38 i THE OREGON SPORTSMAN 
near by, known as the old McKinnon place. One of the McKinnon boys 
was living there at this time, whom I had not seen for a number of 
years. When I returned supper was coming along nicely and in a few 
minutes we were enjoying a feed fit for a king. Venison, flapjacks, 
potatoes and onions—maybe the bill of. fare does not appeal to you, 
but get out in the open for a few days and eat. Why, vou will just 
poke it down. 
After our meal we piled more wood on the fire, and were soon 
joined by Mr. McKinnon. Things went from bad to worse, each one 
trying to outdo the other in telling a hunting or fishing story, when 
finally McKinnon spoke up and said: 
“Father and mother moved in here when I was just a boy. I had 
an older brother who used to hunt a lot, and it was not very long 
befort we boys knew where to find the game. I remember one time 
when Father came back from a trip to the valley. He brought me 
a hunting knife a foot or so long, just what I had been wanting. I 
carried that knife on every hunting trip I went on after that, and 
thought how I would like to meet a cougar. I thought I could finish 
him in no time; in fact, I had it all planned out just what would 
happen to that cougar if I only could meet up with him. One day 
my brother and a boy who lived up the road and myself went up Moose 
Creek to “lay out” for deer. We camped about thirty or forty feet 
back from the creek in a draw, making our beds with our heads 
toward a big cedar tree. Just beyond our feet was an old fir tree 
that had fallen down with the top in the creek, so in getting water 
we would walk down the tree trunk to the creek. Before retiring for 
the night I went down to the creek for a drink and, lying flat on my 
stomach, proceeded to satisfy my thirst. As I raised up I heard a 
thud on the log beside me. I thought first it was the dog we had 
brought with us and called him by name, but the dog had not followed 
me. The thought that it was a cougar then entered my mind, and 
right there and then I changed my mind about ever wanting to meet 
one with my beloved knife. I hastily started up the log, when I heard 
the cougar slip off into the brush. Reaching camp, I said nothing, but, 
crawling into bed, slept with one eye open, expecting every minute 
to see the cougar put his head over the log. My wait was too long, 
however, and I finally fell asleep. On opening my eyes in the morn- 
ing, the first thing I seen was my brother peering over the log and 
reaching for his gun. I joined him ag quickly as I could, but the 
cougar had gone before he had time to shoot. We soon had our dog 
on the trail of the cougar, and I don’t think it was over ten minutes 
before we had them up a tree, for there were two cougars instead of 
one, and we got both.” 
With the end of the story, some one yawned, and our friend said 
he would have to be going, so we bid him good-night and turned in 
to dream about cougars. 

