Chapter IV

The Senses Of The Game And The Hunter

  

   Having selected the ground upon which you are to hunt you will probably, if left to yourself, go wandering around the woods with your eyes fixed about fifty yards ahead of you, expecting at every turn to see a large calf-like object standing broadside to you in a nice open spot, patiently awaiting your bullet distance twenty-five or thirty yards.

  The first thing you must do is to lay aside each and every idea of how a wild deer looks that you have ever derived from your imagination, from pictures even by the best artists in the best magazines or books, even when drawn by accomplished sportsmen. No picture unless of immense size and made by a thorough hunter who is also a thorough artist can convey any notion of how a deer looks on his native heath under the circumstances in which three fourths of the time you will have to see him to get a shot. There are of course cases in which a deer appears in the woods just as he does in a picture. Such was often the case in the olden days. But such is the exception now. There is an occasional deer that is either a natural fool, or has never before seen a man, or that may have dropped into a doze in the daytime and awakened bewildered for an instant at your near approach, or, owing to formation of ground, cannot make out the direction of the noise that alarms him and stops a minute to locate it. Such an one makes an easy shot.

  The deer you will be apt to meet at this day are animals very different from the one above mentioned. And in order to understand them thoroughly it is necessary to consider well their senses.

  You have doubtless heard and read dozens of times that the deer is timid, shy, and watchful. The trouble with all such information is that it gives no idea of the practical extent of a deer's acuteness. From all I have ever heard or read one would never dream of a deer's starting two hundred or three hundred yards away, out of your sight, beyond your hearing, etc., when you were walking " so quietly," as you thought, and against the wind too. You feel dazed when you find the tracks of his long jumps so fresh and far apart. And many times must even this be repeated before the light of the true state of affairs breaks in upon your picture-trained mind.

  As a general rule, the nose of the deer is perhaps the most important sense to avoid. Not that they can smell any farther than they can see or hear; but because the smell of a man alarms them more thoroughly and completely than any sound or sight. A deer will often stop an instant to locate a noise or look at any unusual object; and when entirely undisturbed by hunting deer are so certain to do so that there is hardly ever any need of taking a running shot. But almost every wild animal knows instinctively the smell of a man. A deer seems to know it above most all others. When he catches the scent he does not have to take a second sniff of the tainted air. He has generally no further curiosity. He is perfectly satisfied as to the character and direction of the odor, and his only concern is to effect his immediate disappearance.

  This delicacy of scent is developed very early and needs no practice to keep it acute. Once, while hunting on a very hot morning, I sat down to rest at the mouth of a little canon that led into a larger one. At the time scarcely any perceptible wind was stirring. I had been seated only about two minutes when a sudden crash and bump, bump, bump of hoofs brought me with a bound to my feet, and I saw two half-grown fawns bounding up the canon at full speed and a hundred yards away. On examining the ground I found that they had been lying under a thick bush of sumac about eighty yards from me, and had sprung several feet at the first bound. An intervening rise of ground showed plainly that they did not see me, and as I had been walking in a soft dusty cattle-trail with moccasins with great stillness, sat down quietly, and sat without anything moving for over two minutes (just about the time it would take scent to move to them in the light breeze there was), I feel equally confident that they did not hear me. From my knowledge of that ground I know positively that those fawns had never before met a man. I have often noticed that fawns, though they may stand and look at you, or stop when you start them with a noise only, seldom stop when they smell you.

  He who has seen a good dog scent grouse against a cool morning or evening breeze on a prairie needs scarcely to be told of the distance at which a deer can smell such a great gross beast as a man, especially with a cool damp breeze in a valley.

  This fear of a man's scent is also more universal than the fear of a sight or sound of him. In an open country deer will often stand and watch a distant man when they know perfectly well what he is. The brush-deer often cares little for noise, and will let a man come tearing through the brush quite close to his skulking form. But let such a deer catch your scent and he tarries no longer.

  Still there are times when the scent of a man does not alarm deer. But this is probably due more to the casual existence of cross-currents of air that carry away the scent than to any indifference on the part of the deer. Also when running, and even when walking, they will often pass to leeward of a man, and may come very close to him if the man keeps perfectly still. Where they seldom see a man on a horse or in a wagon, deer will frequently stand quite unconcerned within plain sight and scent of both. And where men travel much on horseback they will often do the same thing if they are not much hunted. But upon these exceptions no dependence must be placed, as where one thus stands probably two slip away unobserved.

  Where much hunted the ears of a deer become the most acute and practiced of his senses. And in many sections it is his hearing that makes the most difficulty in approaching him. And often it is the hardest of all his senses to avoid. I have often seen a deer spring from his bed at a bound and run away at a racer's speed before I was within two hundred yards of him, when I was positive that a man could not at twenty yards' distance have heard the soft tread of my moccasins on the light snow, and when I touched not a single bush or twig in a way that could make a noise. Yet the fact that the breeze was coming from the deer to me showed that he could not have smelt me. And looking from the deer's bed to my own position at the time he sprang showed plainly that he could not have seen me even had he been standing instead of lying down as he was doing. Lie down upon the ground in the woods some still day about the time of your companion's return to camp and see how far you can hear his footsteps even with your dull ears.

