black-tailed deer.

Now I had always wanted to kill a black-tailed deer, and this was the
first time I had ever seen one, so I begged Nat to let me shoot it.

He said, with a laugh, "Shoot away!" and I took deliberate aim and
fired.

"Ha! ha! ha!" roared he, as the fellow bounded away unharmed, "it's as
clear a case of 'buck-fever' as ever I saw."

"Not at all. I aimed too high; that was the only trouble."

"Jest so," replied Nat; "a man with the 'fever' always aims too high."

"I'll bet I won't miss the next one," said I, angry at the imputation.

"I'll bet you will, two to one on it," said Nat. "But it's too late to
get another shot to-night, so we'll wait until to-morrow evening; and, in
the mean time, I'll give you a few idees 'bout deer."

"As soon as the sun had sunk to his rest the next evening, I borrowed
Nat's 'call' and started out."

"What's a 'call'?" inquired Ned.

"A 'call' is a whistle, made from an eagle's bone. It is generally
fancifully carved, and, when sounded, makes a noise that perfectly
resembles that made by a young one in calling its mother. So perfect is
the imitation of the bleating of a fawn, that, when properly sounded, you