<TITLE>15. Par 46-48</TITLE>L-46 Now, it's all right to shoot a fawn; if the law says you can shoot a fawn, that's all right. It's all right to kill a calf. Abraham killed one and fed it to God. That's exactly right. It's all right, but not to kill a whole bunch of them just to be mean. It's your attitude; it's your objective and your motive again. That's where the church stands today on that. If your objective and motives is right towards God, the love of God will stream down like a fountain. That's right.
But not because, "It's my church. I want to see it my town, I want to see it my..." That isn't it. "Oh, love of God, come into my heart." There's when He comes.
Burt was mean. One year I went up there; he made him a little whistle. He could take that little whistle and cry just like a little baby fawn (That's a baby deer.) crying for its mammy. And he'd blow this little whistle like... I said, "Burt, you're not going to use that."
Said, "Oh, you chicken-hearted preachers," said, "you're too chicken-hearted."
I said, "Burt, I'm not chicken-hearted, but you're cruel. I like you as a man. I think you're a fine chum, and a good hunting partner, and a real man to be with in the woods. I trust you in any snowstorm when she's blinding. You're a good man, Burt, but, your heart's not right."
He said, "You're just too chicken-hearted." Said, "I like to watch them tumble." I know he was lying.

L-47 Took this little whistle that day we went hunting. We'd hunted all morning, hadn't even seen a track. Along about noontime we set down to eat a lunch. There's a little opening there was bare ground. He reached over to get this whistle, the snow was about like it is on the ground now, maybe not hardly so deep. And he pulled this little whistle out. I thought, "Oh, my."
And he cried like the little baby fawn crying for its mammy. And when he give this cry, just across the way about forty yards away, or hardly so far, a big mother doe (That's the mother deer.) stood up. Oh, she looked beautiful; great big ears, big brown eyes, big veins in her face. Why, I was looking right at her. What was it? She heard a baby cry. She by nature was a mother. She wasn't a hypocrite. She was a mother. The baby was... She wouldn't raise up any other time. What did she do?

L-48 Oh, Burt looked at me with that sheepish grin, and he pulled back the bolt on the rifle, and throwed a shell up into that chamber of that .30-06. And oh, he was a crack shot. And I seen him level down that scope, them cross hairs right across that mother's heart. And here she come walking out into the open, looking. She'd never walk in that open any other way; she was scared. But what was it? She was a mother. She was... her... The baby was crying. "Where's he at? He's in trouble." She'd take the chance.
She walked out right into the open, and I seen her turning sideways. When I seen that steady hand of Burt, I thought, "Oh, God, don't let him do it. How, Burt, how can you be so cruel? That mama looking for her baby, and you're going to blow her heart to her. How can you be so wicked?" Holding that rifle... I turned my head I could...
In my... Under my voice I said, "Lord, how can that man be so wicked?" I knowed that in the touch of that trigger, and that bullet would blow her heart plumb out of her. There she was.
She saw the hunter. Did that stop her? No, sir. Any other time she'd been like Houdini, an escape artist. She'd have been gone. But what was it? She was a mother. Something in her, inside of her, meant more than life. Baby was in trouble; she was looking to see where that baby was.


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