THE TAMING OF OL’ BUCK 215 
When he stole into an orchard at the dusk of 
evening, or at the dusk of dawn, to nibble apples 
under the trees, he would take a bite and. then 
raise his head, nuzzling the air, as it were, for 
scent of danger, before he stooped for the next 
bite. His large, soft ears, too, pricked up con- 
stantly, like a fine young dog’s, and the sleek 
yellow coat that wrapped his haunches was like 
a wet silk shirt wrapped to the shoulders of an 
athlete, showing the powerful muscles ready for 
instant action. I came upon him once, greatly 
to his surprise, at the lower end of my orchard, 
directly under the mountain. It was almost 
Thanksgiving, and very cold, with a high wind 
blowing. I came up against this wind, and he 
neither heard nor smelled me, so that I stalked 
him close, screened by some bushes, and saw him 
bite off the top half of a frozen apple without dis- 
lodging the lower half from its contact with the 
ground, as I discovered on later examination. 
What other animal feeds so daintily? I had a 
flash in my pocket, which I suddenly turned 
full on him. He blinked great, startled eyes 
into the radiance for a second, then the muscles 
