hunters will lie, occasionally; I have hunted somewhat myself, and I know it. Old S. used to keep a hotel and drive stage on the San Mateo and Pescadero road. He had hunted more or less all his life. One day he was telling a party of tourists about a big deer-hunt he had a few years before. Warming up with his subject, he pointed out with his whip a steep bluff on the hill-side above them, and thus concluded his narration: "Well, you see, gents, I had just got down in that little canon there, when I seen a deer standing right by that big redwood, and went for him. I didn't see but one deer when I fired, but that deer just gin one leap and come crashing down inter the bush thar as dead as a door nail, and blast my pictur' ef three more didn't come jumpin' over arter him, each one shot so dead that he never kicked. That was jest the strongest shootin' gun you ever seed in yer lives, gentlemen. I never seed its ekal, and I've seen some in my time, I kin tell yer! But the curiousest thing about it was, that the fust deer I fired at was shot right through the side of the head, jest above the eye, and through the off hind foot, jest above the huff. Fact, gentlemen!" "Through the hind hoof and head at the same shot!—how the deuce could that be?" exclaimed one passenger. "Look here, S., don't you think that is drawine it a little strong?—four deer at one shot, and only saw one of them!" said another. "Well, as fur the bullet going through the hind foot and head at the same time, yer see he was jest scratchin' his ear with the huff when I fired. That's easy enuff counted fur; but the hittin' of four on 'em one after
