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In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
leaned his gun against a tree, and went 
over to the fallen monarch. The other 
hunter looked on. In an attempt to 
turn the deer over, to discover the 
nature of his wounds, the dismounted 
hunter seized the creature by his big 
horns. Instantly, he was hurled to the 
ground by the buck as he sprang up, 
leaped amazingly, and showed as clean 
heels and as spirited a white tail as 
ever hunters beheld. The hunter on 
the horse was too astonished to shoot. 
It was not the wounded buck at all, but 
the. same kind of a buck had been 
asleep on the sand! The quiet ap- 
proach of the hunters had not been de- 
tected. Then, in my own opinion, the 
buck must have been slightly deaf, for 
when a deer’s eyes are shut, his ears 
are open. Neither buck was seen again. 
A Strange Case of Buck Fever 
When a hunter is at all liable to buck 
ague, it is a fatal thing to get his tem- 
perature up. This is sometimes done 
unawares by a friend who, in calling 
to him, whistling to him, or making 
signals to him, starts his pulse to rac- 
ing and his eyes to seeing things (never 
the sights on his gun, however). 
WAS once witness of a strange case 
of this kind. We were hunting in 
open woods, and the land was level. 
The day was clear and balmy. Before 
us was a long thicket, with the bushes 
not over three feet high. Five of us 
were posted at the head of this. It 
looked too easy. If anything comes out, 
I thought, it will be peach pie. I even 
eased my mind about that member of 
our party who was of a flighty dispo- 
sition. Surely, I reasoned, under such 
perfect conditions, if anything gets up 
he will not be excited. The woods were 
as silent as a cave; in the blue sky a 
buzzard was lazily wheeling. There 
didn’t seem to be any likelihood of a 
deer’s being near. But suddenly the 
drivers started one. It came out in 
slow, graceful lopes. “A lamb to the 
slaughter,” I muttered. I never saw 
a deer run more unconcernedly. Its 
gait was lazy; it seemed to be tempting 
us. But it doubtless knew its busi- 
ness; for it picked the man liable to the 
fever. I don’t know if he saw the deer 
but one of the standers, nearer him 
than I, feared that he did not; so he 
shouted in a low, raucous way, “It’s 
a fine buck! Shoot! Shoot!” 
HE hunter sprang from his log; he 
whirled round in an excited way; 
he descried something flying over him, 
and let loose both barrels at it. He 
had shot at the circling buzzard! The 
buck, meanwhile, passed him easily, 
seeming to give a knowing wink as he 
did so. When questioned concerning 
his extraordinary behavior, the hunter 
simply said defensively: “A mist 
: 
seemed to come over my eyes, and I ; 
shot at what I saw moving.” It sounds ~ 
unaccountable, but other sportsmen 
have doubtless seen the same kind of 
a thing done. This unfortunate didn’t 
even kill the buzzard! To this day, 
the stand where the incident occurred 
is known as the Buzzard Stand. 
“De Cunnel Done Shoot!” 
On a deer hunt one day, the negro 
drivers had been a good deal disgusted 
by the abominable missing that had 
been done by a lot of amateurs. They 
seemed to be getting all the shots, 
whereas the best sportsman of the 
crowd, an old Southern colonel, had 
had no chance. At last, toward the 
close of the day, far off in a wildwood 
fastness, was heard a gun whose sound 
the drivers readily recognized. One of 
them turned in a relieved way to his 
comrades. ‘“Let’s put on de pot, boys, 
de Cunnel done shoot!” That was a 
genuine tribute indeed! 
Scared Him to Death 
EPBURN MORRISON, a_ good 
deer hunter, told me this story. 
“One day I was standing at the head 
of a myrtle thicket, when three bucks 
walked out broadside. One was much 
larger than the other two. I let drive 
at the big one first, and then at an- 
other. Both deer fell. The third ran 
on to another stander.. When I went 
up to mine, I could find but one, the 
small one. I went over to the other 
stander, and found that he had my big 
buck. He had shot at the other buck 
also but had missed it. He believed 
that he had killed the large one. But 
when I explained that I had shot as he 
was presenting one broadside, and he 
as the buck was turning the other, and 
as all the buckshot had struck on my 
side, I must have done the execution. 
The truth is that the large buck had 
started on, though mortally wounded. — 
The shock of the second gun firing at 
him brought him down, although the 
shot themselves had not struck. him.” 
So in the sport of deer hunting there 
are many ways to get enjoyment other 
than by killing a deer. There’s sport 
in the comradeship of genial men in the 
woods together; there’s pleasure in the 
woods themselves; and there are the 
stories that are told of the day’s ex- 
periences that, though they may | 
count hard luck, are perhaps of more 
human interest than flat tales of dead 
shots. I am not saying that I do not 
like to make dead shots on deer. Every 
time I make one I change the size of 
my hatband. But I mean that there 
are a hundred other things besides the 
actual killing to relieve a man’s feel- 
ings and to make deer hunting worth 
while. 
It will identify you, 
