THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 175 
of very heavy timber. It was a beautiful morning and there was no 
sound save the chatter of a squirrel or a chipmunk, the tapping of a 
woodpecker and the occasional whirr of a pheasant or grouse as it 
sped by. Presently I heard three blasts from Hill’s whistle and I 
hastened to him, and he pointed to the ground where the moss around 
the foot of the trees had been recently disturbed and where the fresh 
tracks of three deer were visible in the snow. We followed the tracks 
for a while in their meanderings from the foot of one tree to another, 
as the deer had fed along. It was evident that the tracks had just 
been made, for the snow was yet loose in them, and at one place the 
droppings were still warm. It was also evident that there was a buck 
and two does, for one of the tracks were a great deal broader at the 
toe than the other two. Hill suggested that I follow along the tracks 
and that he could circle around on top of a ledge of rocks that could 
be seen in the distance. As I followed along the tracks my heart kept 
pounding away on my fifth rib and sounded like the thump, thump, 
thump of a deer on the dead run. Every minute I expected to see a 
deer. Shortly I heard two shots and heard Hill yell out, “Look out!”’ 
I heard the brush crackle ahead of me and then all was quiet again. 
On going in the direction of the shots, I saw Hill on top of the cliff. 
He came down to the foot of the cliff where I was and we examined 
the tracks of the deer. In making their getaway the buck had 
jumped about twenty feet and the does about fifteen. While I did 
not see the deer at all, the tracks indicated that they had evidently 
seen or scented me, for after running away in my direction they had 
circled around the cliff and passed within about one hundred yards 
of where Hill had shot at them. Hill told me that just as he got to 
the top of the ledge of rocks the deer saw him and started to run and 
that he fired the two shots at them on the run. There were no signs 
of blood and none of Hill’s shots had landed. He and I then went along 
the rimrock, he on top and I just below. He told me that we were 
about two miles below the Shambough meadows and that he would 
meet me there. After hunting along under the rimrock for quite 
a while, I went down to the creek, and as Hill had told me that we 
were below the Shambough meadows, I commenced to follow up the 
creek, expecting in due time to reach the meadows and meet him. 
After traveling until the middle of the afternoon and not coming to 
the meadows, I went up the side of the canyon and on top to see if I 
could get my bearings, and upon reaching the rimrock I came out into 
a little glade. Just as I entered from one side, who should I see 
coming out from the other side but Harl Jones? He said, ‘Well, I’ll 
be damned! Judge, I wasn’t expecting to meet you here.” I told him 
that the surprise was mutual. We sat down on a big log and took 
a smoke and a rest and recounted our experiences of the day. While 
he had seen many fresh sign and had jumped a buck, he did not get 
a shot. As the sun was getting quite low, we thought it was about . 
time we were starting for camp. Jones asked me what direction I 
thought it was to camp. I pointed in a southeasterly direction and he 
said he thought it was off in more of a northeasterly direction. As 
he was more familiar with the locality, I yielded to his judgment and 
we started in a northeasterly direction. After traveling until about 
sundown and seeing no familiar landmarks of camp, it dawned upon 
us that we had lost our bearings. To make matters worse, just about 
dark we came to a dense thicket of young pines that we had to pass 
through, as it seemed to extend for miles on each side of us. Finally, 
after much trouble in getting through the pine thicket where at some 
places we had to get down and crawl, we came into a large opening 
and at the upper end we sighted a cabin. Jones thought this was 
