The lakes were full of good fish, black bass and pickerel, and the woods had deer, turkeys, pheasants, pigeons, and other things, and I became quite an expert in the capture of small game for the table with my new gun.

Father and uncle would occasionally kill a deer, and the Indians came along and sold venison at times.
One fall after work was done and preparations were made for the winter, father said to me:--"Now Lewis, I want you to hunt every day--come home nights--but keep on till you kill a deer." So with his permission I started with my gun on my shoulder, and with feelings of considerable pride.

Before night I started two deer in a brushy place, and they leaped high over the oak bushes in the most affrighted way.

I brought my gun to my shoulder and fired at the bounding animal when in most plain sight.

Loading then quickly, I hurried up the trail as fast as I could and soon came to my deer, dead, with a bullet hole in its head.