After a good night's rest and a bounteous breakfast, we set out in high spirits, and were soon far out in the foothills.
One who has never seen these peculiar formations can have but little idea of them. On every side, as far as the eye can see, undulations of earth stretch away like the waves of the ocean, and on them no vegetation flourishes save buffalo-grass, sage-brush, and the cactus, blooming but thorny.
The second day I rode horseback, in company with Will and one or two others of the party, over a constant succession of hill and vale; we mounted an elevation and descended its farther side, only to be confronted by another hill. The horseback party was somewhat in advance of those in carriages.
From the top of one hill Will scanned the country with his field-glass, and remarked that some deer were headed our way, and that we should have fresh venison for dinner. He directed us to ride down into the valley and tarry there, so that we might not startle the timid animals, while he continued part way up the hill and halted in position to get a good shot at the first one that came over the knoll. A fawn presently bounded into view, and Will brought his rifle to his shoulder; but much to our surprise, instead of firing, dropped the weapon to his side. Another fawn passed him before he fired, and as the little creature fell we rode up to Will and began chaffing him unmercifully, one gentleman remarking:
"It is difficult to believe we are in the presence of the crack shot of America, when we see him allow two deer to pass by before he brings one down."
But to the laughing and chaffing Will answered not a word, and recalling the childish story I had heard of his buck fever, I wondered if, at this late date, it were possible for him to have another attack of that kind. The deer was handed over to the commissary department, and we rode on.
"Will, what was the matter with you just now?" I asked him, privately. "Why didn't you shoot that first deer; did you have another attack like you had when you were a little boy?"
He rode along in silence for a few moments, and then turned to me with the query:
"Did you ever look into a deer's eyes?" And as I replied that I had not, he continued:
"Every one has his little weakness; mine is a deer's eye. I don't want you to say anything about it to your friends, for they would laugh more than ever, but the fact is I have never yet been able to shoot a deer if it looked me in the eye. With a buffalo, or a bear, or an Indian, it is different. But a deer has the eye of a trusting child, soft, gentle, and confiding. No one but a brute could shoot a deer if he caught that look. The first that came over the knoll looked straight at me; I let it go by, and did not look at the second until I was sure it had passed me."