  Even when the long practiced and moccasined foot falls on the ground as softly as snow, even when the leaves or twigs are softened with long rain, there is a faint crushing, packing sound that acute ears can hear along the ground a long distance. And the lightest snow, if of any depth, makes a faint grinding noise as it packs beneath the foot. So they will hear at a long distance the snapping or brushing of twigs against your clothes and the switching sound in the air as you let them fly back. These latter are, however, not so apt to alarm a deer lying down as sounds from the feet, though the other sounds may be the more audible to you.

  Deer know, too, as well as a man the distance of sounds, and also their character, and are rarely deceived. They will often lie all day within plain hearing of the noises of a settler's cabin, the sound of the ax, and the lurid vocabulary of the teamster in the "pinery." The crash of a squirrel's jump, the roar of thunder, the snapping of trees with frost, their creaking or falling in the wind, generally does not alarm them in the least. Yet the faint pressing of the leaves beneath the feet, or the crack of a twig a hundred yards or more away, may send them flying.

  The direction of noise, however, often perplexes deer. And in their perfectly natural state their curiosity to know its exact location and precise character generally leads them to stop after running a few jumps. And often they will rise up and look, standing directly in their beds. After a certain amount of persecution they generally lose this curiosity, become perfectly satisfied with a general presumption of mischief, and stand not on the order of their going; though the very wildest of deer may occasionally yield to the temptation to take just one look.

  Against the wind a deer cannot of course hear so well as he can down the wind. But even up wind you should relax no caution, as in such case there is generally no need of haste.

  An apparent exception to this sense of hearing is in case of the skulking or hiding deer. The exception is, however, apparent only. Deer that live much in very thick brush, often depend, like many other animals, upon standing or lying still and letting you pass them. They know perfectly well that you cannot see them. The deer of Southern California is very apt to be of this character when found in the brushy regions. Even when in the open hills or in the timber-groves or in the mountains this deer is not half so shy of noise as is the deer of the Eastern woods. If deer in San Diego County were as afraid of noise as they are in the Wisconsin and Minnesota woods it would be nearly impossible to approach them in the dry season when the brush, grass, and weeds are brittle. In Southern California they depend more upon their scent and sight than upon hearing. But it would be absurd to suppose that they do not hear. Many a hunter there loses a shot through his folly in reasoning upon this point. A deer does not stand or skulk because you make an extra noise. That trick he will play anyhow if he has decided on that course. But half the time instead of standing he slips quietly off before you get in sight of him. You gain nothing on the skulker by your noise. And by it you lose the other entirely.

  Another exception, which is perhaps apparent only, is the case of deer in open ground. This results mainly from the difference in the appearance of distances in the woods and in the open; distance in the woods appearing much greater. It is probable, too, that sounds can be heard a trifle farther in the woods owing to there being less wind and some cover over- head. At any rate, it seems so with noises not too distant, though the point is a hard one to prove.

  To recognize an object at rest the eyes of a deer are about as dull as those of a dog. But this, again, has two partial exceptions. On open ground deer can often recognize a man quite well, especially if he be standing. And if they have taken any alarm they will be quite sure to do so. Even in the woods if a man be standing and the deer has taken alarm, the deer will be quite apt to identify him. But as a rule, if the deer is unalarmed, he will not know a man from a stump on open ground if the man is seated and motionless; nor will he in the woods even if the man is standing. If the deer is moving, and especially if running, he is quite blind to anything ahead of him, provided it does not move. Hence if some one drives a deer toward you, you need little or no concealment if you keep still. But when he gets in sight of you, beware how you move a step for a better position. You may do it, but your game is liable to switch off to one side in a twinkling.

  A deer can also see a long way. I have seen them watching my companion nearly a mile away, whose motions I could hardly make out myself. It is doubtful, though, if a deer can distinguish a man at any such distance, or even at half of it.

  But a deer's eyes are marvelously quick to catch a motion. And the fact that deer are generally at rest while you are in motion gives them an immense ad- vantage over you. So keen are their eyes to detect a motion that if you once get within their eye-range and they suspect you, it is almost useless to try to get a single step closer to them. From this arises the common hunter's maxim, "When you see a deer, shoot;" a maxim demanding great qualification, however. A deer not alarmed may often be approached after you come within his sight; as we shall see hereafter.

  Not only are they quick to detect a motion, but they can detect a very slight one or a very slow one, and do it, too, at quite a distance. The slow rising of your head over a ridge, the slow movement of your body across the trunks of trees, the slow motion of a creeping body along the ground they see almost instantly, unless the motion happens to be made while they have their heads down feeding or walking, etc. A deer once started watches back with an acuteness that in the woods is quite certain to baffle the keenest- eyed pursuer, and is likely to do so on open ground. And when much hunted by tracking they learn to watch their back track without waiting to be started.

  The senses of antelope are about the same as those of deer. Their great bulging eyes like old-fashioned watch-crystals will catch a far slighter motion than those of a deer, will catch it three or four times as far away, and catch it, too, in almost any quarter of the horizon. My experience with them at close ranges has been too limited to enable me to determine satisfactorily whether they are as sensitive to noise as a deer. So far as I have seen they are not, though this is probably on account of being on open ground; a distinction before explained. For the same reason the question of scent seems to be less important. But then you should not presume in the slightest upon any failure of acuteness in any of their senses; and especially in their eyes, to which you must never yield a single point of vantage.

