One bright, cold November day I started from a ranch on the Little
Missouri, in western Dakota, with the set purpose of getting venison for
the ever hungry cow-boys. They depended solely upon me for their supply
of fresh meat; and as for some time I had shot nothing, I had been the
subject of disparaging comment for several days, and the foreman, in
particular, suggested that I should stay at home and kill a steer, and
not chase all the black-tails into the next county.
So I stole off this time with an almost guilty conscience, and plunged
at once into the dense brush of the river-bottom. In the thicket I
startled a Virginia deer, but knew it to be one only by the waving
salute of its white flag. I also passed a tree in one of the forks of
which I had, at another time, found an old muzzle-loading rifle, rusted,
worn, and decaying, a whole history in itself, and beyond, not two
hundred yards away, an Indian's skull with a neat round hole through
the crown.
The Keogh stage road crossed the river near by, and I found out that the
place was the scene of the last Indian deviltry in this section. It was
the old story. A man, while looking for the stage-horses, was shot; a
second, hearing the report, went out to see what it meant, and was in
turn killed; while a third, with perhaps a little more experience,
jumped on the only horse left at the station and fled for his life, with
half a dozen Indians in full cry in pursuit.
I walked on along the old trail taken by the lucky fugitive, and up out
of the river-valley to a level plateau above. From the top could be seen
in the distance several big buttes, and a dark pine-tree, which was to
be my objective point for the day's hunt. To the right, as I stepped
briskly forward, was a large washout, cut deep into the clay soil,
broken and irregular, with sage-brush scattered here and there along its
sides and bottom. At the head of the washout I spied some yellow
long-horned Texas cattle, and gave them a wide berth. I had had some
pleasing experiences of their habits, and did not care just then to be
stamped flat.
To the left, a few hundred yards away, was a long valley leading to the
river and far out into the prairie, wooded in patches, with small
pockets at intervals along the sides, filled with low brush. Here at
other times I had jumped whitetails from their daytime naps, and once
had had a running shot at a large prairie-wolf. Bearing all this in
mind, I veered over toward the valley, and had not gone far when I saw
in the distance a black-tail buck come skipping out of it, and moving
with high, long bounds, as is the way of its kind when frightened or
going at speed.
These bounds, by the way, are very curious: the animal lands on all four
feet at once, in such a small area that a sombrero would cover the four
footprints. On a few occasions, when very badly frightened, I have seen
them run level, like a race-horse; but that gait is so unusual as hardly
to be considered characteristic of this deer. The deer in question,
after a few long jumps, settled down into a trot, then into a walk, and
finally stopped and looked about. He did not see me, however, and when
he again moved off there was a man jogging quietly along in his wake.
Taking advantage of every little hollow to keep from his sight and make
a spurt, I soon reduced the distance between us, and arrived at the
further edge of the plateau just in time to see him disappear in some
broken country. Continuing cautiously on to where I had last seen him,
it became apparent that he had determined upon some definite course, for
his tracks led as straight as the nature of the ground would permit to
what I knew was the head of a large coulee which ran into the valley
from which he had come into view.
As the soil was very hard and dry, and his tracks difficult to follow, I
soon determined to leave them and cut straight for the coulee below the
point toward which he had been headed, thinking it likely that he would
continue his course down the coulee, at least for a short distance. I
ought to be able to write that "events turned out exactly as
calculated," but they did not. I ran with a fair burst of speed to the
edge of the coulee, and when, after quietly watching for twenty
minutes, no deer appeared, my mind went back to the foreman's remark
about killing a steer.
However, it remained for me to go up to the point where it was probable
the buck entered the coulee. I accordingly did so, hunting every inch of
the way, and looking for sign and whatever else might turn up. I saw
nothing, however, but two grouse that startled me, as they always do,
but especially when my nerves are strung up as they were just then. What
course the buck had taken, was now the question. Doubling back to my old
conclusion that he had gone straight, I went out of the coulee, and
followed on the line he had gone. At first it led over another small
plateau, then it dipped down again into some more bad lands, cut up and
broken with picturesque red scoria hills covered with straggling twisted
cedar-trees.
About this time my ardor for this particular buck had begun to subside,
and he was now anybody's game. Being somewhat tired as well, I climbed
to the top of a round clay butte, sat down, and lighted a pipe. I had
been smoking for about ten minutes, enjoying the mysterious scenery and
thinking what course it would be best to take, when again my buck loomed
up for a few seconds in the distance, and once more walked quickly out
of sight. This was a great surprise and pleasure, and the pace at which
I set out in pursuit would have rejoiced the heart of a messenger boy. I
ran as fast as I could, stopping to peer over every rise in the land,
and was soon rewarded by a most interesting sight. The buck had come
upon another, fully as large if not larger than himself, and they were
exchanging greetings across a small washout, each extending his nose and
smelling the other. They would sniff a minute and then turn their heads
about, flap their long gray ears, and wiggle their short black tails,
acting as if they were old friends.
It seems a great pity to shoot such noble creatures; but unfortunately
this thought rarely comes at the right time for the deer. Given, a man
having killed nothing for several days, unmercifully guyed by all the
cow-boys, and add to that a long and lively chase after constantly
vanishing venison,--when, then, the man gets within shooting distance,
it is hardly at such a time that his kindly instincts will suggest the
propriety of letting the poor beasts escape.
As for myself, with every muscle and nerve at tension from an exciting
chase, and mind fairly satisfied of game well earned, it would have
taken more self-denial than I pretend to possess not to shoot,
especially since we had been living on pork for some time. When fresh
meat is plentiful in camp, it is to a real sportsman no sacrifice to let
the does and fawns escape, or to shoot them merely with the deadly
kodak; but on this day the shack really had to have meat--those lordly
heads, too.
There is always a strong desire, when one comes upon game, to shoot at
once; but it is a good plan, if possible, to rest and get one's
breathing apparatus into proper shape. It is most exasperating, not to
say cruel, to wound a deer and have him get away; and there is a good
chance of this happening if, before your hand steadies and your head
clears, you begin to open fire.
From the direction of the wind it was quite evident that the deer could
not scent me, so for some moments I lay watching the animals with
lively interest, and wondering what they would do next.
They were apparently satisfied with an occasional sniff at one another,
but seemed at the same time to give their attention to something beyond
my view. From my position on top of a small mound, or butte, where I had
crawled with great caution, nothing could be seen either up or down a
large washout that was between me and the deer; and I had poked my gun
through a bunch of grass, and was quite prepared to shoot, when the
ears, then the head and body, of a large doe, closely followed by a
young buck and a yearling, came into full view.
To say that I was surprised but faintly expresses it, and for the time
being all idea of shooting left me, as I watched with keenest interest
the advent of the new-comers. The old doe, as if aware of her importance
as the respected matron of a family, walked sedately past the two bucks
without bestowing the least attention upon them, selected a grassy spot
in the sun, pivoted around twice to level her bed, and quietly settled
to earth, facing me. The young buck and yearling stood as if not quite
decided whether to follow her example, but finally began to nibble grass
and walk about. Here, indeed, was a pretty picture,--an embarrassment of
riches. I thought it quite possible to get one big buck, with the chance
of a good running shot at the other; and as there was no hurry, and my
gun was at a dead rest for the first shot at least, I decided to shoot
at the largest buck behind the ear, and then trust to occasion for
whatever should follow.
[Illustration: Resting.