After they were gone I went and picked up this trophy and stopped to meditate on my ill-luck, or want of skill. I then remembered that though I had striven to hold the front sight on one or the other of the deer at each shot after the first, I had entirely forgotten to look through the notch in the rear sight. Chagrined and mortified beyond all power to describe, I trudged along and finally reached the burn I was in search of. The sun was now high in the heavens and shining brightly, so that the game was no longer on foot, but had sought the seclusion of various bits of dense cover and lain down. My only chance for a shot was, therefore, in walking them up, which I proceeded to do. The brush was dense all over this burn, so that I could rarely see twenty yards in any direction, yet I hoped against hope for another chance. I was desperate over the disgraceful failures I had made, and yet I knew I could shoot. I had killed quantities of small game with the same rifle I was then using and had killed one deer years ago with an old muzzle loader. I could always depend upon making a good fair score at the target at 200 yards, or even longer ranges, and yet I had shot away a dozen cartridges this morning at deer, some of which were standing within a few yards of me, and had not stopped one of them. I was furious, and determined that the next shot should tell.
I walked down an old logging-road several hundred yards, hoping that some belated traveler might be found crossing or walking in it, but, failing in this, I turned out and walked along the crest of a ridge, looking down both sides of it. Struggling through briers and brush, making a good deal of noise, unavoidably, I still failed to jump a deer until I left the ridge and started toward a "draw" in which was a small meadow or slough. When half way down the hill I came to a large stump, about four feet high, from which a tree had been cut when the snow was deep. I climbed upon this to take a look at the surrounding country. As I did so, a large buck that had been been lying just below it, sprang from his bed and bounded away through the brush, showing here and there a flash of his white flag and a gleam of his majestic antlers, but not enough of his body to shoot at. I was perfectly cool now. My nervousness had all disappeared. In short, I was mad. I stood watching his course and awaiting developments with all the confidence and coolness of a veteran, instead of the novice I really was. He ran down the long hill, across the swale, and up the hill on the opposite side, and, on reaching the top of it and coming out upon open ground, turned broadside and stopped to look at me, doubtless deeming himself perfectly safe at that great distance. Standing erect on that high stump I was clear above the surrounding underbrush and had a fine view of the magnificent quarry. His head was thrown high up and well back; his ears erect, nostrils distended, and even at that distance I imagined I could see the defiant gleam of his jet black eye. His glossy coat glistened in the brilliant autumn sunlight, and his spreading antlers and powerful muscular development characterized him as a giant among his kind. As I raised my rifle slowly to my shoulder, I felt that at last I had perfect control of my nerves and that I was in some measure to redeem myself from the ignominy of past failures. I had elevated my rear sight for 250 yards, and as I looked through the delicate notch in it and saw the little golden front bead glimmer on the buck's shoulder, the muzzle of the rifle was as steady and immovable as if screwed in a vice. There was no tremor, no vibration now; and holding well up to the spine and showing the full size of the bead, to allow for the distance, I pressed the trigger.