A Frontier Doctor Page: 43

OVER THE TRAIL TO SANTA FE

glanced to the right and saw, not over one hundred yards
away, a big blacktailed buck deer standing broadside on
with his head turned toward us. I shall never forget my
sensations at that moment. Instead of having a violent
case of the buck ague that I always understood attacked
a tyro at such a moment, I was never more composed or
self-possessed in my life. Had that deer been on my left
I should have shot from the saddle, but now I quickly slid
from my horse, dropped on one knee, drew a bead just
behind the fore shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The
buck reared on his hind legs, whirled, and darted away.
My gun was a single shot and I was reloading as rapidly
as possible, but, before I had slipped the cartridge in, my
quarry reared again on his hind legs and fell over back-
ward, dead.
I actually believe my guide was even more pleased than
I was. It seemed she was a dead shot herself, as was
evidenced by some target shooting that was indulged in
next morning. She was also a remarkable horsewoman
and was riding a beautiful Kentucky thoroughbred that
was her favorite mount. During the mountain part of our
trip she led me through places where had I been alone I
think I should have dismounted and hoofed it.
We lived high on venison for several days, but the as-
says at Cheyenne failed to pan out - another golden
bubble busted!
At the Chug Water, a small stream a short distance
north of Cheyenne, we met a large herd of cattle from
Texas with a convoy of cowboys, the first of the kind I
had ever seen.
Traveling south along the east slope of the Rockies, we
passed Denver, Colorado, and camped one night near the
home of a rancher by the name of Jones. McCune had a
violin, on which he and I could play any old tune by ear
and main strength. We would aim to go into camp as

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