I signaled the Colonel
to halt and I shot the doe, breaking her neck, while sitting on my
horse. I then told the Colonel to secrete himself behind a tree
and he would soon see the male deer, and he would stand a good
show to get a fine pair of horns. In a few moments two deer came
tracking the one I had shot.
"Be ready, now," said I, "and when he stops let him have it." So
when the deer were within about fifty yards I gave a keen whistle
and they stopped, stock still. The Colonel fired and brought the
big buck to the ground. The other, which was a small one, started
to run, but I sent a bullet after it that made more venison.
We now had plenty of meat, and the Colonel was as proud over
killing that deer as I was over my first pair of boots.
We stopped here until the command came up, dressed the venison and
went on our way rejoicing.
Soon we were ascending the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and about
three o'clock we struck the snow-line.
To one who has never gone from comparative summer in a few hours'
ride, to the depths of winter and a considerable depth of snow,
the sensation is a strange one. Of course, I had often done that
before. But having more leisure to think of it now, and having
more to do with the snow, I thought of its strangeness, and I am
reminded of a little girl whom I have become acquainted with long
since those days, and the effect that the first sight of snow had
upon her.
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