Then, full into sight and_ heading 
straight for Crumpler, were two bucks, 
looking as if they might have been 
twins. Their winter coats were fresh, 
and their horns glinted. On they 
rolled, straight for the unwary stander. 
He had, indeed, heard a dog; so, lay- 
ing down his cigar 
leisurely, he took off 
his glasses, intending 
to wipe them clear 
of mist, so that his 
vision would be un- 
clouded. He reached 
in his coat for a hand- 
kerchief, and drew 
this out slowly. It 
was fresh and folded. 
I don’t know whether 
the sight of it made 
him sneeze, but he 
did sneeze; then he 
shook the white cloth 
violently to get it out 
of its creases. 
S it happened, the 
two bucks were 
by that time pretty 
nearly on him; and 
he was shaking that 
handkerchief in their 
very faces! They 
whirled, as deer only 
know how to whirl, 
and you can well be- 
lieve that they waved 
their handkerchiefs 
at him! But he never 
saw them. I yelled 
to him; but he did 
not hear me. He 
wiped his glasses, set- 
tled them on his nose, 
and peered forward 
with the attitude of 
a keen_ sportsman. 
But he did not long 
imagine himself to be 
one, for I came up 
and showed him how 
close a call he had 
had from being run 
over. 
“Go It, Dorkey!” 
Colonel Henry W. 
Shoemaker, the au- 
thority on Pennsyl- 
vania deer and their 
horns, relates the fol- 
lowing amusing story 
that is an interesting and authentic 
tribute to the prowess of the frontier 
women of our earlier history. “James 
Stackpole became enamoured of Dor- 
cas Holt and married her when she 
was eighteen years of age. They kept 
a hotel along the old pike below McVey- 
town. Dorcas, his wife, was of a very 
vivacious nature. She could fiddle like 
a man and could dance with the best, 
and with it all, including her hotel ex- 
perience, which she continued to run 
after the death of her husband, she 
was a good Presbyterian. She loved 

Photo by Dan McGowan 
A study in grace. 
parties, and believed in having a good 
time and in stopping at nothing if 
there was a good time ahead. In her 
old age, when she was ill, a friend in- 
quired of her son James how she was. 
He irreverently answered ‘Oh, if it was 
a good supper she was going to, mother 
would have been off long ago.’ It was 
not meant for unkindness, but as a joke 
owing to her love of the socialities of 
the time. 
“It is related of her that upon one 
occasion she saw a deer crossing the 
river near her hotel, raced into the 
river by some hunt- 
ers. She ran to the 
water and caught the 
deer by the horns 
just as it was emerg- 
ing from the water, 
and, after a hard 
struggle, succeeded in 
drowning it. As the 
combat was going on 
the hunters reached 
the opposite shore of 
the river, and seeing 
what was going on, 
they called to her, ‘Go 
it, Dorkey!’ And she 
did ‘Go it’ until she 
had the deer into 
venison, which she 
probably could do, as 
she often said she 
thought nothing of 
jumping into a hog- 
pen and killing a 
hog.” 
The Last Straw 
REMEMBER a 
shrewd remark 
made to me on one 
occasion by an old 
native hunter. There 
is, perhaps, some in- 
justice in it, but 
every sportsman will 
understand the ele- 
ment of truth that it 
contains. A mighty 
hunting party had 
gathered in the 
Southern deer woods. 
It was more like a 
political rally than a 
hunt. There were a 
great many men pres- 
ent who had never 
hunted deer, and 
some who had _ not 
been on a hunt in 
years. There were 
many shiny pairs of 
puttees, creaking 
pairs of new khaki 
trousers, and guns 
that looked too bright 
for real execution. I was talking to 
one of the drivers, a regular old deer- 
slayer, who had to his credit several 
hundred deer. “Ben,” I said, “what 
are we going to do with all the veni- 
son we get to-day?” He cast a cold, 
calculating eye on the impatient and 
647 
