SEEING THE OLD CENTURY OUT. 



271 





CHRIS AND HIS PARTNER. 



that crisp morning, doubled up like a jack- 

 knife, his tail between his legs, and a dis- 

 couraged look on his intelligent face, I was 

 reminded of the cowboy artist's cow wait- 

 ing for a chinook. 



The stranger told me he had started 4 

 deer, but had failed to score. He it was 

 who had fired the shot I had heard from 

 the other side of the creek, and I breathed 

 a sigh of relief when I found that for 

 awhile, at least, I was spared the Major's 

 vaporings concerning his prowess, while I 

 was empty handed. I soon learned that 

 the name of my new acquaintance was 

 Chris; that he was running the Melbourne 

 section house; and that he was out in quest 

 of venison for his 6 little ones. He also 

 informed me that he hailed from Den- 

 mark. I invited him to make one of our 

 party and we returned to camp. 



Arriving at the tent the stranger re- 

 lieved himself of his pack and the shiver- 

 ing pup took possession of my bed. After 

 a short consultation we picked up our 

 rifles and started anew in quest of game. 

 On the North side of camp the mountain 

 ran boldly toward the clouds, and was 

 almost bare of timber. A heavy growth 

 of bunch-grass covered its South side and 

 this grass, filled with frost and covered 

 with snow, made the footing uncertain. 

 Notwithstanding the apparent difficulties 

 we enthusiastically set to work to scale its 

 slippery sides. This was almost painful, 

 and time and again it became necessary to 

 clutch the bunches of grass to keep from 



sliding down the side of some ravine. The 

 butt of the gun was in constant requisition 

 as a brace against falling, and it required 

 hours of almost constant climbing to reach 

 a point where even a few fresh deer tracks 

 could be seen. Shortly after starting, 

 Chris and I had separated and after 2 

 hours of hard climbing I came to the con- 

 clusion that I should not see him again 

 until I had reached camp. I was soon to 

 learn, however, that he was but a short 

 distance above me. I had just stepped on 

 to a level bench on the mountain side, 

 after a particularly laborious climb of 20 

 minutes, when I saw a whitetail fawn 

 standing broadside toward me, in bold re- 

 lief, its ears outspread and its head turned 

 toward me, but as motionless as a rock. 

 Now, the vital part of a fawn's body can al- 

 most be covered by a man's hand. It is a 

 small mark; and that deer was 200 yards 

 away. I had no desire to leave a wounded 

 deer on the mountain side, and had still 

 less desire to follow one up and down, 

 across ravines and ridges. I stepped be- 

 hind a tree and tried to figure out some 

 scheme to get nearer my venison. Had 

 it been an older animal, my quick move- 

 ment would have been the signal for Mr. 

 Deer to fly up the mountain side or into 

 some ravine; but fawns have more or less 

 curiosity, and I reasoned that it would 

 stand there until it found out who and 

 what I was. Between the tree behind 

 which I was standing and the fawn, stood 

 another tree about 25 yards distant, and 

 in line with the fawn. I moved quietly 

 toward the latter tree. As I reached it I 

 cautiously stuck out my head and ascer- 

 tained that my quarry had not moved. 

 He was still standing upwards of 175 yards 

 away; but as I saw no chance of getting 

 closer, I rested my rifle against the side of 

 the tree, took careful aim and fired. As 

 the sound of the shot echoed through the 

 surrounding canyons there was a defiant 

 flutter of a white flag, and the fawn disap- 

 peared, unharmed, over the brink of a 

 friendly ravine. I ran quickly toward the 

 ravine with the hope of securing another 

 shot, when I heard the voice of Chris yell- 



"Lookout! There come 4 more." 

 I glanced up the mountain side, but be- 

 fore I could bring my gun to my shoulder, 

 the last of 4 white flags was disappearing 

 over the brink of the same ravine that so 

 effectually sheltered the masterly retreat 

 of the fawn. I heard what appeared to be 

 a few emphatic remarks coming from the 

 side of the mountain farther up, but as 

 they were in the Danish language, I felt 

 justified in ignoring them; so I painfully 

 resumed my climb, determined to reach 

 the top of that mountain or stay out all 

 night. A little later, as I was toiling up 

 the mountain whose summit seemed to be 



