My father-in-law had a large field of fall wheat, upon which, during the night, the deer were very fond of grazing.  Just before dark, the herd used to make their appearance, and we tried repeatedly to get a shot at them, but in vain.  At the least noise, or if they winded us, up went their tails, and they were off in an instant.  I was determined, however, not to be so continually balked.  I had observed, by the tracks, the direction they took in their way to the field; so, an hour before their usual time of coming, I sallied out, and concealed myself in the top of an old fallen tree which lay a few feet from the ground, and about twenty yards from a path which I suspected had been beaten by the deer, going backwards and forwards to the field.

The place I had selected to watch for them was an old settlement duty-road, which had been cut out some years before, but was now partially grown up again with a second growth of timber and underbrush.  Having seated myself very snugly, I took out of my pocket a volume of Shakespeare to pass away the time.  I had not been half-an-hour so employed, before my attention was suddenly aroused by hearing a stick break near me, when upon looking up I beheld the head and horns of a large buck projecting from behind a thicket of trees.  He appeared to be in a listening attitude, so I durst not stir till he should have lowered his head, as I knew the least movement then would make him start off in an instant.  Luckily, however, the wind was blowing from his direction to mine.  Presently, he walked into the open space; and whilst I was cautiously raising my gun, he disappeared beneath the brow of a small hill; but almost immediately, from the inequality of the ground, his head and shoulders again became visible.  On this, I instantly fired.

Astonished and mortified was I, when I saw him scamper off with his tail up, as if nothing had happened.  Still, I was sure I must have hit him, as he was not forty yards from where I sat, his broadside being towards me.  So I followed the track for about two hundred yards, but without seeing any blood; and was in the act of turning back, concluding, that as he had hoisted his tail, I had missed him altogether.  Indeed, I had often heard, that if they show the white feather, as putting up their tail is called by Canadian sportsmen—­they are not hit.  This, however, is a mistake; for, in the act of turning round to retrace my steps, I saw a small drop of blood upon a dry leaf.  I now felt quite certain that I had struck him.  On proceeding a few yards further, I saw several large splashes of blood.  There was now no room left for doubt; and, in another minute I was standing beside the first buck I had ever killed.  On opening him, I found I had put a ball and five buck-shot into him, which had entered just behind the fore-shoulder; and though two of these shots had lodged in the lungs, he had, notwithstanding this, continued to run on the full jump, more than two hundred yards.