FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



131 



presiding as of old at the festal feast which 

 followed the annual shoot, and surround- 

 ing the groaning table so many clever fel- 

 lows who, when old Father Time called 

 them to the happy hunting ground, gamely 

 as ever, bracing themselves as of old, sang 

 out, in the cheery well remembered tones, 

 " Ready— Pull." 



No Pard! not to-night. Can't do it. 

 Pass me up. Am not in the mood, now, to 

 get back at you in our old style. How- 

 ever I do claim the right to wiggle out of 

 the stinking sty into which you so uncere- 

 moniously jabbed me; and when out will 

 wager a big red apple you will be the first 

 man to furnish soap and towel to clean off 

 the excrement. 



The time was, and not so long ago, 

 when 6 guns, handled by such experts as 

 Judge Ellis B. Gregg, Cass Hoppel, Geo. 

 Given and Harry Rowe (who are generally 

 known by their trap names of Murphy and 

 Dick), Pop Schatzman and I might have 

 bagged a full 300 ducks in more than a 

 week, after having travelled more than 600 

 miles for that purpose, without exposing 

 ourselves to such skinning as you gave me. 



Let me 'fess up. Whenever the time 

 comes when I can't get at least 50 ducks 

 in a week (certainly none too many for a 

 dinner, with a few left for superannuated 

 sportsmen, a brace or 2 for the old, gray 

 headed mother, and, not to forget the fair 

 friend who can serve them so daintily, 

 then I'll pack up the little hammerless and 

 ship it on to you, to be placed alongside 

 of the big rifle now sent for your curiosity 

 shop. Indeed to be honest I have been in 

 the seventh heaven all the past week, pre- 

 paring for my annual quail shoot; derive 

 ing nearly as much pleasure from the 

 anticipation, as I probably shall from the 

 realization. If I fail to kill a full hundred 

 between Wednesday a.m. and Saturday 

 night, it will be because the old Gordon, 

 or my fast stiffening joints don't hold out. 

 So you can prepare another roast for me. 

 But of that more anon. 



Chas. L. Lundy. 



ANSWER. 



My dear Mr. Lundy: I thoroughly ap- 

 preciate your kindness in sending me the 

 big rifle. It is a veritable curiosity and 

 adds greatly to the interest of my collec- 

 tion. This seems a little like heaping coals 

 of fire on my bald head. However, if you 

 will again read my reply to your letter, on 

 page 385 t>f November Recreation, you 

 will agree with me that I did not roast you, 

 in any sense of the word. I discussed, in 

 as mild and dignified a manner as I am 

 capable of, the question you raised regard- 

 ing the propriety of killing game to give 

 away to friends. Of course, I realize this 

 is an almost universal custom, among big 

 hearted sportsmen (and all sportsmen have 

 big hearts); yet all the same it is wrong. 



Primarily we all like the fun of killing the 

 game, and when we get it, we experience 

 another pleasure in giving it to our friends 

 who are less fortunate than we. Still, as I 

 have said, we must quit this, or in 10 years 

 none of us will be able to kill game enough 

 to make a meal for ourselves, at the camp- 

 fire. 



You agree with me in this, in spirit, and 

 I want you to be one of the charter mem- 

 bers of the L. A. S., which is to be organ- 

 ized here in January, and which is to take 

 up vigorously, the work of game protection 

 all over the land. — Editor. 



A GRIZZLY BY MOONLIGHT. 



% Glen Ellen, Cal. 



In i860, on my way from Arizona, where 

 I had been prospecting, I arrived at Los 

 Angeles. The stage " Old Senator," had 

 just left for' San Francisco. Rather than 

 remain there for 2 weeks, for her next trip, N 

 I sold my worn-out horse, and purchased 

 another, to finish my journey to San Fran- 

 cisco. 



On arrival at Fort Tejon, I laid over for 

 a few days, to go hunting. In those days 

 the grizzlies were numerous in that locality, 

 and as there was much bear talk about the 

 Station I concluded to try to kill „£>ne. I 

 had a splendid gun for that purpose — a 

 Sharps, using J^-ounce round balls, slugs 

 of one ounce, and others of V/z ounce. 

 (Sometimes I think some of the latter are 

 going yet, it shot so far and strong.) 



While out hunting, the day after my ar- 

 rival at the station, I saw a large bear track 

 on the trail, and decided to go out that 

 night. I selected a tree to climb, if neces- 

 sary. This was about 30 yards from the 

 trail. 



It was a clear, moonlight night. About 

 9 o'clock I reached my tree and patiently 

 waited till one o'clock. I was beginning 

 to feel tired and sleepy, and had about de- 

 cided to give it up, when his majesty ap- 

 peared, quietly walking along the trail. 



I thought: " Suppose I don't hit to kill; 

 and he kills me! In what will I be the 

 gainer? " I am an old hunter, commenc- 

 ing in Texas over 50 years ago, and prefer 

 the chances in my favor. I had never 

 hunted grizzlies, because all my former 

 rifles were of the "old Kentucky" kind; 

 good for deer and " Injuns " but poor for 

 bear. 



The bear moved along quietly till about 

 80 yards from me, and then turned broad- 

 side and looked directly toward me. I took 

 deliberate aim and pulled, quickly reload- 

 ing. The bear sprang forward, then turned 

 around short and bit at his side, and then 

 ran down the hill. I could hear the Man- 

 zanita bushes break as he rushed through 

 them. After waiting a short time I made 

 tracks for the station. The next day I told 



