OCTOBER, 1917 
FOREST AND STREAM 
473 
undoing. This is the chance the still- 
hunter has labored probably hours to se¬ 
cure, and the rest depends on his aim. If 
he goes to camp empty-handed he can only 
offer lame excuses. He will never have a 
third opportunity. 
It is a law as inexorable as destiny that 
no deer will stand for more than a second 
inspection. After that he is thoroughly 
satisfied and henceforth is only concerned 
for his safety. As against the still-hunter, 
the deer will always make good when the 
contest gets down to that simple basis. 
In still-hunting the huntf must start 
at the foot of the mountain and climb 
upwards, or else make a careful survey of 
the proposed hunting ground and then 
work around from ridge to ridge, being 
careful to drop just below the series of 
prominent knolls. Around these the deer 
love to hover, and here they will fly as 
soon as disturbed. And on these look¬ 
outs they will ever pause—and unwittingly 
invite their doom. 
No matter how 
skilled is the 
hunter in marks¬ 
manship, there are 
certain to be times 
when his best ef¬ 
fort will result 
only in wounding 
the game, and then 
follows what may 
be a heart-break¬ 
ing pursuit that 
tests to the limit 
the hunter’s skill 
and his experience 
as a trailer. Each 
succeeding canyon 
or ridge is a field 
for strategy — the 
natural instinct 
for self - preserva¬ 
tion pitted against 
the keenest wit of 
the hunter. No 
matter how much 
one may regret the 
loss of a fine buck, 
the true hunter 
cannot contem¬ 
plate with equa¬ 
nimity the loss of 
a wounded deer. 
There is something sacred about his life 
and it amounts almost to sacrilege to have 
it wasted The wounded deer is the great 
problem with the still-hunter, and yet even 
it fails in nothing of the all consuming in¬ 
terest. Every moment is one of tenseness 
and apprehension. 
| 
HERE is much misunderstanding 
about wounded wild animals. When 
that little white bead rests for a mo¬ 
ment on your game and your finger presses 
the trigger there is a riot of noise; and 
if your game does not go down with the 
crack of the gun there is also. a riot of 
action. The uninitiated who sees his 
wounded game tear away in headlong 
flight, spurred on by a frenzy of fear, 
thinks that half a mile will hardly abate 
the speed and that nothing but death or 
utter exhaustion can terminate the race. 
The fact is quite different. It matters not 
how desperately wounded or how slightly, 
nor does it matter with what burst of speed 
he makes his get-away, the deer will sel¬ 
dom run far before he will stop as ab¬ 
ruptly as he started and immediately lie 
down. This calls for the strategy of pursuit. 
I F you rush on, it will certainly avail 
you nothing. Bear this in mind: in 
front of you, quite probably under 
the first shelter, is your deer. Next: 
that deer expects instant pursuit and 
is alert to anticipate it. The longer he 
lies, the more absorbed he becomes in 
the pain. Moral: take your time. Wait 
for a time, in -perfect silence. Then 
begin the follow-up. The deer will see 
you as soon as you see him; and you must 
see him as soon as he sees you. Then, 
if you are not too boisterous, there will 
ensue a moment of hesitation—just time 
enough for a shot. Your best chance is in 
that first follow-up; so be careful. It pays 
to measure every step and scan every foot 
rf ground. It is only for a few yards and 
a few minutes, yet it may save hours of 
trailing and probably ultimate loss of game. 
If by mischance you lose this first try, 
then there will be one more. From the 
first start, a wounded deer will run 
farther. The distance, of course, depends 
much on the character of the land; but 
surely he will accept some inviting spot 
to pause. But this time he may not lie 
down. That means that your second fol¬ 
low-up must be more careful than the 
first and it behooves you to make the most 
of it. For it is certainly your last chance 
to catch your game waiting. 
Twice a deer will stop after being woun- 
ed and twice you may start him and not 
get him, but being followed to a second 
start is a' warning that his instinct never 
fails to grasp. He no longer considers it 
an accidental encounter, that he warded off 
by that first escape. His instinct divines 
the relentless calculating pursuit—and he 
knows that his safety is in flight. 
Then come all the tricks of deceit that 
Nature teaches to her defenseless brood. 
Limping or staggering on—never lying 
down, no matter how desperately wounded 
—he keeps always just ahead but never 
in sight. You trail and trail and trail. At 
last a wide canyon looms up and your 
hopes are high: surely he cannot clear that 
and make opposite side without being seen. 
You know he is just ahead. You have 
heard him perhaps, and now are carefully 
calculating to push him from the last dense 
thicket into the open canyon, or onto the 
sparse shelter of the opposite slope. But 
that deer has been calculating too. Al¬ 
ready he has measured the width of the 
canyon and measured your distance behind 
him, and he plays safe. Painful as it may 
be, he has taken that canyon at high speed 
and is now panting on the brow of the 
opposite ridge. 
Slowly you follow, track by track and 
often retracing your steps to correct mis¬ 
takes ; always 
looking for that 
spot of blood to 
verify the trail. 
All the while 
somewhere on the 
opposite ridge the 
deer is waiting. 
At last you have 
made your way 
across and almost 
to the top; you 
will not see any 
deer; he has hid¬ 
den himself in the 
thickest clump of 
brush he can find 
and he does not 
wait to see you. 
He is listening for 
your approach and 
at the first sound 
he is off. You 
may hear him and 
probably will. You 
dash for a vantage 
point to watch the 
next canyon. If 
you are lucky you 
may get him be¬ 
fore he clears the 
next ridge, but the 
odds are against you. If to go directly 
across means dangerous exposure, he will 
run down or up the canyon until he can 
make a safe crossing. But from this time 
on he becomes less calculating. 
H E becomes more listless and plods on 
with a fatalist’s indifference. O'f 
course when you come suddenly close 
he will dash away with much noise and 
bluster, but he will make only a short run 
and may even stop in an exposed position; 
or you may catch him standing on some 
sharp rise or prominent knoll, carelessly 
watching your approach. If you have been 
able to follow him to this stage, your 
chances are good; but you have had many 
an uncertain moment on the trail and only 
the greatest skill and keen sight has 
brought you through the maze of hundreds 
of other tracks, crossing to and fro or 
following the same general direction. The 
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