But as he vanished among the hemlocks, trailing his old gun, I
knew that he understood the threat. To make the matter sure I
drove the deer out of the pond that night, giving them the first
of a series of rude lessons in caution, until the falling leaves
should make them wild enough to take care of themselves.



STILL HUNTING

October, the superb month for one who loves the forest, found me
again in the same woods, this time not to watch and, learn, but
to follow the big buck to his death. Old Wally was ahead of me;
but the falling leaves had done their work well. The deer had
left the pond at his approach. Here and there on the ridges I
found their tracks, and saw them at a distance, shy, wild, alert,
ready to take care of themselves in any emergency. The big buck
led them everywhere. Already his spirit, grown keen in long
battle against his enemies, dominated them all. Even the fawns
had learned fear, and followed it as their salvation.

Then began the most fascinating experience that comes to one who
haunts the woods--the first, thrilling, glorious days of the
still-hunter's schooling, with the frost-colored October woods
for a schoolroom, and Nature herself for the all-wise teacher.
Daylight found me far afield, while the heavy mists hung low and
the night smells still clung to the first fallen leaves, moving
swift and silent through the chill fragrant mistiness of the
lowlands, eye and ear alert for every sign, and face set to the
heights where the deer were waiting. Noon found me miles away on