MOWING A DEER. 



FRANK CROFOOT. 



I once knew an old man who had crossed 

 the plains in '49 and liked nothing better 

 than to tell of his adventures with wild 

 beasts and wilder men during that eventful 

 journey and during his boyhood days in the 

 East. His favorite story and one he often 

 repeated, though it generally varied in the 

 telling, was as follows : 



"When I was 20 years old I hired out to 

 a Mr. Hill, for whom I worked nearly 3 

 years. His farm was a large clearing near 

 the Southern edge of an immense forest that 

 stretched miles Northward and was full of 

 wild game of all kinds ; while occasionally 

 a small band of Redskins was to be met 

 on their way from the Canada line to the 

 settlements South of us to trade their furs 

 for powder, bullets, tobacco, and firewater. 



"During the winter we used to hunt and 

 trap in those woods, and there I killed my 

 first deer. It was in mid-summer and the 

 killing was done in a peculiar manner. 



"One day in July, with the mercury at 

 100 in the shade, old man Hill told me to 

 go down to the North meadow and com- 

 mence mowing, while he and his son fin- 

 ished hauling in the hay from the South 

 meadow. I shouldered my scythe and with 

 a whetstone in my hip pocket and a jug of 

 water under my arm, started briskly, whist- 

 ling. 



"When I had reached the meadow and 

 hidden the jug under a rock where the 

 water would keep cool, I whetted my scythe 

 and began mowing the timothy that stood 

 higher than my head. I had worked some 

 time and had a lot of grass down when I 

 stopped to take a drink. The day was so 

 hot that, although I wore only a thin shirt 

 and pants, with a broad brimmed straw hat 

 and no shoes, I was nearly done up and 

 sat down to rest. Just then I saw some 

 berries in the fence corner and commenced 

 picking and eating them. It didn't take 

 long to finish those berries, and I was look- 

 ing for more when I heard a crash in 

 the bushes and the next instant an im- 

 mense buck came flying out of the woods 

 and over the fence, through the tall grass 

 toward me. He did not see ine until he 

 was within 10 feet of me. Then he whirled 

 with a snort and disappeared in the forest. 



"I was too quick for him. As he turned, 

 I flung the scythe at him with all my 

 strength. It struck him on the flank and 

 cut a gash in his flesh, not deep enough, 

 however, to stop him. He disappeared in 

 the thick forest. 



"I ran to the house, snatched old 

 man Hill's muzzle loading rifle from the 

 pegs and started in swift pursuit. Reach- 

 ing the place where I had wounded the deer 



I leaped over the fence and started rapidly 

 on his trail. 



"A light snow was falling and the earth 

 was covered to a depth of 6 inches, while 

 every few feet was a big splash of blood 

 from the wound. Tracking was easy and 

 before 15 minutes had elapsed I came in 

 sight of the deer, which had lain down in 

 the snow. Seeing me he sprang to his feet 

 and started off with great speed before I 

 was within range. This he repeated until 

 the loss of blood began to tell on him, when 

 I finally managed to bring him down with 

 a bullet in the shoulder. 



"Drawing my hunting knife, I bled him, 

 and then commenced dressing the carcass 

 and preparing the skin and choicest parts 

 for carrying home. This took quite a 

 while, but I finally finished my task and 

 started for home, with the venison on my 

 back. In the excitement of following the 

 deer, however, I had lost all track of time 

 and found myself a long distance from the 

 farm. It was nearly sunset and the wind 

 was blowing a gale, while the snow was 6 

 feet on the level, and coming down in great 

 flakes. The air was cold and piercing, 

 but I was warmly clad in furs and wool- 

 ens and sped rapidly along on my snow- 

 shoes. After 2 hours' swift walking I 

 reached tne farm, hearing the blood curd- 

 ling howls of wolves and the occasional 

 scream of a panther in the forest around 

 me. I climbed in safety, however, over the 

 fence to where I had left my scythe. Pick- 

 in?- it up, I started for the house, where I 

 found the Hills, who had just brought in 

 the last load of hay from the field and were 

 abou to go in search of me. 



"With their assistance I finished dress- 

 ing the venison, as well as I could in the 

 face of mosquitoes that nearly ate us up. 

 Mosquitoes were thick in the woods dur- 

 ing the summer, and immense ones, too, 

 twice as large as those we have here. 



"That was my first deer. I have shot 

 many since, and buffalo and grizzlies, too; 

 but I have never felt so proud of them 

 as of the deer I killed with a scythe." 



Recreation has taken all the game hog 

 out of me. I try to induce others to read 

 your excellent magazine. 



R. E. Bassett, Bassett, N. J. 



I would rather do without all other mag- 

 azines than give up Recreation. 



Dr. G. C. Fordham, Watkins, N. Y. 



A fair exchange is no robbery, unless 

 it be a church fair. — Life. 



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