They were
grassy, brushy, rocky, but it was their steepness that made them so hard
to travel. Right off, half way down, we started a herd of bucks. The
noise they made sounded like cattle. We found tracks of half a dozen.
"Lots of deer under the rim," declared Copple, his eyes gleaming.
"They're feedin' on acorns. Here's where you'll get your big buck."
After that I kept a sharp lookout, arguing with myself that a buck close
at hand was worth a lot of bears down in the brush.
Presently we changed a direct descent to work gradually along the slopes
toward a great level bench covered with pines. We had to cross gravel
patches and pits where avalanches had slid, and at last, gaining the
bench we went through the pine grove, out to a manzanita thicket, to a
rocky point where the ledges were toppling and dangerous. The stand here
afforded a magnificent view. We were now down in the thick of this
sloped and canyoned and timbered wildness; no longer above it, and aloof
from it. The dry smell of pine filled the air. When we finally halted to
listen we at once heard the baying of the hounds in the black notch
below us. We watched and listened. And presently across open patches we
saw the flash of deer, and then Rock and Buck following them. Thus were
my suspicions of Rock fully confirmed. Copple yelled down to Edd that
some of the hounds were running deer, but apparently Edd was too far
away to hear.
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