Once when stalking deer, the animal became alarmed and started to run
away behind a screen of scrub oak. Young, perceiving that he was about
to lose his quarry, shot at the indistinct moving body. Thinking that
he had missed his shot, he searched for his arrow and found that it had
plowed up the ground and buried its head deep in the earth. When he
picked it up, he noted that it was strangely damp, but since he could
not explain it, he dismissed the matter from his mind.
Next day, hunting over the same ground, he and Compton found the deer
less than a hundred and fifty yards from this spot. It had run, fallen,
bled, risen and fallen down hill, where it died of hemorrhage. Their
inspection showed that the arrow had struck back of the shoulder, gone
through the lungs and emerged beneath the jaw. With all this it had
flown yards beyond, struck deeply in the earth, and was only a trifle
damp.
Upon another occasion, while hunting cougars with a hound, I came
abruptly upon a doe and a buck in a deep ravine. It was open season and
we needed camp meat. Gauging my distance carefully, I shot at the buck,
striking him in the flank.
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