634 
FOREST AND STREAM 
November, 1918 
THE BIG GRAY BUCK OF CEDAR SWAMP 
“NEWT” NEWKIRK RELATES THE UNFORTUNATE CIRCUMSTANCES OF HIS CONVERSION FROM 
SKEPTICISM TO SUPERSTITION IN REGARD TO WHITE DEER IN GENERAL AND ONE IN PARTICULAR 
I T was a windless, sunny day late in Octo¬ 
ber. Most of the leaves had let go their 
grasp on the trees and littered the wood¬ 
ed aisles. There'had been no rain for many 
days and hunting was practically a waste of 
time—soft-shoe as quietly as I could I made 
so much rustle and racket that every live 
thing within half a mile heard me coming. 
This rule worked both ways, however, and 
the only hope I had of connecting with a 
deer was by playing the watchful-waiting 
game. If the deer could hear me coming I 
could hear them also and I spent hours at 
a time camouflaged and listening, but noth¬ 
ing had shown up. I made up my mind 
that these wary creatures did most of their 
“rustling” at night. 
I had just come out on the shore of an 
unexpected little lake—a placid, oval body 
of water perhaps a mile long. Sitting down 
with my map and compass I doped it out 
that I was on the edge of Deer Pond about 
two miles from camp. I could take in near¬ 
ly the whole of the shore line from where 
I sat and when I first arrived I had looked 
it over carefully, but it was barren of wild 
life. Now as I went around it again with 
my eye I thought I saw something which 
had not been there before—an object at the 
upper end of the Pond near the shore—and 
glued my high-power glass to my eye. 
There stood out in detail, through the strong 
lenses, the biggest, handsomest buck that 
ever wore hair! 
In awed silence I studied him. His horns 
were magnificent and his size prodigious. 
The curious thing about him was his color. 
It was not the reddish brown hue of the 
ordinary deer, but a grayish, grizzled cast, 
especially around his head and neck. He 
stood quiet except for an occasional “all’s 
well” flick of his tail and appeared to be 
pondering. After a few minutes he moved 
slowly back into the brush out of sight and 
it seemed to me that he limped slightly. I 
lowered the glass and speculated: was it 
worth while, under the unfavorable condi¬ 
tions, to try to stalk him? The Pond was 
low and left a margin of stones and sand 
exposed over which, with rubber soles, I 
could go softly. “Nothing risked, nothing 
gained,” I mused and started. With infi¬ 
nite pains I skulked along the shore until 
By NEWTON NEWKIRK 
at last I came to where “Old Handsome” 
had disappeared. Yes, there were his tracks 
in the damp sand from which it could be 
plainly seen that his right front hoof slant¬ 
ed outward at every step. Carefully climb¬ 
ing the bank through the brush I peered 
across an old clearing beyond which lay a 
dense, dark cedar swamp—but the big buck 
had vanished. After spying about a bit I 
decided it would be better to steal away and 
come back when conditions were improved. 
When I reached camp Rube, able-bodied 
guide and cook, informed me that he had 
enough wood chopped to last us two weeks 
Then I informed him of the big gray buck 
I had seen at the head of Deer Pond. He 
listened attentively until I had finished. 
Then with a queer look on his face he says, 
“You say he was grizzled an’ gray, speshi- 
ally round the head an’ neck?” “Gray as 
a rat,” says I. “You say he limped an’ his 
right front hoof slanted out?” “Correct,” 
says I. “Biggest old booster of a buck you 
ever see, wan’n’t he?” “He sure was,” says 
I. “Yeh,” says Rube with a sigh, “that’s 
him.” “Did you ever see him?” I asks 
curious. “Did I ever see ’im!” says Rube; 
“yes I hev an’ don’t you hev no dealin’s 
with that buck, Newt—you take my advice 
an’ let ’im alone.” “Whaddye mean let him 
alone?” says I. 
R UBE slowly filled his pipe, lighted it 
and sat down on the chopping-block. 
“Lissen,” he says: “I’ve know’d that 
ole gray buck five year this fall. His head¬ 
quarters is in that cedar swamp. First time 
I ever seen ’im was on snow. I up an’ 
blazed away an’—well, my rifle busted in 
my hands and dum near blow’d my head 
off!—I cal’late I got the muzzle of ’er 
plugged up with froze-snow. I never 
tetch’d the buck, but I made up my mind I 
would, so I got a new rifle. Next time I 
seen the critter he was on the jump. I was 
runnin’ to git a shot through a openin’ an’— 
well, I fell an’ broke my leg! Hadn’t been 
for Sid Wilkins, a sport I was guidin’ I’d 
died in the woods—Sid lugged me to camp 
on his back. After them two things hap¬ 
pen’d to me I told Sid I’d had enuff an’ 
was goin’ to leave the ole gray devil alone 
which I’ve did ever sinst. Sid laff’d at me 
an’ said I was sooperstitious. Well, h 
went after the ole gray feller and whs 
happen’d? Why he got a runnin’ shot i 
the buck and clipped .’im in the right fore 
leg an’ where is Sid now?” “I don 
know”; says I; “where is Sid now?” “ 
dunno neither,” says Rube, “cause he 
dead!—pass’d away from tifoid fever soo 
as he got back home! Sinst then I’v 
know’d haff a dozen men who started oi 
to git that buck’s scalp an’ somepin haj 
pen’d to ev’ry durn one of ’em! I ws 
hopin’ you wouldn’t run acrost the bi 
feller, but now you hev, take my advice a: 
hev no truck with that buck, fer I war 
you, if you do you’ll be sorry.” 
O F course I scoffed and hooted at Rut 
and pointed out to him how absui 
and ridiculous it was to believe 
was within the power of a buck to vis 
calamity on those who went after his pel 
but this argument made no impression c 
him whatever. “When we get a rain to w 
down the leaves,” I goes on, "you and 
will just mosey over to Cedar Swamp ar 
bag that big fellow.” “Not me,” sa; 
Rube shaking his head; “I'd jest as soon { 
to my own funeral as do that. A thousa 
dollars a day wouldn’t temp’ me to help yc 
git that buck. He’s as old as Meth»sela 
an’ wise as a sarpent. I tell you, New 
that buck bears a charmed life an’ no go( 
comes to them as pesters him. If I w 
to meet him out in the woods an’ he was 
back up an’ kick me in the face, gorram 
if I wouldn’t take off my hat to ’im a 
’pollygise!” 
In the days that followed hunting co 
ditions grew worse instead of better ai 
I purposely avoided Deer Pond. 0 
night however before we turned in Ru 
studied the sky, sniffed the wind and pi 
dieted rain. His prophecy came true—ne 
morning a drizzle was falling which ke 
up all day. After sundown it grew cold 
and the morning following as good a trac 
ing snow as a hunter could wish for co 
ered the ground. At breakfast Rube su 
gested that we hunt over Quaker Bog w 
where he said deer were thicker than fie; 
“Nope,” says I; “Cedar Swamp for n 
Rube—this is the day I’m gonna connt 
