropping 
him, he would run as long as any life was left. However, I 
marked the location by some taller trees, worked around to 
