THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 
And while I sat there cooling in the shade, 
And gazing on the beauties God had made, 
Three squirrels frisked and played among the trees, 
Their long tails swaying in the gentle breeze. 
Now, sqirrels, thought I, by some are counted game, 
But not the size or kind for which I came; 
So I will now resume my stealthy tread, 
And look for deer, both sides, and straight ahead. 
Then suddenly, far off upon my right, 
I heard a sound, though nothing was in sight. 
But, as upon my feet I quickly stood, 
Two noble deer came bounding through the wood. 
I watched them coming nearer leap by leap, 
And felt the ague chills all o’er me creep; 
For, while I hoped that I might get a shot, 
I had a dreadful fear that I would not. 
Then in a patch of brush they passed from sight. 
Would they come through? Or. turning to the right, 
Run down the gulch and leave me standing there 
To breathe my sorrow on the summer air. 
A moment passed, and I could hear the sound 
Of their sharp hoofs upon the rocky ground. 
Then suddenly, and to my great delight, 
They once again were well within my sight. 
Controlling now my nerves as best I could, 
With rifle raised, scarce breathing there I stood, 
And while I sighted with an eager eye, 
No instinct warned them of a danger nigh. 
The rifle spoke; at once the larger fell. 
The. other bounded forward, ran like—well, 
Perhaps you know how fast a deer can run 
When startled by the sharp voice of a gun. 
A few quick leaps, again the rifle spoke; 
The shot was bad, although a leg it broke. 
He wheeled and started back, half crazed with pain; 
Another shot, and this one, too, was slain. 
Four points had one, while three the other bore, 
And each upon his antlers velvet wore; 
And as they lay upon the mountain side 
I felt my being thrill with hunter’s pride. 
For thus ’tis man’s delight to hunt and kill 
A handsome, timid beast that does no ill. 
The antlers I retained, and have them yet, 
Though I recall the killing with regret. 
Yet when the hunting season comes again, 
I know from hunting deer I can’t refrain; 
And should I have what hunters all call luck, 
T’ll shoot another noble antlered buck. 
67 