  In fact, you must not presume upon any exception about the senses of either antelope or deer. If you deal with every one as if he were the most wary of his race, you will lose nothing if he turns out a simpleton. Whereas if you deal with any as if they were simpletons, you will lose not only the wise ones but many a simpleton also.

  And now let us consider what you have with which to outgeneral these senses of your game.

  I have seen one man who claimed that he could smell deer. As he could make no practical use of his power in jumping, or starting, or finding the animal, even against a cool morning breeze, it may be considered worthless even if it were not all in his fancy.

  A good musky old buck in the fall, if close by, may be smelt. And so may a billy-goat. But the buck cannot be smelt far enough to keep him from discovering you first. The hunter's nose may be regarded as useless except to find camp at evening when the bacon and coffee are ready.

  Your ears will often detect the sound of hoofs when you have started a deer, and are then useful as a guide to your eyes. They may also help you discover a deer moving in brush or on hard ground if near at hand. They may also catch the snort or bleat of a deer. They should by all means be cultivated.

  But your main reliance must be your eyes. And these should be of the first class. If you are near- sighted or weak-sighted you may as well give up all hope of being anything like an expert. You may be a good shot at the target and see very well with glasses, but you will lack that quickness, comprehensiveness, and acuteness of sight that is indispensable to success. A deer hanging up in market, standing in a park, or stuffed in a museum is one thing. But in the ground where he is generally found, whether feeding, standing up or lying down, he is quite another. This is the reason why all pictures are misleading. A deer as he appears about five sixths of the time in his native home would make an almost invisible point on a two-by-four-foot canvas. Not only his smallness but his varying color and shape in different lights and positions, the fact that one seldom sees the whole of the body at once and sees it then only on a dim, perhaps dark, background, make him one of the hardest of all objects to catch with the eyes. Nothing in the whole line of hunting is so important as to see the deer before he sees you; and there is scarcely anything else so hard to do. In this more than in almost any other one thing lies the secret of the old and practical still-hunter's success. Sometimes a dim blur in a thicket; sometimes a small spot of brown or gray or yellow or red or white or nearly black far away on a hillside or ridge; sometimes a dark gray or brownish patch among tree-trunks or logs of the same color; sometimes only a pair of slender legs, looking like dead sticks beneath a huge fallen tree; a few tines looking like dead sticks in a distant bush; a pair of delicate ear-tips just visible above weeds, brush, or long grass; a glistening point or two where the sun strikes upon a polished horn; a shiny spot far away where the light just touches a bit of glossy hair. It takes the highest combination of natural keenness and culture of vision to detect one until just a second or two too late for a shot. I shall never forget the surprise of a certain youth who even in boyhood was distinguished among far older hunters for his acuteness in seeing squirrels hidden in trees, hares in their forms, woodcock on the autumn leaves ahead of the dog, etc. etc., when he first began to turn that eye on deer, and see them run out of a thicket through which he could see clearly; and going to it, find the deer had been standing up in it all the time he was looking through it.

  Very often it is impossible for anyone to see them; as where they are in thick brush, old pine-slashings, heavy windfalls, especially when lying down. So when they lie in the long slough-grass of the prairie, and in hot weather when they lie in the shade. Of course they will sometimes be in such a position that anyone can see them at once. But this is the rare exception and must not be depended on. A good glass is a great help in a large open country; but you must not allow yourself to depend on it, and should use it only when you have to. In timber it will generally be of little use, though if you must carry a lot of things it will do no harm and may be useful. For antelope-hunting it is often almost indispensable. Every spot of white or brown or gray, every hazy line, every point or glimmer like mirage for miles around should be carefully scanned with it. But for deer it had better be generally reserved to resolve doubtful things which you first catch with the naked eye. Otherwise your eye will lose the extreme keenness and quickness absolutely necessary for good stillhunting.

Chapter V

The Daily Life Of Deer And Antelope

  

   Before one can expect any success in still-hunting he must know something about the daily life and movements of the game. In hunting antelope this is not of so much importance, as they live in country so open, are so conspicuous in color, and keep so much in bands, that with a good glass and careful searching from prominent points they can be seen at immense distances. And this must be done anyhow, for they are such wide rangers that there is little use to be made of their tracks except to get their general course; and when you are once upon their range you can employ your time to better advantage in covering as much ground as possible with your horse and sweeping it with your glass.

  But the deer keeps so close to some kind of cover, is of a color so neutral, often resembling the general background upon which he is to be seen, that one may often pass within easy shot of a dozen without seeing them at all unless they run. There is little trouble in seeing antelope, on rolling ground at least, provided you get within a half-mile or so of them. The main difficulty is to get a shot after you do see them. With deer it is not only difficult enough to get a good shot, but almost as hard to find them at all. The general whereabouts of antelope being known, it is little trouble or rather it takes little or no skill or knowledge to find their particular whereabouts. But, given the general whereabouts of deer, it generally, on bare ground, remains a highly intricate problem to find the clew to their particular whereabouts. To do this, on ground where it is not possible or advisable to track, a pretty accurate knowledge of the deer's life is necessary. This varies so 'much in the details in different countries, and even in different parts of the same country, that all that any writer can do within the limits of a general work is to mark out the outlines and leave them to be filled in by your own experience and study in the woods.

