FOREST AND STREAM 
75 
A Wily Old Buck 
The Story of a Deer That Knew How To Baffle The Hounds 
By William E. Simmons 
HETHER animals reason may 
still be a mooted question with 
some, but those who know ani¬ 
mal life intimately can have 
scarcely any doubt on the sub¬ 
ject. For my own part, I was 
long ago convinced that in mat¬ 
ters concerning self preserva¬ 
tion, many, if not all animals, reason relatively 
almost as well as men. In a recent number of 
Forest and Stream, Mr. Lincoln recalled the story 
of a famous fox that invariably eluded the dogs 
at a certain fence corner. I can cite from my 
own experience the case of an old buck that dis¬ 
played almost human intelligence. 
In the latter part of the sixties, I was living on 
a plantation on the coast of South Carolina, 
about 20 miles southwest of Charleston. One 
day, riding to the post-office, I noticed an excep¬ 
tionally large deer track on the road. It was 
evidently the track of a newcomer to the locality 
because I had never seen it before, and it was 
too conspicuous to be overlooked. 
At the post-office village I met Dick King, a 
relative and hunting companion, who had a fine 
pack of hounds. I had a few hounds myself, but 
seldom went deer hunting without Dick. As soon 
as I told Dick of my discovery, we arranged a 
hunt for the following week. The meeting was 
for sunrise at the place where I had seen the 
track. There it was again, and every one in the 
large party, about a dozen, expressed astonish¬ 
ment at its size. It was fresh, evidently made 
during the night, and its direction indicated that 
the lair of the buck was in a swamp on the south 
side of the road. The “standers” were sent off 
to their posts. When they had time to reach 
their various destinations, Dick and I, who re¬ 
mained with the dogs, put them on the track. It 
was so fresh they went off at full cry. 
For about a mile the dogs never hesitated, and 
Dick and I had some difficulty in following them 
through the thick underbrush, for it was mid¬ 
summer, with all the luxuriance of the Southern 
woods. But in the heart of the swamp, the dogs 
came to fault. They trailed in circles, widening 
and narrowing, for hours, and, at last, about io 
o'clock, were completely baffled. 
Reluctantly we abandoned the quest for the 
day, but determined to resume it in the succeeding 
week. Our second attempt was almost an exact 
repetition of the first, and, indeed, we hunted that 
deer with the same disappointing and puzzling 
result, almost every week, during the remainder 
of the Summer. Even in the early Autumn we 
had no better success. Always we found the 
track about the same place; always the dogs fol¬ 
lowed it at full cry into the heart of the swamp, 
and always about the same place they came to 
fault. 
It may be readily believed that enthusiasm in 
the pursuit of that particular deer waned. One 
by one the members of the hunt dropped out of 
the hunting, until only a few beside Dick and 
myself were left. Some of our former associates 
made themselves disagreeable by inquiring when 
we expected to jump the phantom buck; others 
were offensive enough to hint that the tracks 
were planted; while the superstitiously inclined 
shook their heads and said the devil had been 
known at various times to assume the form of 
animals. 
Cotton planting had proved a failure for me, 
and I was about to leave the parish for good, 
but I was loth to depart without another try at 
the phantom buck, so, about the end of Novem¬ 
ber, Dick and I arranged a final meet. The dogs 
performed the same old stunt, and we found our¬ 
selves at the same old spot, watching the dogs 
as they vainly tried to make out the trail. The 
chill of Autumn had stripped the foliage from 
all except the handiest shrubs, so the outlook was 
clearer than on any of our previous hunts. 
Less than fifty yards from where Dick and I 
sat upon our horses, was a thick clump of gum 
bushes surrounding the stump of a fallen pine. 
The trunk had broken off about fifteen feet from 
the ground, but remained attached to the stump. 
It was a large tree and the leafless crown rested 
fully sixty feet from the stump. The stump with 
its clump of gum bushes was the center of the 
circle described by the dogs. After awhile I 
said to Dick: 
“I believe that deer is in that clump of gum 
bushes.” 
“Impossible,” returned Dick, "the dogs have 
been all through it.” 
