COPYRIGHT, 1902; BY L. A. HUFFMAN: 



THE BIG BUCK AS HE FELL AND THE HUNTER AS HE STOOD. 



I thought, "Oh, hang the .buck you missed 

 last winter!" but I didn't say it; and 

 solely to please a kind friend, I scrambled 

 up at his heels to the top of a hogback. 

 Along this we walked while it described 

 a capital S, 300 feet long. At its extremity 

 it rose in a bald, round dome of blasted 

 earth, 50 feet higher, and up this Max 

 climbed quite to the top. Raising his hand, 

 he pointed down the farther slope, into a 

 ragged notch, and said, softly, "He was 

 standing right down yonder in — look ! 

 look ! There's a deer there now ! But 

 it's a doe!" 



Down he crouched ; but I peered over. 

 We had all pledged one another not to 

 shoot a doe, under anv circumstances. I 

 plainly saw the high light on a pair of 

 antlers. 



"No ! It's a buck ! I see his horns !" 



Bang! 



I felt sure he was mine. 



He leaped just twice, and then went 

 down to stay. By the time we reached him, 

 he was quite dead. Sieber said afterward 

 to Huffman, "It was as purty a shot as I 

 ever saw made, close behind the shoulder, 

 and a bull's-eye." 



The distance was 150 yards, almost ex- 

 actly the same as that at which Huffman 

 Hlled his big buck. If anyone wishes to 

 inquire into the truth of this remarkable 

 coincidence, the address in full is M. A. 

 Sieber, Jordan, Dawson county, Montana. 



356 



The death of that fine animal in a wild 

 and rugged landscape, and by a single shot, 

 gave me all the blood I cared to shed on 

 that trip, long though it was. 



Sieber said it was "a mighty long way 

 to come to kill one buck, saying nothing of 

 the hard work and the expense" ; but all 

 the conditions being right — the buck eaten 

 there, and his head mounted here — what 

 more could I ask? It was quite enough. 



As a brain fixer and a health giver, that 

 trip was one of the finest I ever had in any 

 country. Huffman and I worked like 

 slaves, ate like hounds, and slept like 

 bears in January. Incidentally and all the 

 time, he was as fine a hunting companion 

 as 1 ever camped and shot with ; and that 

 is putting it strong. In spite of the fact 

 that he set a hot pace for me, and kept 

 me hustling hard from dawn until dark, 

 he was ideal. 



We whirled back to Miles City over 

 splendid roads, in 3^2 days, our head.; clear, 

 our muscles hard as whipcords and our 

 hands so stiff from hard work that for a 

 week they could not shut on anything 

 smaller than a gun barrel. At the L U-bar 

 buttes, at almost the same spot where he 

 had to turn back, we met Jim McNaney 

 galloping or/. '.2 meet us. The only cloud 

 on the whole trip was the loss of Jim to 

 us, and the loss of the fun to him. Who- 

 ever has Jim for a guide and companion 

 on a hunt is in great luck. 



