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RAVENS KILL DEER. 



Editor Recreation : 



I read with interest Mr. Gilmore's recent 

 article in Recreation regarding the diminu- 

 tion of game of all kinds, and the deer in par- 

 ticular, the agencies to be charged with the 

 crime, and his theory that the bobcat is, in 

 a measure, responsible for the disappearance 

 of deer all over the country. There is an- 

 other destroyer of game which Mr. Gilmore 

 did not mention and which is not known to 

 nine-tenths of the hunters of to-day. That 

 is the big, blue-black Rocky Mountain raven, 

 a hundred times more dangerous to the 

 beasts of the forests than the eagle, on ac- 

 count of his rapacity ano 1 superior numbers. 



In the winter of '83-4, while I was mining 

 in Dry Gulch, near Nogal, New Mexico, I 

 watched for almost two hours a flock 

 of these pests dispatch a blacktail deer. 

 We were short of meat and I was out to 

 kill a deer or bear. The task, although a 

 pleasant one, as it was a diversion from our 

 daily routine, was simply a matter of busi- 

 ness, for there was so much game in New 

 Mexico then that killing a deer or bear was 

 of little consequence. 



It was in December and the north sides of 

 the mountains were covered with snow. I 

 started from camp early, and ten o'clock 

 found me several miles away on the south 

 side of Church Peak. I dismounted to rest 

 my horse, and while trying to sight game on 

 some distant hill, my attention was attracted 

 by the caws of what appeared to be about 

 500 ravens a mile or more to the west, in 

 great commotion. I had often seen as large 

 flocks of these birds in the mountains pre- 

 vious to that, but never, until that day, knew 

 the purpose for which they gathered. It was 

 apparent that they were up to some mischief. 

 They took turns diving down at something, 

 I did not know what. Sometimes two or 

 three went down together and quickly rose 

 with loud calls. As they were gradually 

 drifting toward me I concluded to ascertain, 

 if possible, what they were doing, so I led my 

 horse behind a boulder and sat down to await 

 results, holding my Winchester carbine, an 

 old .73 model. 



By that time most, of the birds had come 

 over the mountain and settled down in the 

 canyon beyond the first ridge from me, and 

 their dismal caws almost ceased. 



It soon became evident they were getting 

 nearer. The noise they made grew louder, 

 and as it reverberated from hill to hill and 

 touched the lofty pines on the distant moun- 

 tains, a somewhat excited feeling crept over 

 me. I shaded my eyes with my hand and 

 gazed long and steadily in the direction the 

 birds were coming in an endeavor to see what 

 they were after. As they reached the ridge, 

 almost half a mile away, I saw a deer bound 

 over and down the mountain side in my di- 

 rection, a continuous line of ravens urging 

 him along by well directed prods on the back 

 and rear. Stumbling and falling now and 

 then the poor animal finally reached the bot- 

 tom of the canyon, where he took refuge un- 

 der a small cedar tree and butted and pawed 

 at the ravens as they literally covered him. 

 Presently he could stand the persecution no 

 longer and made another break for liberty, 

 passing within ninety yards of where I was, 

 the birds meanwhile making the hair fly. I 

 could see that the poor animal was almost 

 prostrate and I was tempted, for a moment, 

 to shoot it and put it out of its misery, know- 

 ing full well that it was only a question of a 

 short time when it would have to die; but 

 my curiosity to see the finale overcome that 

 desire, and when they had disappeared 

 around the mountain a short distance, the 

 ravens making the day more hideous than 

 ever with their cries, I got on my horse and 

 rode around to see how the fight, or, rather, 

 flight was progressing. There, not over 300 

 yards away from me, was the deer rolling 

 and tumbling, sometimes up, but most of the 

 time down, covered with ravens ten deep. 

 This procedure lasted ten minutes, when 

 the deer ceased to rise again. I approached 

 slowly, thinking that my presence, when 

 within a reasonable distance, would frighten 

 the birds away ; but I was mistaken. They 

 were too much interested in their prey. They 

 were mad, intoxicated with delight, and my 

 appearance only served to intensify their 

 excitement. When within about twenty 

 steps several of them made passes at me, 

 but a few shots into the blue-black mass 

 caused them to seek a safer distance. 



As I dismounted I saw the deer, a 

 spiked blacktail buck, raise his head to his 

 side and fall back as before. I approached 

 cautiously and saw that the birds had pecked 

 out both his eyes. Thinking he was down 

 for good, I knelt at his head and reached for 



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