I could not get the sight to stay steady on
the deer. Even then, with the rifle wobbling in my intense excitement, I
thought of how beautiful that wild creature was. Straining every nerve, I
drew the sight till it was in line with the gray shape, then fired. The
deer leaped down the slope, staggered, and crumpled down in a heap.
I tore through the bushes, and had almost reached the bottom of the hollow
when I remembered that a wounded deer was dangerous. So I halted. The gray
form was as still as stone. I ventured closer. The deer was dead. My bullet
had entered high above the shoulder at the juncture of the neck. Though I
had only aimed at him generally, I took a good deal of pride in my first
shot at a deer.
Fortunately my pen-knife had a fair-sized blade. With it I decided to cut
out part of the deer and carry it back to my camp. Then it occurred to me
that I might as well camp where I was. There were several jumbles of rock
and a cliff within a stone's-throw of where I stood. Besides, I must get
used to making camp wherever I happened to be. Accordingly, I took hold of
the deer, and dragged him down the hollow till I came to a leaning slab of
rock.
Skinning a deer was, of course, new to me. I haggled the flesh somewhat and
cut through the skin often, my knife-blade being much too small for such
work.
Pages:
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119