CHAT J, THE BLACKTAIL 



429 



romped and played with other fawns in 

 the moonlight while their mothers 

 browsed about and kept a sharp lookout 

 for prowling" enemies. With the first 

 gray light of the dawn each stole away 

 with its dam to their respective hiding 

 places. 



The dry summer wore on to August. 

 The rains were delayed and the grasses 

 became dead and dry. Higher and high- 

 er up the Picachos retreated the snow 

 banks, and then vanished altogether. 

 The pools of water dried up and the few 

 springs became mere trickles of water, 

 which soon sunk into the hot dry rocks 

 of the canons. Every third evening 

 Chati's mother would hide him in the 

 brush and go to slake her thirst at a 

 spring ten miles away. In her absence 

 he lay flat upon the ground, his legs un- 

 der him, his ears alert to every sound. 

 He heard the soft "pit pat" of the 

 prowling coyote, the crumpling of the 

 dry leaves under the wildcat's tread, and 

 the distant howl of the gray wolf. Yet 

 nothing molested him, and when his 

 mother returned in the dark hours of 

 early morning he knew her approaching 

 footsteps as she cautiously made her 

 way to his hiding place. 



Under the tutelage of the forest his 

 senses became very keen. To his ears 

 the faintest sound was audible, his sight 

 became marvelously quick and keen, 

 and his nostrils scented the faintest 

 odor. Once a prowling coyote had 

 sprung at him from behind, to be in turn 

 sprung upon by his mother and struck 

 down with her sharp hoofs, sending him 

 yelping off up the canon. Also he nar- 

 rowly escaped the fangs of a rattlesnake 

 coiled in the trail. His mother killed 

 the buzzing reptile, cutting him to 

 pieces with her sharp hoofs. A cowboy 

 had surprised them in an arroyo, had 

 ridden almost upon them ere they were 

 aware of his presence. Quickly they 

 sprang away, and at the second leap his 

 mother had dropped to the ground. 

 Amid the tall grass he hid instantly 

 while she had as quickly bounded on 

 with the cowboy in wild pursuit, the 

 rider whirling his riata in the vain hope 



of getting near enough for a throw. 

 Watching her climb the hill with grace- 

 ful leaps the cowboy reined his pony, 

 and then resumed his quest for mav- 

 ericks. He had not seen Chati, else the 

 Three I Bar Ranch might have had a 

 pet fawn. Late in the evening his moth- 

 er returned and together by the starlight 

 they sought their feeding ground, high 

 up on the mountain's spur, and the cow- 

 boy saw them no more. 



The summer rains came. The moun- 

 tains were clothed again in green. Again 

 the canons ran water, and soon the Oc- 

 tober frosts turned the green of the oaks 

 and poplars to< all shades of crimson, 

 brown and gold. Far up among the 

 summits of the Picachos they wandered, 

 browsing on the tender shoots and ber- 

 ries of the juniper and eating their fill 

 of the fallen acorns carpeting the 

 ground under the oaks. Then there came 

 a November night, when the wind blew 

 chill. Great masses of clouds rolled out 

 of the southwest, and the patter of the 

 hail and rain drops was heard on the 

 pine needles. With many other deer 

 they took their way to the south over 

 the Picachos and through the passes of 

 the Granite range. Daylight found them 

 many leagues away in the foothills of 

 the Harqua Hala mountains, browsing 

 on the sparse growth of mesquite. A 

 misty rain was falling. Away to the 

 north rolled the Picachos, white to their 

 bases, the summits hidden in the swirl- 

 ing snowclouds. 



All the short winter they remained in 

 the Harqua Halas, finding plenty of 

 browse in the groves of pinon, cedar 

 and mesquite, and water in abundance 

 in the tanks formed by the winter 

 storms. Chati doffed his spotted coat 

 and took on a dress of gray-brown. Two 

 horny protuberances grew on his head 

 above his eyes, showing where his ant- 

 lers were to be. Spring came and they 

 wended their way back by easy stages 

 over the Granite range to their old 

 haunt in the Picachos. How well he re- 

 membered every arroyo and trail they 

 had traveled, every pool they had drank 

 at. He instinctively shied around the 