  The deer is an early riser. He is generally up before daybreak, and often up the whole night except at short intervals. But by daybreak he is nearly always on foot. About the first thing he does in those countries where water is scarce and where the season is dry and hot enough to make him thirsty is to start for water. This he may do very leisurely, though; feeding along the way and taking plenty of time to look about him, so that he may not reach water until sunrise or long after. Or he may go straight to it and walk away quite as rapidly as he came. Or he may come directly to it and then lounge away from it, feeding and looking as he goes. How a deer will act in going to water or leaving it, as well as his time of watering, are things that cannot be reduced to rule. When entirely undisturbed they will in hot weather water at any time of day, and when flies or mosquitoes are bad will spend much of their time there if there are large bodies of water. But where there are simply small drinking-holes they will rarely stay there, and if disturbed much will water only at night or very early in the morning. And they will be apt to do the same when watering very near a house or spring where they may see people passing, even though they are not shot at. In the forests of nearly all the Eastern States, especially in the mountains, water is so abundant that little use can be made, in still-hunting proper, of the question, When and where does a deer water? For fire-hunting, etc., the question has its importance. And even in those dry countries where the water-holes are scarce one must beware for the reasons heretofore given of placing too much reliance upon a deer's habits in regard to drinking.

  A deer is, however, quite certain to feed more or less after daybreak, even though he may have been on foot the greater part of the night. The deer belongs to that class of animals like the horse, the ox, etc., that can see tolerably well in the dark and always do a certain amount of moving about at night, but nevertheless prefer a little more light when it is not too inconvenient to get it. So that, though he may be never so well fed during the night, he is quite likely to take a little more browse or a few more acorns at daybreak.

  Like a cow or horse in good pasture a deer may do all of his feeding on an acre or two of ground, or he may straggle over fifty or a hundred acres of equally good feed. Which he will do it is impossible to determine except approximately. When in heavy brush he is apt to feed close. So when he has been much on foot during the night, as during full moon; so when he is hunted much. On the contrary, in thin brush or during the dark of the moon, or when little disturbed, he is more apt to straggle about while feeding. The quantity of food at hand seems to make little difference. A deer will often wander on over ridge after ridge well covered with acorns, picking up one or two here and there and going on a few yards for more, or eating half a dozen here and there and going on a hundred yards for more. In such particulars he is governed mainly by whim.

  A deer may straggle over fifty acres, feeding and finishing very quickly, or he may take three or four hours about it. The same when feeding on a small space. He may stand and browse half an hour on one bush, or after one or two bites leave it for the next one, which perhaps is not half so good, and spend an hour in trying fifty bushes. In all these respects he is a provokingly aggravating beast, governed largely by caprice and often upsetting your best calculations. And it is often very important to make these calculations correctly, especially in hunting open country, where you see a deer feeding a long way off and need some time to get within good shot. But in general, the length of time a deer will feed will depend, as in case of the space over which he will wander in feeding, upon the moon and the amount of persecution he has. It will depend also upon the weather. In very hot weather he will, as a rule, finish feeding and lie down sooner than in cool or cold weather.

  In nearly every case in which deer are foraging in a garden, a turnip-patch, or other cultivated crop, they understand perfectly what they are about. Daybreak will nearly always find them gone or departing. When feeding in such a place they must generally be sought far away from it in the daytime.

  But when feeding after daybreak there is one thing a deer rarely fails to do, and that is to keep up a pretty constant watch for danger. Every moment or two the head comes up and scans at least half the circle of vision, while the big ears flare impatiently for the faintest sound. Sometimes this looking is continued so long and suspiciously that you feel positive that he suspects you. Yet if you have perfect patience you may soon find that he suspects nothing, though he may have been looking never so keenly and directly at you. When the head is thus up and the animal watching, it is unsafe to make the slightest movement if you are near, as, even if you are out of his sight, his ears are then keener; if within fair shot, you should shoot notwithstanding the movement necessary to do so, as a deer thus watching is liable to vanish at any moment, and, even if suspecting nothing, is liable in a second to slip out of your sight behind a bush or tree or rise of ground.

  Having finished feeding, the deer generally proceeds to lounge a while. He is a gentleman of elegant leisure, and has all the deliberate ease of aristocratic dignity. He stands a while and surveys the landscape or the dark rotunda of tree-trunks around him. Then perhaps he scratches one ear with a hind-foot, wiggles his tail, and stands a while longer. If there are any fawns, they are apt to skip and play a little. A year- ling is also apt to feel a little frisky, and even a dignified old doe or buck may romp a minute or two with some young deer.

  But there is generally at such times a decided tendency to move on. This is generally done by easy stages. The deer walks slowly a little way, and then stops a while. Why he stops he probably does not know himself. He may nibble a twig or two during these pauses, or he may stand half an hour by a bush full of succulent and savory twigs and not touch one. He may stand two, five, twenty, or thirty minutes and do nothing; or he may move slowly on, making numerous short pauses. If the weather be cold or very cool he will be almost certain to stop in the sun- shine. If it be hot he is quite as certain to tarry in the shade; generally on the shady side of a bush if on open ground. As he often postpones drinking until after feeding, he may all this time be tending toward water; though, as a rule, when going to water after feeding that is, unless feeding toward water the deer walks fast and stops but little. While thus walking or lounging along the deer is generally not as watchful as when feeding. He will often stand a while with head down like a cow, especially in a rain or snow storm, and often when in the shade on a hot morning. When the sunshine feels good on a cold morning he is more apt to have his head up. But, as I have before remarked, never presume upon a deer's carelessness if you can help it.

