The Pennsylvania late archery season had just started and more than anything I wished for a late present with antlers. I'd just moved from Maine back to Pennsylvania, and was hunting a small woods near Saint Clair.

Legal shooting time had ended and I had climbed down from my stand and started walking out to my vehicle. At the edge of the woods I took a last look into an open field. There stood a buck for anyone's dreams.He stood in the belly-high brush at the field edge, with only his head and neck showing. The moon was nearly full and shone glinting on his antlers. Then he moved forward, into the open field.I eased an arrow onto the string and raised my bow. With the help of the moon I could just make out the faint green on my pin against his body. It would be a clear shot, and a shot no one could hear. Then, ashamed of myself, hating myself, I lowered the bow.The way he'd moved through the brush, antlers showing, reminded me of the Indian legend I'd heard about when I lived in Maine. It is called Caribou House.The mountains around Caribou House were covered with white hair that the caribou had shed there for hundreds of years. In some places the hair was several feet deep. Each year, the caribou visited the place, using a path between two mountains. The path had been worn by hundreds of their hooves and their old antlers were several feet high on either side. When caribou walked the path, only their heads and necks could be seen.The Naskapi Indians believed that each species had an animal master to protect them, and that the caribou animal master protected all. There came a time when the people could find no game. As he watched his people lose their strength, the Naskapi leader decided to make a journey to Caribou House.The path to it was guarded by the animal masters of all the predators, but he made it there. The caribou master respected him for his journey and agreed that the caribou could be hunted - but only if his people treated the animals with respect. Their meat could not be wasted and the animals must be hunted fairly.If the agreement was honored, the spirits of the animals would return safely to Caribou House, and the caribou master would send them back to the people, again and again.What had I been thinking? Did this deer, or any animal, deserve to be taken with a moonlit shot? As the buck moved away, I realized I'd gotten my late present after all. I have seen few bucks more beautiful or bigger than that one, and when I remember him, it is with no regrets. Seeing him, and not shooting him, was a gift I treasure more and more with each passing year.