§ 337 An Over Sensitive Deer
An Englishman was visiting on a big ranch in the southern part of Texas. The country abounded in game and the visitor, who had done very little shooting in his life, became filled with an ambition to kill a deer.
His host fitted him out with a rifle and sent him on a still hunt under the guidance of a negro hand who had considerable experience at stalking. The darky led the greenhorn to a likely place on the edge of a thicket. Before the pair had traveled very far the keen eyes of the negro spied out a handsome buck feeding in the thickets and by slow degrees moving in their direction. He drew the Englishman down into a handy clump of chaparral; but when the buck almost was within easy gunshot of them he suddenly quit feeding, raised his head, sniffed, snorted, and instantly was gone. The disappointed amateur turned to his guide:
“Surely the brute didn’t see us? I did not move, I know,” he said.
“Naw suh, he ain’t see you—dat I’m sho’,” said the negro, “but I think, boss, he must a’ smell’ you.”
“But that couldn’t be,” said the still puzzled Englishman. “Why, I had a barth only this morning!”