<TITLE>14. Par 63-67</TITLE>L-63 So this fellow, being mean, just to act smart, he come and he'd shoot these little fawns (That's little baby deer.), just to be mean. And I'd get after him about it. He said, "Oh, Billy, you chicken-hearted preacher." Said, "You're a good hunter, but you're just too chicken-hearted."
I said, "Burt, there's a lot difference in being a hunter and being a killer." See? I said, "Don't do that." Now, if the law permits you to kill a fawn, that's all right. There's nothing wrong with the size of the deer, but it's killing the whole bunch of them just to be mean. Be the same way to kill birds, chickens, or anything else just to be mean, that's cruel.
Abraham killed a calf and fed it to God, and He eat it. That's exactly right. So there's nothing wrong in the little part of it. But he'd just kill the little fellows just because I was along. String them up, and sometimes cut the quarters off of them, throw the rest of it away just to be mean.
And I said, "Burt, you're a good guy, but you're the--you're the meanest guy I ever knowed of."

L-64 And one year when I went up there, he made himself a little whistle. And he could take that little whistle, and go just like a little baby deer crying for its mammy. Well, I thought, "Burt, you're not going to use that whistle, surely not."
"Oh," he said, "go on, Billy."
There's was about six inches of snow on the ground that morning, late in the season. Hard to hunt those white-tailed deer because they've been shot at, and they're scared and they're--they stay back in hide out.

L-65 We hunted till about noon and hadn't even seen a track. Deer was scarce. I shall never forget it. And about noon, he was in front of me, and he set down in a little opening about the size of this auditorium. And he went back in his shirt. I... We usually pack some sandwiches, and some hot chocolate, and so forth. We'd drink and--and eat our sandwich, and then we'd take separate roads that go back where--back to the main camp in the afternoon.
We hadn't seen no tracks, so hunting had been very bad that morning. And when he set down, he kept reaching back like this. He set his rifle down. He was feeling for something. I thought it was his lunch. And he pulled out that little whistle. I said, "Burt, you're not going to do that."
"Oh," he said, "go on, preacher."

L-66 And he took the little whistle in his mouth, and he blew it; and it sounded just like a little fawn crying for its mother. And to our surprise just across the opening about twenty yards, a great big, beautiful mother deer stood up, a doe. Why, I could see her big brown eyes, and the veins in her face, those great, big ears standing up. She was so pretty.
And she stood up. Now, that's very unusual for a deer to do that that time of day. Burt looked back at me with them lizard-looking eyes, looked at me, kinda smiled, reached down for his rifle, real easy. I said... Motioned my head to him. He just laughed, looked again. And he blew the whistle again.

L-67 That mother stepped right out in the opening. Now, if there's a hunter here, you know that's absolutely unusual for a deer, especially in hunting season after being shot at, there at noontime. They're hid down good under piles of brush, stand in thickets. They won't come out in the open.
But what did she come out for? She was a mother. She wasn't playing church. She wasn't arguing her denomination. She was a mother at her heart. There was something in her. She heard a baby. It was in trouble. And she was a mother. She must get to it. She didn't think about fear. She wasn't putting that on like a lot of so-called Christians do. She was a real... There's something in her. She was borned a mother.


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