“Good deer country, son,--for these parts. They lies low up here and comes down at night to drink. Watch out for a track in the clay,” cautioned Big John as he and Sid climbed along, rifles at ready. A blue-tailed, green lizard darted across their path. Sid was watching it disappear under some loose stones, when the sudden “_Whew! Whew!_” of a startled deer made him jump with rifle half to shoulder. “Arter him!--up thet draw!” barked Big John, jumping for the ravine as the patter of quick hoofs died away over the ridge. Sid swarmed up the rocky talus while Big John leaped in giant strides along the flanks of the ravine. It seemed to Sid that a quick climb to a jutting shoulder above him would give him a shot, especially if the deer stopped to look back after his first fright was over. The loose soil rolled and slid under his feet; high above him towered the red wall of the butte, vertical and unscalable. When he at length turned to look around, he was high on the roof of the desert, its tumbled ridges stretching away to the south for limitless miles. Down below was the curving bend of the river and across it the low, square, ’dobe fort of Hinchman’s. Then he turned his back to it all and began to reconnoiter cautiously over the ridge. As he raised his head, the wag of a white flag told him that the deer had seen him, too. He was a large buck, an eight-pointer at least, and he was galloping up a vast arroyo that cleft into the heart of the mountains. Sid raised his rifle and opened fire at long range. “_Spang! Spang! Spang!_” whipped out the sharp reports, as fast as he could work the lever. “_Whoop-ee!_ Burn ’im! Set fire to ’im!” roared Big John’s voice in the ravine, and then he burst out of the head of it, looking for the buck. Sid saw his bullets strike rock in red spurts of dust. The ringing reports of Big John’s rifle now added their clamor to the din. Far off up the canyon the buck stumbled and fell; got up and went on again, and then leaped high in the air with all four feet and came down on his side. “That got him!” yelled Big John. “I don’t know which one of us ’twas. Come on down, son,--’twon’t be no pyjama party gittin’ him out of thar, old settler!”