the trail ran, I had a most interesting glimpse of the big buck
doing the same thing from a hill farther on too far away for a
shot, but near enough to see plainly through my field glass. The
deer were farther ahead than I supposed. They had made a run for
it, intending to rest after first putting a good space between
them and anything that might follow. Now they were undoubtedly
lying down in some far-away thicket, their minds at rest, but
their four feet doubled under them for a jump at short notice.
Trust your nose, but keep your feet under you--that is deer
wisdom on going to sleep. Meanwhile, to take no chances, the wary
old leader had circled back, to wind the trail and watch it
awhile from a distance before joining them in their rest.

He stood stock-still in his hiding, so still that one might have
passed close by without noticing him. But his head was above the
low evergreens; eyes, ears, and nose were busy giving him perfect
report of everything that passed in the woods.

I started to stalk him promptly, creeping up the hill behind him,
chuckling to myself at the rare sport of catching a wild thing at
his own game. But before I sighted him again he grew uneasy (the
snow tells everything), trotted down hill to the trail, and put
his nose into it here and there to be sure it was not polluted.
Then--another of his endless devices to make the noonday siesta
full of contentment--he followed the back track a little way,
stepping carefully in his own footprints; branched off on the
other side of the trail, and so circled swiftly back to join his
little flock, leaving behind him a sad puzzle of disputing tracks
for any novice that might follow him.