Bketcl) of 

 <&®.tt)allU)aii 





ORN in Footville, Rock County, Wis., in 1859, I 

 lived there and on a farm near there until 1870, 

 when I accompanied my parents to Denver, Colo. 

 We moved to the Divide in the Spring of '71 and 

 had the postoffice of Southwater — four miles below 

 Monument — until '76, when we returned to Wis- 

 consin. I was too much saturated with love for 

 the mountains to stay there, so in '79 I returned 



to Husted and on to Leadville, thence to 



Colorado Springs, and hunted antelope for 



a month. Drifted into the mountains 



in the fall and to Alpine in the spring, 



settling in Lily Park, where we were 



amongst the deer so thick when they 



came down in the fall as to astonish 



us. While a good shot at antelope, I 



could not kill a deer until I had 



fired six shots, all less than sixty 



yards away and standing. I killed 



one and was thereafter all right on 



deer shooting. We left Lily Park in 



June, '85, moving to Sulphur, Wyo., 



remaining there until October, '85, 



when we removed to Lay, Colo., where 



we have since resided. Was appointed 



postmaster at Lay early in '86, and 



have been postmaster ever since, 



except a year and a half. In 1889 I 



took up photography and in 1890 I 



secured the first good negative of deer, 



and the accounts herewith will show » 



you how I have secured others since. 



■8 



„. , ( I was born in Milwaukee Count}-, 



SketCl) 01 Wisconsin. My father moved to that place 

 ll"3. tUdlltljan i° l8 35> from Massachusetts, town of mr. a. <*. 



Franklin. On my mother's side of the house 

 we are of the old Revolutionary stock of English descent — 

 the Rawsons. We are proud we are Americans. My father 

 was a fine shot — could drop a partridge, ruffed grouse, or 

 squirrel from the top of a tall maple tree, taking the head 

 off at every shot with the muzzle-loading rifle he used. 

 Many a time I sat by his side watching him mold the round 

 bullets, thinking them so, pretty and bright as they rolled 

 out into the box that caught them. He could drop a black 

 bear, a panther or wild cat. The panther of the east, the 

 lion of the mountains, one and the same — the cougar or 

 puma more properly. I do not remember of his dropping 

 a deer, though he would follow them for miles. Though 

 interested in this kind of shooting I never had an opportunity 

 to try my skill until I came west, and about the time I 

 was married. My brother and Mr. Wallihan wanted me to 

 learn to shoot. We were miles from any house — alone in 



the mountains. I had fired a revolver a few times and a 



gun once. The men laid plans for me to use our Parker 



shot gun on cotton-tail rabbits. When I made my first 



attempt I could not hold the shot gun out at arm's length, 



so I learned to shoot from rest. After a short time I tried 



a shot off-hand at some geese flying over and killed one 



at sixty yards and about seventy-five feet high, which 



surprised and pleased my brother and Mr. W. , and myself 



as well. My first deer I got next spring, shooting 



him in the neck, dropping him. Mr. Wallihan 



and myself still work together, happy in 



our effort of trying to preserve the 



game in photography for the world at 



large. 



J? 



In the spring of '91 I took a fflttt 

 trip to the noted Bear River. The 

 deer were on their return now PLATE No 

 towards the mountains and were 

 quite thin and ragged looking. 

 Climbing down the trail over a 

 thousand feet and quite steep all the 

 way and in places quite difficult to get 

 clown with camera as a drawback. I 

 sat upright on the gravelly edge of 

 the river, without anything to hide 

 me. A yearling doe came down and 

 after drinking and satisfying herself 

 that everything was right she started 

 over. Deer swim very easily and fast, 

 and she came right towards me, and 

 when about twenty steps from shore 

 she turned to land above me and I 

 took a snap shot while swimming. She 

 landed, shook herself, looked at the camera 

 and me and went up the trail. A deer has 

 not the power of discerning what an object 

 is without there is motion or they can scent it. Shortly 

 after I took a snap shot at five but the negative was not 

 good. One of these came within ten feet of me and veered 

 off, landing above me. I had exposed on the five and could 

 not change, as she would have scared at the motion. 



s 



October, 1893, found the great mule-eared deer sttj 

 traveling furiously for their winter range. I had been told L 



so many times that I must "hurry or the deer would all be plate no 

 past," that I did not heed the tales of parties who told me 

 the deer were flying past. The earliest snowstorm for years 

 had started them and they were indeed "flying" by. I 

 went over into the cedars near Wet Gulch and selected the 

 most central bunch of trails and made ready. It got cloudy 

 and I nearly despaired of success. I was ready, within 



WALLIHAN 