  This lounging spell may be continued for an hour or two or three hours, depending, like his feeding, much upon the length of time the deer has been on foot during the night, the temperature of the morning, and amount of still-hunting.

  All this time he is either tending toward the ground where he will lie down, or when he finishes his lounging he starts for it. In a previous chapter, under the directions where to look for deer-tracks, I have given the places over which a deer will be most apt to pass during his feeding and lounging time; though there is scarce any place over which he may not pass. In a subsequent chapter I will give the kind of places to which he is most apt to go to lie down.

  The length of time deer will remain in bed during the day is also impossible to determine. Sometimes they will lie until four or five o'clock, and sometimes rise by three. I here mean rise for the rest of the day. In very hot weather, if a deer has a cool shady place away from flies and mosquitoes he is very apt to stay there during all the heat of the day. And if much hunted and he finds good comfortable and safe cover he is also likely to stay. But in cool, cloudy, or windy weather, especially if little disturbed, he is quite apt to be on foot two or three times during the day, browsing a little, lounging a little, shifting position a little, or merely getting up for the sake of lying down again. During the dark of the moon, if little hunted he is apt to feed a little during mid-day. In rainy or snowy or cold blustering weather he is quite apt to be on foot the greater part of the day, standing most of the time in some brush-patch, windfall, or sheltered ravine or little gulch, with head down like an old cow.

  In the afternoon, if the deer rise early he is quite apt to lounge about a while as he did in the morning. If he rise late he is quite apt to go directly toward his feeding-ground, though he will doubtless browse some on the way. He will then feed and lounge about in much the same way he did in the morning until dark. In hot weather, if he is little disturbed he is quite as apt to go to water between sundown and dark as he is to go there in the morning.

  For a long while after dark the deer is still on foot. If the moon be full he may be on foot most of the night. If he has any mischief to do he can find his way to it without any moon. Sometimes he will lie down and sleep a large part of the night in one bed. Sometimes the same deer will make three or four different beds in one night. When very much persecuted he will do nearly all his feeding, watering, sleeping, etc., during the night, without regard to the moon or anything else, and spend the day in close concealment.

  These movements are varied somewhat in what is known as the "running time;" a matter we will consider hereafter.

  How much antelope move by night I cannot say. But they certainly move far more by day than deer do, and it is therefore probable that they move much less at night, if they move at all. Though they lie down during a large part of the day, they are still much longer on foot than deer are. And generally some of the band are on foot while the rest are lying down. All that I have ever seen watered in the morning from sunrise to nine or ten o'clock. Their habits may, however, vary in this respect with places. They are much more apt to feed ahead on a straight course than deer are, and cover a much greater area of ground in doing so. They go- many miles for water if necessary. In fact in nearly all their business they travel a mile where a deer goes two hundred yards. But whatever they are doing they are watching, watching, watching; trusting more to their great eyes and less to nose and ears than a deer does to his.

​

Chapter VI

Looking For Deer That Are On Foot

  

   Since it is generally so hard to catch sight of a deer until it is just too late to shoot, and since lying down is a position in which it is generally next to impossible to see one at all, it follows that far brighter prospects of success lie on the side of finding a deer on foot. So much is this the case that in many kinds of ground it is almost useless to try to get a shot at one in any other way. Such is the case where deer are keeping in heavy swamps, canebrake, tule, chapparal, or other stuff that is too high and too dense to afford a fair shot at one when running. There your only chance of success is to find them on foot along the edges, or from some piece of rising ground see them moving or standing in the covert. You may in such kinds of ground find enough eminences to give you some fair running shots at deer started below you; but such is not generally the case.

  And now we are about ready to take the field. But let us first see whether the day will do for still-hunting. For, recollect, there are some days when you might almost as well stay at home. Such are the still, warm days of autumn, when you can hear a squirrel scamper over the dead leaves a hundred yards away; " When not a breath creeps through the rosy air, and yet the forest leaves seem stirred with prayer."

  Such are the days when the snow is crusty and stiff or grinds under your feet, while the trees snap and crack with the frost; in short, all days when you can- not walk without making a noise that a man could hear at forty or fifty yards; though even on such days it will pay you to go out and study the movements of deer and the " lay of the land." And if it should be very windy, by moving against the wind you may get a shot, though when the trees are creaking and rattling with wind the deer are often in a very nervous condition all day; but against a strong wind they cannot smell you and cannot hear you as well as usual.

  But when the autumn rains have softened down the dead leaves and sticks, or during or just after a gentle rain, or when the ground is covered with an inch or more of soft snow, then is the time, especially if a gentle breeze sighs through the tree-tops, when your heart may well bound high with hope.

  We will first consider hunting on bare ground.

  To find a deer on foot you had better be in the woods about the time the morning star begins to fade in the first smile of coming day. This exactness is not always necessary. But if deer are not very plenty, or if they have been much hunted, or if the moon is near or past the full, the earlier you are in the woods after it is light enough to see a deer at all, the better.

  Let us first try the oak ridges, as these form the easiest ground upon which to take your first lessons.

  The first questions that arise are, from which way shall we approach the ridges? and, in which direction shall we traverse them?

