--on the
one hand, with that of Muir, on the other--a lover of his kind, healthful,
inspiring to gaiety, superabounding in vitality. Naturalists of this type
of mind, and so faithful in perfecting the talents entrusted to them, do
not often appear in any age.

In the designations of refuges for deer, various questions are to be
considered, such as abundance of food, proximity to water, suitable
shelter, an exposure to their liking, for they may be permitted to have
whims in a matter of this sort, just as fully as Indians or the
residents of the city, when they deign to honor the country by their
presence. The deer feel that they are entitled to a certain remote
absence from molestation; moderate hunting will not entirely discourage
them--a dash of excitement might prove rather entertaining to a young
buck with a little recklessness in his temperament--but unless a deer be
clad in bullet-proof boiler iron, there are ranges in the reserves of
southern California where he would never dare to show his face during
the open season--regular rifle ranges. Where very severely hunted, like
the road agent, they "take to the brush," that is, hide in the
chaparral. This is almost impenetrable. It is very largely composed of
scrub oak, buckthorn, chamisal or greasewood, with a scattered growth of
wild lilac, wild cherry, etc. So far as the deer make this their
permanent home, there is no fear of their extermination. They may be
hunted effectively only with the most extreme caution. Not one person in
a thousand ever attains to the level of a still-hunter whose
accomplishment guarantees him success under such conditions. There are
men of this sort, but these are artists in their pursuit, whose
attainments, like those of the professional generally, are beyond
comparison with those of the ordinary amateur. To hunt successfully in
the chaparral, requires a special genius. One must have exhaustless
patience, tact trained by a lifetime of this sort of work, perseverance
incapable of discouragement, the silence of an Indian, and in this
phrase--when we are dealing with the skill of one who can make progress
without sound through the tangles of the dry and stiff California
chaparral--is involved an exercise of skill comparable only to the
fineness of touch of a Joachim or a St. Gaudens. This sort of hunter
marks one end of the scale of perfection; near the other and more
familiar extreme is found the individual of whom this story is told. He