For my part, I did not want to kill anything with a gun. It did
not seem fair; so until I took up archery, I did not care to hunt.
Therefore, the analysis of my feelings interested me considerably as we
began to have experiences with the bow.
The first deer I shot at was so far off that there was no chance to hit
it, but I let drive just to get the sensation. My arrow sailed
harmlessly over its back. The next I shot at was within good range, but
my arrow only grazed its rump. And that deer did something that I never
saw before. It sagged in the middle until its belly nearly touched the
ground, then it gathered its seemingly weakened legs beneath it, and
galloped off in a series of bucks. We laughed immoderately over its
antics; in fact, some of our adventures have been most ludicrous at
times.
Once, when two of us shot at an old stag together as it raced far off
down the trail, the two arrows dropped twenty yards ahead of it.
Instantly the stag came to an abrupt stop, smelled first one arrow at
one side of the trail, and the other on the opposite side, deliberated
a moment, bolted sidewise and disappeared.
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