“You are mistaken,” I persisted, “the dogs have 
been all round it, but not one has been through 
it.” 
As I was speaking, Countess, a large bitch with 
bluish and tan patches on grey fur, distinguished 
for both nose and speed, leaped upon the log near 
the crown. Plainly she was not guided by scent 
for she looked round as if seeking an elevated 
point of view. A moment later she walked a 
little way up the inclined trunk and then sniffed 
it for the first time. With a cry of surprise and 
triumph that at once attracted the other dogs, 
she trotted swiftly up to the stump, keeping her 
nose all the while on the trunk. At the stump 
she gave a quick downward look, a wild yell, and 
plunged into the gums; The whole clump swayed 
as if swept by a sudden wind, and out sprang 
the largest buck I had ever seen. 
The mystery of the phantom buck was solved at 
last. That wily lord of the forest had thoroughly 
learned the ways of the hounds and devised an 
ingenious plan to outwit them. He approached 
his lair in narrowing circles to a convenient dis¬ 
tance, then leaped upon the trunk, walked up the 
incline and dropped into his bed. His clever 
reasoning was displayed no less in lying quiet 
with dogs giving tongue all round him, than in 
his manner of retiring to rest. 
Either Dick or I could have killed him, but, 
as we were “drivers” the etiquette of the hunt 
did not permit us. Besides, he made straight for 
one of the standers. Soon the woods reverberat¬ 
ed with two reports of a shot gun, following each 
other in quick succession. When I came up 
shortly after to the fortunate stander, his hat was 
off, his hair on end, and he was swinging his 
arms wildly. In a voice hoarse with excitement, 
he exclaimed: 
“The biggest deer I ever saw in my life!” 
“Did you kill him?” 
‘No, but I hit him!” 
“Which way did he go?” 
“Back in the drive.” 
There was a ridge in the swamp and I opined 
he would follow that, westward, to gain a larger 
and denser swamp. More than a mile to the 
westward, a road crossed the swamp. If I could 
gain the ridge by that road ahead of the buck, 
I could get a shot at him. My mount was a 
small, swift, mare, well trained for hunting. Off 
as soon as I gave her the rein, she stretched her¬ 
self to the run until the tall pines fairly whirled 
around us. The wind whistled noisily in my 
ears but I could hear the baying of the hounds 
and feel I was gaining on them. Still there was 
one solitary, sonorous, note in advance, that of 
Countess, which had left the pack far behind, 
and the deer was ahead of her. When the little 
mare wheeled into the cross road the odds seemed 
to be against us, but she felt the fervor of the 
chase as well as I and valiantly strove to win. 
We were just taking the rise of the coveted 
ridge when the mare stopped with a suddenness 
that nearly sent me over her head. She had seen 
the deer before me. There he was, broadside on, 
loping easily, about 60 yards away. When I fired 
the first barrel, he swerved to the left, and drop¬ 
ped his tail, so I knew at least some of my shot 
had found their mark. I gave him the other 
barrel at his quarters and saw him wince again. 
Then I touched the mare with the spur and she 
darted after the deer. We had gone barely a 
hundred yards when Countess flashed by us. She 
had evidently leapt up at the sound of my gun, 
caught sight of the deer, and taken up the chase 
by sight. Within a quarter of a mile she seized 
him by a hind leg and pulled him down. I came 
up to find he had pinned her to the ground with 
his antlers. 
In a moment I had thrown myself from the 
mare and was rushing forward to free the hound. 
But while I was yet a few yards off, I caught 
a danger-gleam in the buck’s eye and suddenly 
remembered my gun was unloaded, for that was 
before the day of the breech-loader in our parts. 
My gun was about half loaded when I looked 
at the buck again and saw his eyes were glazed. 
I lifted his head and freed the bitch. The points 
of his antlers had struck in the earth and held 
the dog fast, but the antlers themsdlves were so 
broad she was entirely unhurt. The vitality of 
that buck was as remarkable as his cleverness. 
Six shots from my first barrel passed clear 
through his chest, three through the heart. Many 
shots were also buried in his haunches, and yet 
he ran more than a quarter of a mile before the 
dog pulled him down. 
