By the end of the rut the old bucks are often exhausted, their sides are thin, their necks swollen; though they are never as gaunt as wapiti bulls at this time. They then rest as much as possible, feeding all the time to put on fat before winter arrives, and rapidly attaining a very high condition. Except in dire need no one would kill a deer after the hard weather of winter begins or before the antlers of the buck are full-grown and the fawns are out of the spotted coat. Even in the old days we, who lived in the ranch country, always tried to avoid killing deer in the spring or early summer, though we often shot buck antelope at those times. The close season for deer varies in different States, and now there is generally a limit set to the number any one hunter can kill; for the old days of wasteful plenty are gone forever. To my mind there is a peculiar fascination in hunting the mule-deer. By the time the hunting season has arrived the buck is no longer the slinking beast of the thicket, but a bold and yet wary dweller in the uplands. Frequently he can be found clear of all cover, often at midday, and his habits at this season are, from the hunter’s standpoint, rather more like those of the wapiti than of the whitetail; but each band, though continually shifting its exact position, stays permanently in the same tract of country, whereas wapiti are apt to wander. In the old days, when mule-deer were plentiful in country through which a horse could go at a fair rate of speed, it was common for the hunter to go on horseback, and not to dismount save at the moment of the shot. In the early eighties, while on my ranch on the Little Missouri, this was the way in which I usually hunted. When I first established my ranch I often went out, in the fall, after the day’s work was over, and killed a deer before dark. If it was in September, I would sometimes start after supper. Later in the year I would take supper when I got back. Under such circumstances my mode of procedure was simple. Deer were plentiful. Every big tangle of hills, every set of grassy coulees winding down to a big creek bottom, was sure to contain them. The time being short, with at most only an hour or two of light, I made no effort to find the tracks of a deer or to spy one afar off. I simply rode through the likely places, across the heads of the ravines or down the winding valleys, until I jumped a deer close enough up to give me a shot. The unshod hoofs of the horse made but little noise as he shuffled along at the regular cow-pony fox trot, and I kept him close into the bank or behind cover, so as to come around each successive point without warning. If the ground was broken and rugged, I made no attempt to go fast. If, on the other hand, I struck a smooth ravine with gentle curves, I would often put the pony to a sharp canter or gallop, so as to come quickly on any deer before it could quite make up its mind what course was best to follow.