marksmen, and sometimes even they will
lose their game at it.

The stories so often told of "long shots" at deer and tigers and geese
and other terrible wild beasts are, for the greater part, of the kind
that are known as "fish stories," and Steve would have been glad if
that buck had been a few rods nearer.

He knew his rifle was a good one, however, for it was a seven-shooting
repeater of the latest and best pattern, and had been selected for him
by Murray himself out of a lot the Lipans had brought in, nobody knew
from where.

"Steady, Steve! Think of the deer, not of the gold-mine."

"I'll aim at him as if he were a gold-mine," replied Steve, as he
raised his rifle.

"I'll try for one of the does at the same time," said Murray.

Crack! crack! Both rifles were discharged almost at the same instant;
but while the antlered buck gave a great bound and then fell motionless
upon the grass, his two pretty companions sprung away unhurt.

"I aimed too high," said Murray; "I must lower my sights a little."

"I've got him," exclaimed Steve--"gold-mine and all; but he'll be a big
load to carry to camp."

They found him so. They were compelled to take more than one
breathing-spell before they reached the head of the ravine, and there
they took a long one--right on the gold-bearing ledge.

"Splendid pair of horns he has--" began Murray, but Steve interrupted
him with,

"That's it! That's the name of this mine when I come for it!"

"What's that, Steve?"

"It's the Buckhorn Mine. They always give them a name."

"That'll do as well as any. The ledge'll stay here till you come for
it. Nobody around here is likely to steal it away from you. But
there's more ledge than mine just now."

So there was, and Steve's countenance fell a little as he and Murray
again took up their burden and began to toil under it from "stair to
stair" down the rocky terraces of the grand chasm.

"We won't go any farther than we can help without a horse," said Murray
at last. "And there's the big-horn to carry in."

"Murray, that big-horn! Just look yonder!"

It was not far to look, and the buck they were carrying seemed to come
to the ground of his own accord.

"Cougar!" exclaimed Murray.

"The biggest painter I ever saw," said Steve, "and he is getting ready
to spring."

The American panther, or, as Murray called him, cougar, is not so
common among the mountains as he is in some parts of the forest-covered
lowlands, but