A DEAD SHOT. 



DAVID BRUCE. 



An article in Recreation entitled "The 

 Albino Deer," reminded me of an odd 

 experience I had in Colorado in '90. 



I had spent 10 days at the ranch of a 

 thrifty Scotchman in the beautiful valley 

 of the Animas. It was the beginning of 

 October and unusually warm for the time 

 of year. I was collecting specimens in 

 every department of natural history, and 

 thoroughly enjoyed myself in every way. 



One day a boy brought me the following 

 note : 



"Dr. purfeser, there is a wite dear on my 

 ranch an i wud lik you to cum an shute 

 it, i cud git a hundred dols fer it. 



"Yours respect., L. Bailey." 



Bailey's was 7 miles distant over a rough 

 road. My landlord easily persuaded me 

 to wait a few days as he was soon going 

 that way and I could ride with him. My 

 friend was a reckless driver and as most 

 of our route lay between a deep creek on 

 one side and a high, precipitous mountain 

 on the other, over a road thickly beset with 

 rocks and boulders, I made the journey 

 with some trepidation. But the Scot man- 

 aged the brake admirably, and we reached 

 Bailey's without mishap. Bailey was away 

 looking for a strayed pony. He was 

 noted for his careless ways, half his 

 time being spent in searching for a lost 

 horse or cow. After a chat with his moth- 

 er, and a bit of lunch, I rambled around 

 tJie ranch an hour or so. All at once I 

 heard a yell : 



"Mister! mister! stop!" 



On turning I saw a small boy on a large 

 white mule. The lad exclaimed excitedly : 



"Say, mister, do you want to shoot a 

 bear?" 



I assured him that life had for me no 

 better charm than bear shooting. 



"I can show you where you can shoot 

 one quicker 'n a wink," he said. "I just 

 rode past one bigger 'n a steer, an' he 

 was sound asleep, too." 



I had met bears many times ; generally 

 I was armed only with a butterfly net. 

 Once, in running, I actually fell over a bear 

 cub. Another time I met an exceedingly 

 well behaved half grown bear in a berry 

 patch. I then had a 16 gauge gun loaded 

 with No. io's, but as the bear "said nothin' 

 to me, I said nothin' to he." 



I carefully took my bearings from the 

 lad's direction. He would have accom- 

 panied me, but the mule would not. I 

 shall not describe how carefully I ap- 

 proached the whereabouts of my expected 

 game. I at last thought I could make out 

 the bear, so I worked around to a piece of 

 rough rock that rose gradually from the 

 mesa to about 20 feet high and I was then 

 but a few rods from bruin. The watchful 

 mountain marmots whistled loudly from 

 the rocks, and I wondered why the bear 

 did not take the hint, as this signal is 

 generally headed by all wild animals. 

 When I peered over the rock into the gulch 

 I was startled to find myself so near the 

 object of my search. Within 60 feet 

 lay a large black object evidently just 

 waking up, for I saw a movement be- 

 hind the low cottonwood bush that con- 

 cealed the head. 



I took careful aim and fired, but was 

 hardly prepared for the result. Up flew 

 at least a score of ravens and about 50 

 magpies, but my bear stirred not. My 

 rifle was ready, but it was not needed 

 again. I knew in a moment what was 

 the matter, and went fearlessly down the 

 rocks into the hollow. 1 wanted no further 

 explanation ; the air was full of it. My 

 bear was too dead to skin. The unfortu- 

 nate animal had been dead several days. 

 He was swollen out of all proportion and 

 stank aloud. 



I went back to the ranch tired and dis- 

 appointed. Bailey and I spent 2 days un- 

 successfully hunting the white deer. After 

 1 returned to Denver I heard it had been 

 killed by a guide and sold to an Eastern 

 tourist. 



She — I never saw a married Couple who 

 got on so well together as Mr. and Mrs, 

 Rigby. 



He — Humph ! I know ! Each of them does 

 exactly as she likes. — Brooklyn Life. 

 269 