  In determining these points, the first thing in importance is the wind. Be cautious how you decide that there is no breeze yet. If you can notice it in no other way, wet your finger, and holding it up see if you can feel one side colder than the other. This test on a cold morning in dry air is quite delicate, the faintest movement of air making the side toward the wind cooler from increase of evaporation.

  There being no perceptible wind, the next thing in importance is the elevation of ground and its freedom from brush, etc. It is best in hunting such ridges to walk where you can move with the least noise and can get the best view of all the other ridges and the intervening hollows. We will therefore wind along the highest ridges; they being in most places quite free from brush.

  And now we must move with great caution. Avoid, when possible, walking through any brush that your clothes will touch. If you cannot help touching some twigs, ease them off with your hand so that they do not scrape on your clothes, snap, or make a switching noise in flying back. Above all beware of treading upon dead or dried sticks or piles of dead leaves, and feel the ground cautiously with each foot before you rest your whole weight upon it.

  But none of this care must take off any of the attention of your eyes. For these must ajl the time be sweeping the whole ground as far ahead as you can see and covering the whole arc of a semicircle in range. Do not look as a child or woman does at only one thing at a time but let your gaze be comprehensive as well as keen, taking in at one view the near and the distant, the front and the sides of your field of vision.

  At the same time beware of going too slowly. To traverse sufficient ground is quite as important in the long-run as anything else in still-hunting. You must rid your mind at once of the besetting sin of the tyro the idea that nearly every bush contains a deer. It is true that a deer may be in any bush. And you must hunt and look upon that assumption. But it is equally true and often equally probable that there is not one within quarter of a mile of you. And the speed of your movements must be often based upon that assumption. Between these two conflicting principles you must learn to make a happy compromise; yielding sometimes almost entirely to one, sometimes almost entirely to the other; sometimes taking the golden mean between the two.

  Here we are on the ridges at last. And you at once see signs of deer about you. Here, there, and everywhere are places where sharp-toed hoofs have pressed down the dead leaves. In some places they have cut through the leaves. In some places they have pressed a damp leaf into the ground so that it forms a lining to the track. Pick up a few of the dry leaves and see if any of those lying next the damp ones below are moistened any on the underside. Here is one with a distinct trace of dampness where it has been pressed against a wet one below. The leaf has had no time to dry since it was done. Here, too, close beside it are droppings that have had no time to dry (or freeze, if it be cold weather). Put your fingers in several of these footprints and see if they are not of different sizes. Observe the size also of the droppings. Let nothing escape you that will indicate the number of the deer, so that you do not mistake the work of one for that of half a dozen. Here is a bit of ground that is quite bare. And upon it are plainly visible three different-sized tracks. One is that of a big buck. The others are tracks of a doe and fawn. The "edges of the tracks and the bottom of the depressions are clear-cut, smooth, and fresh-looking, in that appearance so impossible to describe. A little more inspection shows that the droppings, too, all vary in size.

  Look carefully now all around as far as you can see. But do not look for a deer. Remember this singular advice. Do not forget it for a moment. One of the greatest troubles that besets the beginner is looking all the time for a deer. If the artist's deer is in sight you will see him quickly enough. Never mind that beast at all. Spend all your time in looking for spots and patches of light gray, dark gray, brown, or even black. Examine all you can see from only the size of your hand to the size of a small goat. Never mind the shape of them. Examine, too, everything that looks like the thick part of a thicket, and every blur or indistinct outline in a brush. No matter how much it may look like a bit of stump, fallen log, shade, or tangle of brush, or how little it may in shape resemble a deer; if it is in brush, or anywhere where you cannot see clearly what it is, give it a second, even a third, look. Look low, too, very low, along the ground. And be very careful how you run your eye over a bit of brush, deciding that it is too low for a deer to be in without your seeing him. Not only does a deer in the woods generally look entirely unlike the deer that stands in Imagination's park, but it does not stand half so high in the woods as it does in that park. When un- suspicious, a deer often has his head down, and this, too, makes him still lower. You need not be looking at this time of day for a deer lying down, but look just as low along the ground as if you were looking for one lying down.

  There are numerous such spots, patches, and blurs in view. But under a keen scrutiny they all fade into stumps, pieces of log, etc., and you are satisfied that there is nothing in sight.

  Before going on, now, stop a moment and take a very important lesson. You see that the ground in every direction is dented with tracks. There is scarcely a square foot anywhere without two or three or half a dozen prints in it. You see, too, droppings in every direction. Now nearly every tyro, and a great many who have hunted enough to know better, will think at once of not less than forty deer. They will not so express it in words. And if asked directly how many they thought had made all these tracks, they would doubtless tone it down to eighteen or twenty. But the latent idea that remains in their mind is of about forty deer.

  Now all these tracks and dropping were probably made by only three deer* There may have been five or six; perhaps another doe and fawn or two fawns. Or perhaps another old buck and a yearling or two-year- old buck. But if you examine the age and size of the tracks and droppings, you will see how three deer visiting this ground every day could in two or three weeks make all this amount of indications. You can- not say positively that they alone did it. But they could have done it. And the probability is that they did. You cannot see the proof of this now. For that you must wait until snow comes or until you can get on bare ground where you can track welt and can see just how a few deer can mark ground. Until then take my word for it. For a proper idea of how many deer there are about you will save you a large amount of wondering, disappointment, and vexation, as well as help you direct your steps to the most proper places to search for what they are. Few things so perplex the beginner and make him go wandering so aimlessly about the woods, expecting to see deer every minute yet ever fretting with disappointment, as exaggerated notions of the quantity of deer around him.

