274 



RECREATION. 



No. 20 among our ammunition, Sam se- 

 lected the musket, and taking a blanket 

 left for the trough, I do not remember 

 how long he was gone. I was awakened 

 by his plea, "Let me get under the cover." 

 He said he had shot a big doe that had 

 come for water. It was so badly wounded 

 that he had caught it by the tail as it was 

 entering the brush, but it had turned on 

 him so fiercely that he concluded to wait 

 till morning to locate it. Next morning 

 we sent Jaun after the wounded deer. He 

 trailed it through dusty paths iand over 

 bare hills and found a dangerously 

 wounded 4 prong buck. He killed it and 

 returned for the wagon to bring in the 

 carcass. On seeing the large buck Sam 

 congratulated himself on not hanging on 

 to the tail hold. 



The next morning and evening we 

 walked many miles, but saw no deer. The 

 next night I took my station at the 

 trough with the No. 20 shot gun and 2 

 shells. I have hunted deer every year 

 since I was a boy 15 years old, but this 

 was my first experience at potting game. 

 I had come a long way for game, and 

 after walking many miles over rough and 

 broken country in vain, I felt justified, 

 after exhausting all honorable means, in 

 resorting to this cowardly system of hunt- 

 ing. It was cold, lonely and disagreea- 

 ble sitting against a briar bush through 

 the night, straining my eyes in the star- 

 light. 



A coyote came close and snarled at me; 

 I made a motion in his direction; he left 

 and never came back. The coyotes' un- 

 earthly howling and the owls' hooting 



kept me company during my watch. All. 

 at once I saw silhouetted against the starry 

 sky an object which seemed to have risen 

 from the earth. A strange sensation took 

 possession of me; every fiber in my body 

 tingled with the joy of confronting the 

 game which I had traveled so far and 

 striven so hard to find. 



I fired and heard the game in the brush, 

 but remembering Sam's experience, quiet- 

 ly resumed my watch. After an hour a 

 deer's head appeared, directly over the 

 trough, not 15 feet from me; it as silently 

 withdrew. In a few moments I saw it 

 again walking toward me, though it made 

 not the least noise. It seemed like hunt- 

 ing ghosts. Stopping in the mire in front 

 of me it slowly raised its head suspiciously 

 in my direction. Covering its neck, I 

 fired, killing a fat, youns; doe. I dragged 

 it from the mud, gutted it, left my 

 handkerchief suspended from the bush as 

 a guard against coyotes and left it for the 

 night. Next morning we found the first 

 deer I shot, not far away, dead. 



Loading our wagon with our outfit and 

 3 deer, we hunted ahead of it for quails, 

 as that was to be our last day out. We had 

 great sport. Blue quails seldom fly, and 

 will not lie for a dog, but are artful dod- 

 gers and fast sprinters in the chapparal. 

 We shot them flying, running, one at a 

 time, and we did not kill more than 3 

 out of any covey we flushed; in the even- 

 ing we counted more than 80. Rabbits 

 were plentiful, but we did not shoot any. 



We arrived in San Antonio with plenty 

 of game. Never before or since have I 

 hunted deer in that queer manner. 



POOR STUFF. 



J. L. DE VANY. 



Oh yaas, purty good hunter, me 

 Know all 'bout canoe; 



Dem bes place where you fine 'em 

 De moose and cariboo. 



No, A don't want mooch wagis, 

 'Bout two, tree, dollar day; 



Mabbe you git big moose, bull. 

 You gib mc some extry pay. 



An', Parson, when Injun tired 

 Paddlin' an' luggin' canoe, 



Leetle someting make him feel good; 

 S'pose you tak dat long, too. 



What dat? You tak your 'ligion 'long, 



Help you on de road? 

 'Ligion? 'ligion? Dunno, Parson, 



Dat purty tarn light load. 



