HUNTING DEER BY STARLIGHT. 



V. L. JAMES. 



In the winter of '98, in company with a 

 friend, Sam, and my son John, 12 years 

 old, who had accompanied me on pre- 

 vious hunting and fishing trips, I left San 

 Antonio on the Southern Pacific train 

 Westward bound for a deer hunt in the 

 foothills of the Anacachie mountains. 

 Pulling in at a ranch 12 miles from the 

 railroad we stayed overnight and ar- 

 ranged for our hunt. 



We engaged Jaun Garcia, a Mexican, 

 to care for the horses and to cook. He 

 was acquainted with the country, was a fine 

 shot and a successful hunter. Next morn- 

 ing our wagon and team appeared, and, 

 after packing in our outfit, we left the 

 ranch to camp wherever we found good 

 hunting. A drought had extended through 

 the summer, with no prospects yet for 

 rain. The grass that remained was dry, 

 and the wind scattered its blades in every 

 direction. Cattle gaunt and dim eyed 

 wandered hopelessly in quest of food and 

 water. Hungry calves on tottering legs 

 were bumping their mothers for milk in 

 vain. Emaciated animals fed on the lower 

 leaves of the prickly pear, where the 

 thorns were fewest, whose sappy substance 

 furnished both food and water; also 

 browsing on the huajillo (wa-heo), 

 whose fern like leaves afforded more sub- 

 stance than the prickly pear. 



Few Bob Whites were seen, but there 

 were many coveys of blue quails, which 

 when flushed would fly a few hundred 

 yards, then alighting would run rapidly 

 away. It required quick work to secure a 

 shot at this wary bird, but we got enough 

 for supper and breakfast. Meeting an old 

 acquaintance, I learned where the deer were 

 ranging. On account of the drought, 

 game, where not molested, lurked in the 

 vicinity of water. He told us that at his 

 Western windmill among the hills many 

 deer watered, and were damaging the dirt 

 bank of the reservoir by climbing along 

 its sides and tearing the earth away. Ar- 

 rived at the tank, we looked for sign. 

 There were many deer and coyote tracks 

 in the mud about the trough, which was 

 supplied by a pipe from the reservoir. A 

 float and valve kept the trough full, but 

 leakage kept the ground marshy and 

 water standing in places around the 

 trough. 



We made camp ^ of a mile farther 

 West, so as not to disturb deer coming 

 for water. Sam and T shouldered our 30- 

 ,30's and, taking different directions, went 

 in finest of deer. John, my son, had ob 

 tained at the ranch an old fashioned, brass 



mounted, rim fire .44 caliber Winchester 

 carbine that must have been in use 20 

 years. Cautioning him to follow the me- 

 anderings of the creek, and by no means 

 leave it out of sight, and to return to 

 camp on the same road. Sam and I quick- 

 ly disappeared in the chapparal. 



The wind had died and everything was 

 so quiet that walking was noisy either on 

 the crisp leaves or on rocky ridges. After 

 a few hours' diligent hunting I returned to 

 camp before dark, having seen only coy- 

 otes, rabbits and blue quails. Not caring 

 to disturb the quail, I had not fired a 

 shot. I found John sitting by the fire, 

 with a woebegone countenance. 



"O, papa!" he exclaimed, "there are lots 

 of deer here." 



Then he gave way to tears and could 

 only sob. Jaun laughingly told me in 

 broken English that John had gotten in- 

 to a bunch of deer. Presently John re- 

 lated hh experience. He came unexpect- 

 edly on several deer lying in a motte of 

 timber. Their curiosity aroused by the 

 quietness of his approach and his diminu- 

 tiv size they had not tried to escape. John 

 had shot at a big buck staring at him, not 

 20 feet away. It seemed to fall, but remem- 

 bering my advice not to approach a 

 wounded buck, he had dropped the gun 

 and climbed a tree, while the deer disap- 

 peared in the brush. On his way to camp 

 he had 3 shots at a doe, but failed even to 

 wound her. 



His disappointment was too much for 

 him, and he could only find relief in tears 

 and abuse of the old gun. After a hearty 

 supper of broiled quails, baker's bread and 

 Jersey butter, with a cup of hot coffee, we 

 discussed the deer problem. There were 

 plenty of deer in the thick chapparal. They 

 fed all through the bright, starlight nights, 

 sleeping concealed in the thickets all day. 

 The stillness and our own noisy tread re- 

 vealed our approach long before we came 

 in view, and as the deer had only to step 

 aside in the thick brush and remain quiet 

 it was impossible to locate them. 



After supper Jaun suggested that if one 

 of us would conceal himself near the 

 trough and remain quiet the deer would 

 come in for water during the night. Not 

 caring to risk the uncertainty of a rifle 

 shot at night we decided to use a shot gun, 

 of which we had 2 miserable excuses; one 

 a No. 20 Belgian make, costing new 

 only $10; the other, a made-over musket 

 changed in the breech to chamber a No. 

 12 shot gun shell. Finding only one buck- 

 shot shell No. i_> and 2 B. B. shells for the 



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