  Here you see where the buck has gone down the side of the ridge we are on and across the flat below. He has doubtless crossed the next ridge. Although it is generally not worthwhile to track an old buck at this time of year, especially when the ground is bare a thing almost impossible where tracks are so numerous as they are here yet at this time of the morning fresh tracks are an excellent guide, and it is often best to take a look in the direction in which they have gone. Remember what I told you about the quantity of deer. You will see the expediency of doing this instead of roaming idly off in any direction.

  In moving across this flat between this and the next ridge you may now go quite fast. But be still cautious about noise. And above all things tread on no dead sticks.

  Here, you see, is the track again where the buck has gone up the next ridge. But it turns off and goes toward the neck of land that joins this ridge to the one we just left. No matter, though ; he may have turned again. Now look over the ridge just as keenly as if you knew he were in the next hollow.

  Slowly now ! very slowly ! For your head is about to rise over the crest of the ridge and come in plain sight of everything on the next ridge beyond and in the hollow between. Drop your gun, too, from your shoulder.

  Here are two important points, the neglect of which causes even quite good hunters to lose many a deer. Many a one brings half his body into view at once before he fairly begins to look. Then his gun remains on his shoulder, flashing in the sun perhaps, swinging as he turns his body to look from right to left, always making an unnecessary amount of plainly visible motion if it should be necessary to lower it to shoot. You remember what I told you about the quickness of a deer's eye to catch a motion. Should you happen to bring your head in view of the deer at the time when he happens to have his head up and be watching which is at least one half and often two thirds of his time when on foot he is almost certain to see you unless you raise your head as little as possible and do it very slowly. This is extremely important in antelope-stalking; but its importance in deer-hunting, even in heavy timber, must never be underrated. Therefore make this a habit, so that you come to do it unconsciously to drop your gun always in going up the crest of a ridge; to show no more of your head than is absolutely necessary; to inspect the ground beyond, layer by layer, beginning with the farthest ground on the ridge beyond and running gradually down into the hollow. An exception to this would be when you know the game is in the hollow, when you know it to be alarmed or moving, or when your scent can blow over the ridge into the hollow. In such case it may be best to get on your hands and knees to look over instead of showing your whole body to anything that may be on the slopes beyond. And you never need your gun on your shoulder at such times. Cultivate this habit at once. It will cost you a minute or two of time only, requires no extra work, and will secure you many a good standing shot where you would otherwise get only a wild running one or too long a standing one.

  A long and careful look over the ground beyond shows you no game. You however notice plenty of tracks on this ridge also. And careful examination will show you that they were made by the very same deer that tracked up the last ridge.

  Here, too, are three or four smooth, oval depressions in the ground about two or two and a half feet long and about half as wide. The leaves in them are pressed down nice and flat, and there are some quite fresh tracks in them made after the occupant rose. I need hardly tell you that they are beds; but I do need to tell you that they are night beds. Therefore you need not expect to see a deer lying at the foot of the next tree or under the next bush.

  The distinction between beds made by deer at night and those made by them during the day is important, and one almost certain to be overlooked by the unassisted beginner. And it is almost certain to make him waste much time and temper in searching for deer on ground where they lie only at night, while they are lying down perhaps a mile away. This subject properly belongs to another chapter, but I call your attention to it now that you may lose no time with these beds. The distinction is this. Deer will at night lie down almost anywhere; but if disturbed by hunting or otherwise they will hardly ever lie down by day on or near their feeding-ground, or near their watering-place, or on any ground except such as, in a subsequent chapter, I shall describe as " lying-down ground."

  Instead of crossing this ridge and going to the next one, keep along the side you are now on, but just enough below the crest to see over and along the top of the ridge. Follow it along in this way until you reach the neck of land that connects this ridge with the one you were last on. Then peep as cautiously over this as you did over the last ridge.

  You see several new ridges leading away in various directions, with nice little hollows between them containing charming places for a deer to stand in or feed in. But you see nothing resembling a deer. Pass on, then, along the main backbone of the ridges, and keep a keen watch from side to side, being careful about showing too much of yourself or showing even the upper half of your head too quickly to anything that might be in any of the hollows; and examine the tops and sides of every ridge as carefully as you can.

  Here, you see, are some more beds; and the tracks in two of them are of different size from those we saw before, which shows that within a quarter of a mile there have been since last evening at least five, probably six and perhaps seven, different deer. These, too, are only night-beds, and the occupants may now be half a mile or more away. But as it is not yet time to lie down, they may be only a hundred yards away. And now you may 'walk still more slowly, for the chances of being near a deer are increasing. Of course the more plenty deer are, the more carefully you must move.

  But see here ! What is this ? Down the sloping side of a ridge the ground is torn up and the fresh dirt and leaves thrown about. There are four such places nearly together. In some of them there are plain marks of two long split-hoofs and two prints of dew-claws just back of them. Here is another set of such marks fifteen feet farther on, and again about twelve feet beyond these last. The dirt thrown out is dark, soft, and damp. The bottom of the torn-up place is in some spots clean, smooth, and even shiny^ You need not be told what mean these long plunging jumps of sharp-edged hoofs. But to take a good lesson, follow the track back a few jumps.

