Po-s 
Re omen ee TENET 

THE SUMMER HOME OF THE BLACKTAIL 
timber, where the ravines harbor deep 
‘purple shadows, and see in the far-away 
valleys the placid rivers winding like silvery 
threads through the golden fields and disar- 
ranged hills, is one’s almost constant privi- 
lege. But one’s dreams may be interrupted 
any moment by a wild crashing in the brush 
or the sight of a wary deer darting through 
the timber—a rebuking reminder that game, 
not scenery, is the object of the quest. 
Worlds of dense cover conceal the game 
from the vigilant eye of the hunter as he 
creeps forward, listening, and watching 
carefully for the patch of hair that may 
betray the alert quarry. But however cau- 
tious his advance may be, however carefully 
his eyes survey the vistas before him, still 
the dense mazes unite to shield the game. 
Then keen, alert ears are pricked forward, 
listening to distant sounds; moist, quivering 
nostrils analyze every odor, and piercing 
eyes detect every moving object; while the 
hunter stumbles through the baffling ob- 
structions of nature. Brushy knolls curving 
sharply upward, deep cafions stretching 
toward the valleys and all thickly covered 
with great trees, standing like so many pil- 
lars, and the masses of fallen timber, render 
most difficult the hunter’s advance, while at 
a single bound the wary deer goes into secure 
cover. Protective colorations and favoring 
rays of light come to the aid of the deer in his 
natural hiding place. Brush, trees, rocks 
and deer all blend into one continuous maze 
of deception that puzzles even the most 
adept Nimrod. Deer tracks are on the 
slides, trails and sand bars, and in the 
brushy coverts in the pocketlike gulches are 
numerous fresh beds indicating the recent 
departure of these shy creatures. 
For hours and hours the hunter may wan- 
der over stupendous heights, now gazing 
into the evergreen depths below, then de- 
scending through the somber isle of Douglas 
firs into the shaded forest, where he feels 
lost when he gazes at the dizzy peaks where 
serried ranks of trees blend into green 
banks. Then he may follow the more open 
glades and cafions where signs of the 
quarry are more abundant; but the nodding 
branches and swaying ferns catch the fickle 
rays of shimmering light and blend all in 
subtlest hues that no eye can fathom. In 
such places the bewitching effects of color, 
motion and sound unite to shield the deer. 
And the hunter must be able to fathom the 
