hungry and hundreds of miles from civilization. 



This story of the pot hunter, while it possessed 

 rather a humorous side when fully learned, met with 

 disapproval by my boy, which should be shared in by 

 all modern sportsmen. 



A BLUE RIDGE SNAKE STORY. 



It was a night of substantial rest . A brilliant ball 

 of fire creeping over the mountain heights announced 

 the opening of another charming day and the ringirg 

 of the six o'clock bell on the village church awakened 

 us. This was to be given to reading, writing and 

 tales of the sport. An hour after breakfast found 

 our little company beneath the accustomed shade. The 

 seasoned hammocks and trampled grass were occupied 

 and lounged upon as usual. An incident which 

 was given publicity the day before, was related, and 

 it made a pleasant chapter for my boy to add to his 

 growing volume. It fell to my lot to repeat it as it 

 had come to me. Doctor Harban a well- known 

 expert with the rod and reel found entertainment 

 in the Blue Ridge section of the country, where he was 

 one of a party of several who owned a pleasant retreat. 

 Their camp, which included a rustic house, was located 

 near the summit of the mountains. It was a difficult 

 road which led up to it, and the Doctor six months 

 before was engaged with several native workmen 

 cutting, filling and making it passable for pedestrian 

 and team. While busily engaged with shovel and pick, 

 a workman astonished the Doctor and others by cry- 

 ing out, "There goes the biggest rattle snake I ever 

 saw, but he's gone." With this, the Doctor remarked, 

 "If you come across that snake again, you get him 



74 