  It leads back to the top of the ridge and stops at a small clump of bushes about waist-high. Here, you see, are some fresh tracks and droppings of a pretty large deer. Here, too, are the ends of many twigs all freshly bitten off. Mark, too, the direction of the tracks the biter made as he stood here browsing. You find that they point toward where you were a minute or two ago. "It could not have been possible," do you think ? It does indeed seem strange that a deer could have been standing in brush so low and thin as this and you not see him. But that he should run away in full bounding career without your seeing or hearing him does seem incredible.

  Now put a piece of paper on these freshly bitten twigs and then take your track back to the place where you first come in sight of the paper.

  Following your track back some sixty yards along the ridge, we reach a point where the paper first becomes visible. And behold ! you can almost see through all that brush, and it appears not over two feet high !

  Now mark well your error, and never forget it. It is not at all likely that he either heard or smelt you, for you were going with extreme caution, and a gentle breeze was rising and was in your face. But you passed your eye too carelessly over that brush just because it was so low and thin. You thought of course you could see everything there. You were hunting in Fancy's park again and forgot that you were in the woods; and when you raised your head more and were looking around to the right he saw you, and two jumps took him out of sight. Remember again what I told you, that a deer is not six feet high in the woods, and does not spend his time in posing for a sculptor or artist.

  It will be quite useless now to go in the direction in which he ran ; for not only do you stand little chance of seeing him, but he will probably stampede all deer along his course.

  You now wander along for nearly half a mile, seeing plenty of fresh signs of deer, enough, combined with what you have already seen, to justify the conclusion that at least fifteen deer have fed on these ridges this morning; and that is quite plenty enough to satisfy any reasonable being. You begin to feel a strong hope that you will soon see something.

  You do see something, but it is another set of long, plunging jumps. Follow them back and see how you lost the deer. As long as you hunt, no matter how old you may grow in experience, make it your custom whenever you lose a deer to study how you lost him. This may occupy a little time at first, but in the end it will well repay you.

  Following the jumps back, you find that the deer was standing on the clear open top of the ridge when he started. The direction of the wind shows that he did not smell you; it is not at all likely that he heard you, for you were moving very quietly and were also down the wind from him, just as in the other case; and a glance back at the ground over which you came shows that you could have seen him at least a hundred and fifty yards off.

  To one having much pride in his acuteness of sight this would seem good proof that some other cause or thing had startled the deer. But you had better lay aside all your pride, and remember that this fact may also prove that a deer in the woods can see you and run away without your ever seeing him run. And this can happen in woods and on ridges much more open than these are. You probably passed your eye directly over a small, dim, dark-grayish spot far away among the tree-trunks without a suspicion of what it was; and as your eye wandered on around the circle of vision you never noticed its disappearance. Your trouble is that you cannot yet comprehend in the concrete what you already are beginning to realize in the abstract the difficulty of recognizing your game under the circumstances under which you are most likely to meet it. Your scrutiny of the woods is as yet entirely too general, and is not one half as keen as you flatter yourself it is.

  You now pass over nearly half a mile, when suddenly you see a grand old buck standing in a thicket a hundred and fifty yards away. There he stands in all the majesty of the buck on the powder-flask, with his big antlers, big neck, big body, and all.

  No; do not shoot from here. He suspects nothing, and will stand there a few minutes. You can easily get close enough for a sure shot. Back off from this ridge and work around its point. That will bring you to that large fallen log that lies within seventy-five yards of him.

  With chattering teeth, quaking heart, and crawling hair you finally reach the fallen tree. Taking a cautious look, you see nothing ; a still more keen and cautious look reveals only a greater intensity of nothing. After more looking and carefully advancing you reach the place where he was. But there is nothing there, and there are no fresh tracks, signs, or jumps to show that a deer has been there within two days. You lean against a huge piece of fallen white-oak that has lodged in some brush among some upturned roots and of charred trunks of fallen pine, and wonder where your deer is.

  Well, go back to the ridge and look at the log against which you are leaning, and take a lesson quite as important as any you could possibly take to-day; namely, how a deer does not look in the woods. At that distance and among that kind of stuff a deer would not be one third as large or distinct as what you saw; and if he were standing there motionless it would take the very keenest of eyes to detect him.

  The sun is now getting so high that most of the deer have probably left the ridges and gone off to lie down; and we will leave them for another time. But be not discouraged in the least by the fact that you have seen no deer. You have learned far more than if you had shot one. For if you had killed one you would probably have sat for a week beneath a cataract of joy and conceit, perfectly blind to all one could tell you. Few things are so fatal to ultimate success as an early germination of the idea that you are "a pretty smart chap on deer." It is almost as ruinous as the idea that you are a poet. The teachers you need are disappointment and humiliation. If these cure you of still-hunting, it is well; for it proves you were not born for that, and the sooner you quit it the better. But if there is any of the true spirit in you, defeat will only inspire you. You will learn more from your failures than many do from success, and they will arouse you to double care, double energy, double keenness, and double hope.

  The analysis of error is a far better source of instruction than the analysis of truth. For this reason we will at first study failures more than successes. And this will be rendered all the more easy by the fact that at first you will probably have little besides error to study.