FROM THE GAME EI ELDS. 



119 



would pursue the other fellow. Unfor- 

 tunately for me I had in my right hip 

 pocket a red cotton handkerchief, part of 

 which protruded, and the bull singled me 

 out as the person who had caused the pains 

 in his side, for both bullets struck him v 

 but too far back to produce instant death, 

 and infuriated as he then was he came 

 after me. I dropped the gun and although 

 strapped around me was "old faithful' 

 never once did I think to draw it and shoot 

 his eyes out, as I could have done on oth- 

 er occasions. The "hot path" was all that 

 occurred to me 'then, and I ran as I never 

 have run since, to the steep embankment. 

 When I reached it my courage failed me; I 

 preferred to be gored to death rather than 

 jump 25 feet. In my quandary I con- 

 tinued to run and every second the bull 

 was gaining on me. Already I could feel 

 his hot breath on the back of my neck, 

 but when in the act of jumping to the 

 apparently bottomless pit, I heard a shot 

 to my right, a groan just behind me and 

 the bull sank dead in his tracks, my com- 

 panion having had time to get his second 

 wind. 



After helping ourselves to some tender- 

 loin steak and some of the shaggy mane 

 for pillows for our beds, we retraced our 

 steps to the ranch. My companion ever 

 afterward asserted that he had more nerve, 

 was the better marksman and hunter, and- 

 was not in the least frightened after the 

 bull got us in a corner ; I was, however, 

 too grateful to him for the timely shot, to 

 claim any credit in the escapade. 



Many years have passed since then, and 

 I am still a hunter, having pursued all 

 kinds of large game ; yet the incident re- 

 lated is vivid in my memory. 



V. H. Miller, Cripple Creek, Colo. 



A QUIET STALK. 



I have for the last 2 years been a con- 

 stant reader of Recreation and like the 

 stand you take in regard to game hogs. I 

 love to hunt large game, but prefer to stalk 

 it and alone, matching my woodcraft 

 against the cunning of the game. I have 

 never used hounds and never shall use 

 them ; it looks to me like taking an unfair 

 advantage. 



In 'yj, when but 18 years old, I was a 

 cowboy in Wyoming. Antelope and deer 

 were abundant on the plains and elk and 

 bighorn in the mountains. Every stream 

 was full of trout. I was at what was once 

 Millersville, at the confluence of Smith's 

 and Black's fork rivers, 16 -miles North- 

 east of Fort Bridges. Millersville was 

 formerly a station of the overland pony ex- 

 press, but at that time it contained only 2 

 old log cabins and a log stable. An old- 

 timer named Charles Bates and I were the 

 only inhabitants. 



One morning, while riding down Black's 

 fork, I saw a deer in the stream. The side 

 of the river I was riding on was rocky and 

 hilly, covered only with sage brush. The 

 other side was a level bottom and, in the 

 bend of the stream, was a thicket of willows 

 and cottonwoods about 400 yards long and 

 10 to 30 yards wide. I carried an old 

 Sharps 50 caliber carbine, with front sight 

 made of half an old copper cent. It was a 

 good gun ; I never had a better. 



The deer s^w me as soon as I saw him, 

 and slowly walked out and into the thicket. 

 I could have shot him while he stood in the 

 water, but did not. I concluded to get him 

 later, to stalk him and give him a show for 

 his life. I knew he would stay in that 

 cover during the day, if not disturbed. 



At 3 that afternoon, taking an old pack 

 horse, I was again on the hilly side of the 

 thicket. I tied the horses to a sage brush, 

 waded the stream, and began a careful 

 stalking of the willows, most of the time on 

 my hands and knees. I had covered nearly 

 24 of the ground without finding the deer. 

 The willows were so thick I could hardly 

 see 10 yards and in some places I could 

 not stand upright. In front of me lay a 

 dead cottonwood trunk nearly 2^ feet in 

 diameter. I carefully peered over it and 

 ahead, Dut could see no deer. I placed one 

 hand on the trunk, then the other that held 

 the gun, and was just raising my body up 

 on the trunk, when something jumped up, 

 not 12 inches away. It was my buck. I 

 could have caught him by the horns as he 

 raised his head, for the surprise was mu- 

 tual, but in an instant he was up and go- 

 ing. I sprang up to shoot, but bumped my 

 head on an overhanging limb, nearly break- 

 ing my neck and sending me back to earth. 

 Before I could get up again the deer was 

 out of sight. 



I felt certain he would cross the stream 

 where it was narrow and shallow at the 

 lower end of the cover and make for the 

 rough country on the other side. To think 

 was to act. Being only about 10 feet from 

 the bank I at once jumped into the water, 

 which was there waist deep. The buck was 

 where I expected to see him. He cleared 

 the water at one bound, but fell dead on the 

 farther shore, a bullet from my old 

 Sharp's breaking his backbone. I dressed 

 him, pulled him across the water and start- 

 ed after the horses. 



I walked on the prairie side of the thick- 

 et, leaving my rifle with the deer. On my 

 way another deer jumped up just at the 

 edge of the willows and away he went. 

 While stalking the first deer I must have 

 crawled within 20 feet of the second one 

 without disturbing him. Even the report 

 of my rifle, not 200 yards away, had not 

 caused him to leave the brush. 



Frank Holz, Kansas City, Mo. 



