He chases deer
and gets many small and helpless fawns, hunters say.

Fur-hunting was once a profitable business for the Indians, who were
clothed in bear and panther skins when the first white men came to
California, and had many furs to trade or sell. The Indians trapped
otters, beavers, and minks, and the squaws tanned the deer-hides to
make buckskin shirts or leggings. Hunters and trappers still bring in
these wild animals' furry coats after trips to the high mountains or
untravelled woods, where the shy creatures try to live and be safe
from their enemies.

In early days herds of a very large deer, called elk, fed on the wild
oats and grass. These elk had wide, branching horns measuring three
or four feet from tip to tip. Only a few of them now survive in the
redwood forests in the northern counties. There were plenty of them
once where San Francisco now stands. Dana in his book called "Two
Years Before the Mast," tells us that when his ship dropped anchor off
the little village of Yerba Buena about sixty-seven years ago, he saw
hundreds of red deer and elk with their branching antlers. They were
running about on the hills, or standing still to look at the ship
until the noise frightened them off. At that time the whole country
was covered with thick trees and bushes where the wolf and coyote
prowled, and the grizzly bear's track was seen everywhere.

[Illustration: CALIFORNIA RED DEER. From a photograph by George V.
Robinson.]

There are plenty of deer in the redwoods now, and in the high
Sierras are black-tailed and large mule-deer. In the woods round Mount
Tamalpais timid red deer live, too. In winter, when it is cold and
snowy in the northern counties of our state, these deer often come
into the farmer's barnyard to nibble at the hay.

There are still left in the mountains among the pines and snowy cliffs
many mountain-sheep. These curious big-horned animals resemble both
the elk and the sheep, and it is said they can jump from a high rock
and land far below on their feet or heavy, twisted horns without being
hurt in the least.

Of all the great herds of graceful, fast-running antelope, once the
most plentiful of our wild animals, only a very few can now be found
on the eastern slopes of the Sierras.

But Master Coyote, who might well be spared, so cruel and cowardly is
he, still sneaks up and down the whole state, and his quick sharp bark
gives notice that the rascal is ready to steal a chicken or a la