FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



215 



Following the tracks a short distance, 

 they showed that the foxes had been look- 

 ing for a place to sleep. Now we moved 

 forward cautiously, watching to the right 

 and left, more than to the front; knowing 

 a fox always doubles on his track before 

 lying down. 



The tracks approached a deep gully, 

 thickly grown up with trees and brush; a 

 likely place for a fox, on a cold, windy day. 

 Having the wind in our favor, we walked to 

 the edge and looked in. Yes, there they 

 were; 2 round, red balls, just behind an old 

 worm fence. 



Bang — bang — bang. They were both 

 down; but the big one was 80 yards away 

 before he dropped to the last shot. Pshaw, 

 that was too easy ! 



It was then only 9:30. So, quickly skin- 

 ning the pair, we tucked the pelts into our 

 hunting coats and began looking for more 

 tracks. After going about half a mile we 

 struck another. Mile after mile we fol- 

 lowed, until 5 miles from home. Here it 

 circled back again. 



All the way the fox had been hunting. 

 Here and there, as we tramped along, we 

 read the signs of tragedy. The trail fol- 

 lowed a creek for 100 yards, where the bank 

 hung over; a favorite roosting place for 

 small birds. Several long leaps, a spot in 

 the snow thickly padded with tracks, a few 

 feathers, and the tale is told. The tracks 

 crossed a meadow. Here 2 long leaps to 

 the right, a hole in the snow, a dead mouse. 

 I wondered by what one of the 5 senses 

 the fox located that mouse. Farther along 

 he caught a rabbit, after a straight run of 

 100 yards. After eating half, and burying 

 the rest in the snow, he started off toward 

 an old slashing. We congratulated our- 

 selves, for the chase would soon be over; 

 but the woods were hardly entered when, 

 200. yards ahead, we saw him sneaking 

 away. The wind was against us. A fox 

 places great reliance on his nose. 



After him again, for we know he will not 

 go far before lying down. Presently we 

 see him, or think so, 200 yards away, lying 

 by a tree. Billy stays here while I make 

 a detour, get the wind in my favor and try- 

 ing to get close enough for a shot. Imag- 

 ine my feelings, after 15 minutes of crawl- 

 ing and creeping, to find the supposed fox 

 only a bunch of leaves. 



Motioning to Billy, we moved on again. 

 Now we find where the fox left the woods 

 and started across the fields. Ten minutes 

 more and we see him lying under a thorn- 

 apple bush. One, 2, 3! and the right bar- 

 rels crack together. He was hard hit, but 

 tried to run. The left barrels roared and 

 he dropped dead. 



Three o'clock; ample time to get home 

 before dark. Seldom indeed do we bag 

 more than one fox in a day; and feel well 

 repaid for our day's tramp if we do that. 



A TEST OF NERVE. 



J. C. B. 



The latter part of March, along in the 

 early '8o's, my hunting partner and I were 

 camped near the mouth of the canyon at 

 the junction of the North and South forks 

 of the Little Bighorn river. Our camp 

 was in Wyoming, but for 80 miles to the 

 North the Crow reservation extended to 

 the Yellowstone river. 



Shut in on all sides by high bluffs and 

 towering mountains, the little basin was 

 always free from rough winds. A wagon- 

 sheet stretched over a pole was ample pro- 

 tection from the early spring snows and 

 rains. 



We had been in camp several days, but 

 as there was no snow we could not expect 

 to do much on bear. As we sat before the 

 fire one evening, it began to snow. Our 

 spirits rose immediately, and a hunt was 

 planned for the morning. We always hunt- 

 ed separately. 



Before daylight we saddled our horses 

 and pulled out. I crossed the main Little 

 Horn, below camp, and began to climb the 

 hill on the North side. After going about 

 3 miles, I crossed a large bear trail. I got 

 down and examined it and saw it was 

 fresh. From its enormous size, I judged 

 it to have been made by a grandpa bear; 

 so I left my h'orse and followed it. I be- 

 came disgusted by noon, and concluded not 

 to go any farther, so sat down to rest, be* 

 fore starting to climb out of the canyon. 



After cooling off, I felt better, and 

 thought I would not give up just yet. An- 

 other hour's walking, sliding, and falling, 

 and I came to the brink of a jumping off 

 place; almost perpendicular and 150 feet 

 to the bottom. The bear had gone down 

 all right, as the piled up snow on either 

 side of the trail showed. Apparently he 

 sat down, pulled off brakes and slid to the 

 bottom. I felt sure I could slide down 

 where a bear could, but was not so sure 

 of being able to slide up again. However, 

 I took the chances, and slid. It was pretty 

 rough tobogganing, I thought, as I pulled 

 up at the bottom. After trying my legs 

 and finding they would work all right, I 

 again took up the trail. Within 400 yards 

 I found where the bear had wintered. Then 

 I knew he would lay up for the day near by, 

 as this was his first trip out of winter quar- 

 ters. 



The slope of the mountain side was steep 

 and uneven; so I climbed up about 30 feet 

 and started parallel with the trail. Taking 

 a step, I would stop and look sharply in 

 every direction for the bear, also locating 

 trees having limbs close to the ground, 

 convenient for climbing. I felt as if I 

 might have use for one presently. I moved 

 in this way for about 150 yards, when sud- 

 denly I saw the bear rise on his fore feet. 

 in his bed. His head was toward me and 



