214 



RECREA TJON. 



ANTELOPE ON THE HORSE RANGE. 



Lander, Wyo. 



Editor Recreation: When I was 14 

 years old I hired out to a Mr. Hall to herd 

 horses, about 75 miles from here, on Lan- 

 der creek. Big game was plentiful, such 

 as elk, deer and antelope, although when 

 I arrived there, most of the elk and deer 

 were farther back in the mountains. 



I had a 44 Winchester rifle and a 45 re- 

 volver, and of course was anxious to kill 

 something. My first shot was at 2 elk. I 

 was riding a young horse, and had only 

 my revolver. 



I was riding down a narrow hog-back, 

 looking for a stray bunch of horses, when 

 I noticed, down to my left, in a bunch of 

 quaking asp, what I took to be 2 cows, 

 lying down. They must have been asleep, 

 for I rode up to within 50 yards of them, 

 before they jumped up, when I saw they 

 were elk. I slid off my horse while they 

 stood there wondering what kind of an an- 

 imal I was. I put my arm through the 

 bridle rein, took as careful an aim as I 

 could, and pulled. 



The next thing I knew I was on my 

 back, in the rocks, and that measly cayuse 

 was yanking me around to suit himself, in 

 his efforts to leave me afoot, 10 miles from 

 camp. He finally quieted down, when I got 

 up and looked around for my dead elk. 



The 2 cows were about a mile, away, go- 

 ing South. The one I shot at finally died 

 ■ — from old age. 



For a month after that I was shooting at 

 antelope every day, but could not hit 

 them. Finally one morning, I saddled up 

 my gentlest horse, took my Winchester, 

 and started out, with blood in my eye. I 

 had determined to get meat or die trying. 



I was riding along in the foot hills, when 

 I saw a bunch of antelope, about a mile 

 away, in the head of a gulch. I rode up on 

 the opposite side of the hill from them, 

 until I thought I was near them; tied my 

 horse, and crawled up to the top of the 

 hill. As I raised up to locate the game 

 they saw me and ran up the hill, on the 

 other side, about 75 yards away, where 

 they stopped. I got down on one knee, 

 took good aim at a fine buck and fired. 

 He fell in his tracks and did not even kick. 

 On examination I found I had shot him 

 through the heart. I loaded him on my 

 horse and rode into camp, the proudest 

 boy West of the Mississippi river. 



W. G. B. 



hnnting, one morning, with one compan- 

 ion, Pat Flood. We made our way up a 

 mountain near camp, through the quaking 

 aspen. Just the place for deer, Pat said. 

 Of this I was soon assured by seeing tracks 

 of a bunch of 5 or 6. 



Pat started down the slope, while I fol-. 

 lowed the tracks, which led to a steep hill 

 covered with mountain-ash and hazel so 

 thick I had to creep carefully not td fright- 

 en the game before I could see it. The deer 

 were scattered and feeding. I felt sure they 

 were not 200 yards away, for in front lay a 

 deep gulch; on the other side of this there 

 was a steep bluff. I was certain they were 

 between me and the bluff. 



I was in brush almost too thick to crawl 

 through, and about as high as my head. 

 Suddenly I heard the crash of a deer, on 

 the hill-side, just above and within a few 

 feet of me. Rising from a kneeling posi- 

 tion, I saw a deer's head and breast outlined 

 against the sky. Pushing my rifle forward, 

 it met him half way. At the instant it was 

 discharged, I received the full force of the 

 bounding deer, and was knocked headlong 

 down the hill, through the tangled brush. 



Picking myself up, some seconds later, 

 nose bleeding, my eyes full of mud, hat and 

 gun gone, I was brought to my senses by 

 hearing Pat's rifle making music not far 

 below me. Looking around* as best I 

 could, I saw 5 deer bounding up the gulch. 

 Though a long way off, I opened fire, and 

 after several shots succeeded in getting one. 



Making my way down to Pat, I saw a 

 buck which he had killed, and I at once 

 claimed it, for the animal was marked with 

 my brand on the shoulder, where my rifle 

 had burned the hair off. The bullet had 

 just grazed the hide. J. B. Liptrap. 



A STRANGE KNOCKOUT. 



Clover, Wash. 



Editor Recreation: Few hunters ever 

 have such an experience as being run over 

 by a deer; but that was my luck while 

 camping on the Teaeaway. I started out 



TRAILING FOXES. 

 J. T. M. 



" Let's go bag a fox or 2, in the morn- 

 ing." Such a proposal from my friend and 

 hunting companion, Billy, was always sure 

 of a hearty approval. Seven o'clock the 

 next morning found me at Billy's house, 

 fully equipped for business. In 10 minutes 

 we were on our way to the woods. Not- 

 withstanding the stinging cold, we en- 

 joyed our walk of 2 miles as only enthusi- 

 astic sportsmen can. 



Our way of killing foxes is to track them 

 in the snow and to shoot them while they 

 are lying down or, as more often is the- 

 case, on the run. We use new Baker guns, 

 and load with No. 2 shot. This combina- 

 tion is perfection, for extreme ranges; but 

 I am digressing. 



" Here is a good track, Tom; and here 

 is another, both going the same way," said 

 Billy. Noting one track was large and the 

 other small, we concluded we were after a 

 male and a female, and would find them to- 

 gether. 



