XXVI 



RECREATION. 



THE DEER THAT KEPT ME 

 GUESSING. 



A. B. CLAYTON. 



I wonder if any other of the readers of 

 Recreation have shot a deer or moose 

 mortally and had him stand as if it never 

 touched him. This was my exprience 

 last Novemher in the North wood's. Here- 

 tofore, during an experience of over 18 

 hunting seasons in the woods, whenever 

 1 have shot a deer through the lungs, broken 

 his shoulder, perhaps, he would get away 

 ico yards or more before falling; if a moose 

 the distance would be greater. 



The only occasion on which I have 

 stopped a deer short and had him drop 

 where he stood, or in his tracks, was when 

 the shot broke his neck. The experience 

 I refer to at first mixed me up considera- 

 bly; and when it was repeated the next day 

 left me in a completely bewildered con- 

 dition of mind, which still exists. 



This is how it happened : The day was 

 perfect for still hunting. The first snow 

 fall of the season had commenced the night 

 before and 2 inches of snow lay on the 

 ground, with more falling. We had a late 

 breakfast in camp, feeling sure of the fa- 

 vorable conditions continuing, and about a 

 mile out picked up a fresh buck track and 

 slowly worked it down. The ground was 

 soft under the snow, and our moccasins 

 broke no twigs as we walked. 



Charlie, the guide, traveled behind. I 

 was watching for deer, careless of direc- 

 tion. His work was to begin after we had 

 killed, and were ready to find our way 

 home. The big buck led us along the lake, 

 then skirted the swamp and took away on to 

 the ridges. He was running and jumping, 

 enjoying the cold air. At last he settled 

 down to a walk; we worked along more 

 slowly, and as we broke into a clearing 

 there stood the old fellow, on the other side, 

 feeding. The wind was from him, so I 

 knew I had time, and I quietly threw my 

 45-90 Winchester to my shoulder, loading as 

 I did so. The click of the lever was just 

 loud enough for him to hear, but not to lo- ' 

 cate. It brought his head up, his body 

 broadside to me. I fired and he never 

 budged. A grunt from Charlie, and I fired 

 again. Four times I repeated this perform- 

 ance without any movement on the buck's 

 part. He was like a statue. At the fifth 

 shot he gave one bound and was out of 

 sight in the woods. I looked at the sights 

 on my rifle; they were all right. No ex- 

 planation was offered by me or was re- 

 quested by the guide; only speechless dis- 

 gust prevailed. We started across to look 

 for blood, or pick up the track, and there 

 just inside the line of woods lay the big 

 fellow ; every one of the 5 shots had hit 

 him, and any one of them would have killed 

 him. T had simply .wasted ammunition and 

 allowed my faith in the old tried gun to 

 vanish for the moment. 



That evening we talked it over without 

 enlightenment. That night it cleared, the 

 temperature dropped nearly to zero, every- 

 thing froze up tight. In the morning the 

 sun rose brilliantly. It was a magnificent 

 day to live in, but no day for still hunting. 

 We started early, but soon found that, in 

 spite of the 3 or 4 inches of snow, it was 

 noisy under foot. There was no breeze, no 

 dripping or falling of snow from the 

 branches. We gave up the woods and took 

 to the abandoned lumber roads and skid- 

 ways. Twice deer jumped across the road, 

 but I did not fire. At last, looking ahead, I 

 saw a fair sized buck, a 3 year old, as he 

 proved, feeding, standing just at a turn in 

 the road 200 yards ahead. He stood quar- 

 tering. My first shot apparently did no 

 harm ; my second was a repetition of the 

 first, so far as appeared. "Let me kill that 

 deer, he'll get away sure," whispered Char- 

 lie. "Go ahead!" said I, stepping aside. 

 Charlie had an old 38; he fired and the deer 

 dropped. Self congratulation on his part 

 followed. I was evidently "it" and went 

 sadly along with him to pick up the game. 

 But the laugh was changed when we found 

 my 2 shots had gone clean through the deer, 

 penetrating both lungs; while Charlie's shot, 

 easily identified by the small size of the bul- 

 let, had struck the hind leg just below the 

 hock joint and between the bone and 

 muscle. Charlie's shot would hardly have 

 tickled the deer had he not been dead. 

 But was he dead? Why did he not jump 

 or fall down before? Who can explain it? 

 All Charlie said was "Wouldn't it bump 

 ye?" 



I am using a black powder rifle, a 32-40 

 Winchester. Judging from letters in Rec- 

 reation, some hunters think that success 

 in deer hunting depends entirely on the 

 rifle, caliber, etc. When a deer is suddenly 

 j limned at close range and goes bounding 

 over the top of the hazel brush, your chance 

 of getting him depends less on whether 

 your rifle is a 30-30, a 45-70. or any other 

 size, than on your aim. The reason so 

 many misses are made is largely due to the 

 fact that the hunter forgets to look at his 

 sights, and watches the deer only. 



i have used Peters' shells for both rifle 

 and shot tnrn and nave gone back to U. M. 

 C. and Winchester. Peters' shells do not 

 shoot strong enough for me. Am glad 

 Recreation does not advertise so noor an 

 article. I have also used the Marlin rifle. 

 Some Marlins shoot as well as any other 

 gun, but when it comes to jamming, the 

 Marlin beats them all. 



1 use a 12 gauge Winchester pumn gun, 

 and have one fault to find with it. Its re- 

 coil seems to jar the shell in the front end 

 of the magazine enough to slightly mush- 

 room the crimning and cause difficulty in 

 forcing it into the chamber when shooting 

 rapidly. 



Erastus, Fosston, Minn. 



