36 THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 



Another time Fred chased a big buck and going up to him, thinking 

 him dead, set his gun down against a tree, took out his knife and just 

 as he took hold of a horn with his left hand the deer began to struggle. 

 Fred grabbed the other horn with the right hand and still held the 

 knife. He was a stout man, but that buck came very near doing him, 

 but Fred finally threw him and cut his throat. 



William Mathes, of Ashland, another pioneer, used to hunt a great 

 deal with Fred and no doubt could tell all about it. On the hunt I 

 started to tell of, we were camped at the Walker place at Dead Indian. 

 It was the first of November. We had hunted four or five days and 

 killed but four or five deer, Fred especially having very poor luck 

 which was new to him as he was a splendid hunter and number one 

 shot. 



I killed a deer on the east side of Dead Indian Creek the fourth day 

 and next morning took a horse and went after it, taking Trailer with 

 me. Fred went out across the Prairie and through Sarvis Glade and 

 then down on the benches on the west side of the creek. The canyon is 

 deep here and rough, only now and then a place where a man can get 

 across. When I got down to where the deer had been hung up he had 

 been eaten slick and clean by a bear. Trailer immediately took trail 

 and started. I tied my horse and followed, but in a short distance 

 overtook him. He had struck a very rough and rocky place and it 

 had not left a scent. I sat down on a rock and waited awhile and con- 

 cluded to call Fred and get Bugle, knowing that he — being a full blooded 

 hound and Trailer only half — could track it. I called at the top of my 

 voice and sure enough he answered me. I told him to turn old Bugle 

 loose and blew the horn, and heard him start, bellowing at every jump. 

 Sometimes he would stop to listen and I would give the horn a toot 

 and he would come again. When he got to Dead Indian Creek he had 

 quite a time getting across, but made it and came on up the hill. In the 

 meantime Trailer had worked it off the rocks and was going on. As 

 soon as Bugle got there he took the track and away they went, and 

 talk about music, they fairly made the woods ring. On they went, down 

 across Dead Indian Creek and out of hearing. I followed and found a 

 place to cross and kept down on the west side for three or four miles 

 and finally heard them barking up a tree — still a long way off. I blew 

 the horn to let old Trailer know I heard him and was coming. When 

 he heard the horn he commenced to bark steadily and kept it up until I 

 was close to the tree. When he saw me he wagged his tail as much as 

 to say, "I've got him." 



The tree was an ordinary sized fir and there was trick high brush 

 all around it, which made it difficult to see him, and while I was 

 backing around trying to locate him he discovered me and gave a big 

 snort and commenced to snap his teeth. I saw him then, next to the 

 body of the tree, partially hidden by the heavy boughs. I had to move 

 around a little to get a good place to shoot from and he commenced 

 changing his position and snorted and champed his teeth continually, — 

 I knew he was on the fight and a hard customer. 



I waited a few seconds and when he got still and turned his head 

 down to look at me, caught a bead and fired full in the face, expecting 

 to hit him square between the eyes, but failing on account of shooting 

 in too big a hurry. The bullet caught him square in the side of the 

 head and running around the skull went out in the back, of the neck. I 

 saw instantly it was a bad shot and had another load in quick as a flash, 

 as it was a sure bet he would come down now. 



* # * 



He came hand over fist and as good luck would have it on the side 



