It was the Moon of Popping Trees by the reckoning of the Lakota. It had been raining for some time and finally the weather broke and the sun came out. I resolved to try my hand at getting a deer for my larder.
I walked with as much stealth as I could manage to my hiding place in the crotch of a live oak tree about 10 ft above the convergence of a couple deer trails. I had earlier facilitated the climbing of the tree by a couple forged spikes and I slung my gun as I climbed to my perch - I unslung the gun and refreshed the priming and settled into my seat hidden in the green foliage of the live oak tree.
The woods came alive with all manner of birds, animals and insects working around eager to enjoy the late afternoon sunshine after 4 days of deary rain.. I surveyed the wood lot and was greeted by cardinals, sparrows and finches flittering from tree to tree nearby and the antics of a squirrel climbing into the hardwood and nut trees nearby. The oranges and red leaves of the red oaks, walnut and pecan trees contrasted nicely with the deep green of the live oak and cedar trees of the wood lot. Holly with deep green leaves crowned with brilliant red berries gave more texture and color to the scenes unveiling themselves before my eyes.
I caressed my long rifle as I waited. It was a rugged and functional rifle crafted by B. Christian of Mississippi - it was left handed with a reliable sparking lock, it sported a full stock of maple, with a reddish hue, a carved cheek rest, sliding wood patchbox . It had only a single trigger but the let off was crisp and sure, a swamped barrel of 49 cal, with a sling of linen weave.
My dress was simple brain tanned leggings (that I tanned and sewed myself) that covered my lower legs that my tan colored linen knee breeches did not, I wore half boots of light tan leather, a blue checked shirt, black silk neckerchief, a grey wool weskit, covered by a blue woodsman's frock and a black felt hat, this was held closed by a wide leather belt that carried my belt pouch with my fire kit and my forged trade knife. Over my shoulder hung my engraved powder horn and pouch with a forged antler handled long knife in a sheath on the back of it.
I watched the woodlot as the sun creeped lower in the sky, hoping that the big buck I had seen a few days earlier would come under my hiding place close enough for a shot. As I watched I heard a noise to my left, I slowly turned to see a nice fat doe in a small clearing about 25 yards away, I cocked the hammer on my gun and the doe looked my way as I leveled the sights behind her shoulder. Although, looking my way evidently she did not see me in my perch in the tree.
I took a deep breath and squeezed the trigger, the trigger broke crisply and I was rewarded with a hard shove and loud echoing "boom" as the 100 grains of FFg ignited and sent the .480 round ball whistling on it's way. I watched the doe flinch and leap almost loosing her footing and I was certain my aim had been true.
I slung my rifle made my way to the forest floor and reloaded. I went to where the doe had been standing and was grateful to see bright red blood on the leaves and debris - indicating a good lung shot. I followed the track carefully and slowly, it was not hard as every foot or so there was more blood and about 40 yards into the track I saw the doe laying lifeless in the leaves by a big oak tree.
I approached cautiously and saw that she had expired. I kneeled and gave thanks to the Great Spirit the Master of All Life for the gift of life.
Turning her over I found the my ball had passed through the doe completely.
Dan'l Hickham
