
ness on chance, for Fate gives no 
odds, and the cards are sometimes 
stacked. I never say, “If I get a deer 
I shall be happy”; for that infers that 
if I do not I shall be feeling like a 
monk at a frolic. It is better to take 
a deer as an unexpected blessing. Ex- 
pect long fruitless waits, stretches of 
woods that have not held a deer for 
years, frantic but vain scrambles up 
and down hills, frostbite, hunger, 
weariness. You will be pretty sure to 
get these; expect them, therefore, and 
you will not be disappointed. Expect 
also some fun out of the trip, and cer- 
tainly the joy that comes to the true 
hunter just from being in the woods. 
And don’t miss your chance to laugh— 
at the other fellow, perhaps, but bet- 
ter than that, at yourself.... I am go- 
ing to give here some of the laughs of 
deer-hunting, and some of the odd inci- 
dents that have supplied the sport that 
‘he deer could not or would not. 
I: never pays to stake one’s happi- 
The Braying Albino 
“rom Charleston, S. C., a party of 
dees hunters set off into the neighbor- 
ing pine woods. For some reason the 
talk on the way to the stands fell on 
albino deer. All agreed that there were 
such creatures, and one hunter de- 
clared that he had seen one. He was 
complimented on his imagination. How- 
ever, despite the scoffing, the idea of 
a white deer was fixed that day in each 
hunter’s mind. But the hunt for deer 
of any kind proved fruitless. Finally, 
in the last drive, at sundown, on the 
borders of an old plantation, there was 
an outcry from the dogs. One of the 
hunters, stationed on the borders of a 
deep myrtle thicket, heard a crashing 
coming his way. He saw a large white 
form through the myrtles. Up went 
his gun, and away he banged. There 
was a horrible sound from what the 
hunter supposed was an albino deer! 
Never having seen or heard one, he 
thought it likely that this was the reg- 
ular sound one would emit when mor- 
tally wounded. In the greatest pride 
and excitement he burst through the 
thicket toward his fallen prize. 
HERE, stretched ungainly and 
dead, was an ancient white mule! 
The dogs had run it out of a near-by 
646 
to the Followers of the Southern White Tail 
By ARCHIBALD RUTLEDGE 
field, and the hunter had done the rest. 
Nor did the hunt end there; for the 
owner of the deceased mule appeared 
on the scene. And then there had to 
be some real hunting to square the ac- 
count of damages! 
The negroes of that region and some 
white men as well declare a true albino 
to be a “hant.”’ And they say that not 
only is the white deer spectral, but 
that no man will eat of its flesh save 
a ghost that is merely masquerading 
as a man. 
The Blind Man’s Buck 
I used to know quite well a blind 
man, Dan Moore by name, living in the 
pinelands. He had a house near the 
road, and from the forest he and his 
sons had wrested a few acres of land. 
He used to tell me how the deer used 
to eat his corn and sweet-potato vines. 
Ors day at twilight Moore was sit- 
ting alone on his porch, all his 
family being away. Down the road 
and into the yard came a small negro, 
Henry Colleton. ‘Mr. Moore,” he said, 
“there is a big buck eating up your 
potatoes, sah.” Moore got his gun and 
the negro piloted him by a back way 
through the woods to the field fence. 
There, laying the gun on a rail and 
making the little boy point it for him, 
he fired and killed a great buck. The 
antlers of this deer were for years ad- 
mired by those who passed the Moore 
home. 
The Old Doe and the Ox 
I used to know two old hunters who 
were great rivals. One had about six 
hundred deer to his credit, and the 
other had almost as many. As the 
years passed their prowess became a 
matter of local pride; and this made 
them somewhat jealous of each other’s 
ability. One day A, the first hunter, 
while riding in a thicket, espied a red 
patch on the ground. He stretched his 
gun out in his right hand and fired. 
The thing was done in an instant, from 
a moving horse, and was a good shot. 
On examination, the deer proved to be 
a doe. B, the other hunter, when he 
came up and heard the feat described, 
said with a grunt, “Huh, anybody can 
shoot an old doe in her bed!” 
-Swer ready. 
one describe that father’s feelings? 

The very next day the same men 
were hunting. A truly superb buck 
ran to A, and was promptly downed. 
The size of the deer was remarkable. 
As B came up, A said, “Well, what do 
you think of him?” But B had his an- 
“Huh,” he grunted, “any- 
body can shoot an ox.” 
The Two Rifles 
je Blue Ridge Summit, Pennsyl- 
vania, there is a famous deer-— 
hunting club. One of its most enthu- 
siastic members is a man who has a 
boy ten years old. Last season, the boy — 
begged to be taken into camp with the 
father. “I’m old enough, father,” he ~ 
pleaded; “besides, you have just bought — 
a new rifle. I can use your old one.” — 
But the father was obdurate—and_ 
probably wise. He went away to camp 
in the near-by mountains and left the — 
boy at home. A few days later the 
boy was in the yard near the house © 
when he heard a rock slide down the — 
hillside that sloped to -the garden. 
Looking up he saw a great buck, just 
pausing to look and listen before com-— 
ing on. The boy ran into the hoa 
got the old rifle, loaded it, returned to 
his crossing, and by a clean shot laid 
the antlered monarch low. An hour 
later, his father and others of the hunt- 
ing club tracked the buck in the light 
snow to his very door. There they 
found the boy and his buck. Can any 























I knew an old sportsman by the 
name of Crumpler. He was a store- 
keeper; but every time he got a chance 
he went into the woods. However, his 
luck was proverbially bad. This was 
due perhaps partly to chance; but it 
was due also to the fact that he would 
do wrong things while in the woods. 
He invariably smoked on a deer-stand, 
and he was the kind of a smoker who 
delighted to envelop himself in a cloud. 
He would talk to himself absentmind- 
edly, and could be heard singing little 
snaches of old-time song. His near- 
sightedness was another drawback to 
his being a successful hunter. 
Be all of us were fond of him, and 
we always tried to give him a shot. 
One autumn day, I was on a deer- 
stand about a hundred yards from 
Crumpler. I heard a dog trailing. 
