SOME DEER, A BEAR AND A MOOSE. 



W. H. WRIGHT. 



After I became old enough to read hunt- 

 ing stories, my chief ambition was to shoot 

 a deer or a bear; but as I lived in a part 

 of the country that did not produce such 

 game, I had to content myself by reading 

 of the exploits of more fortunate sports- 

 men. 



I lived at home the allotted time, and 

 graduated in everything a Yankee can 

 think of — except book learning. Then I 

 drifted about New England, until, at last, 

 I had an opportunity to go West. Here, I 

 thought, was the chance I had longed for, 

 so many years, to secure some shots at big 

 game. 



I packed my trunk, bought a 44-40-200 

 Winchester rifle, and in May, '83, left Prov- 

 idence, R. I., for Portland, Ore. During 

 the trip I made inquiry as to the hunting, 

 in different parts of the country we were 

 to pass through. After I had summed up 

 all the information obtained, I concluded 

 to stop at Spokane Falls. I learned that 

 at this place one could get good deer hunt- 

 ing, and that good bear hunting could be 

 had in some parts of the surrounding 

 country. 



In due time we arrived in Spokane, and 

 after looking the place over — it was not 

 much of a town in those days — I pitched a 

 small tent, which I had brought with me, 

 on the river bank at the foot of the falls. 

 It was not the time of year to hunt, so 

 every day I would take the old 44, and try 

 it at ducks on the river, and at magpies 

 which came to my camp. 



When summer had passed and harvest 

 had begun, I could contain myself no 

 longer; so one morning I saddled a cayuse 

 which I had bought and started for the 

 hills, some 20 miles from town. I had been 

 told by an old rancher that deer were quite 

 plenty there, and he thought I would have 

 no trouble in " rounding up one." 



I started about 3 a.m., and arrived at the 

 rancher's place a little after sunrise. He 

 directed me up-a small stream which flowed 

 from the hills in question. Two miles or 

 more up this stream, I struck deer tracks. 

 They were fresh, as the water that dripped 

 from their feet after they crossed the 

 stream had not yet dried on the leaves. 



I had never seen a deer and was deter- 

 mined to have a shot at one. Making sure 

 they had gone up stream, I proceeded to 

 trail them as best I could on the dry 

 ground. For a while I had no trouble, but 

 as I got further into the hills the ground 

 became hard and rocky, and I could no 

 longer follow by trail, but had to go by 

 guess. I have often thought of that trip 

 since, and laughed at the guesses I made 



then as to which way a deer would be likely 

 to go. 



Coming to a fork of the creek, where I 

 could see no signs of the deer, I had to 

 make another guess as to which fork the 

 game was on. I took the left hand branch, 

 as this ran through a small canyon. On 

 the left bank was quite a hill, covered with 

 small brush and scattering trees. I thought 

 the deer would be likely to go that way and 

 perhaps lie down in the underbrush. 



So I proceeded carefully up the hill, and 

 about half way up, saw the tracks of a large 

 deer. These tracks I knew were not the 

 ones I had started out on, as they were 

 much larger. I crept along the hill where 

 I thought the deer would most likely be 

 lying, and when there seemed no necessity 

 for caution, I would hurry along to the 

 next place, where I was sure I would jump 

 the deer. 



Just as I had made one of these fine 

 sneaks, I came to the top of the first bench 

 on the hill, and before me was a small sad- 

 dle, covered with brush and small fir trees. 

 This, I took to be a place where a deer 

 would not be fool enough to stop. There 

 was another good location beyond this 

 saddle, where he would be sure to tarry for 

 a while, and I shouldered my gun and went 

 tearing down into the saddle. I had not 

 gone more than 100 yards when I heard 

 something thumping, and looking up, saw 

 a buck charging up the hill. 



His head was thrown back, and he was 

 just touching the ground in the high places, 

 with the tips of his toes. He would go into 

 the air stiff legged, clear a bunch of brush 

 and hit the next mound, and so on up the 

 hill. There I stood with open mouth, and 

 with no idea I had a gun, until the deer 

 was about to disappear over the next rise. 

 Then up came the old 44, a shot rang out, 

 and a branch fell to the ground from a pine 

 tree, 20 feet over the deer. This was my 

 first deer hunt. 



In the next hunt I was more successful, 

 as I bagged my deer. But for several years 

 I found the difficulty in securing game, 

 lay in not knowing its habits. I would 

 hunt in places where now I would no more 

 think of going than I would think of fish- 

 ing on dry land. 



After I had killed a few deer, I began to 

 think it would be safe to make a trip for 

 bear; and after a little experience I gave 

 up all other game, to hunt bear. But I 

 have never hunted them with a 44 since I 

 ran up against my first grizzly. 



Several years of hunting big game taught 

 me that I must give up my old ideas. I 

 had all along tried to make myself believe 



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