FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



207 



with Mr. Barstow, a neighboring rancher, 

 started afoot over the ridge, back of the 

 station, through the pine forest where the 

 silence was unbroken save by the bark of 

 squirrels, or the startled jump of a deer, 

 from its soft bed in the pine-needles. 



We pushed on until we reached the top 

 of a ridge running North and South, from 

 which we had a grand view over a vast 

 stretch of country. We could see the for- 

 est, rolling unbroken to the ocean, 40 miles 

 away. On the West side of the ridge, open- 

 ings extended some 4 miles to the South- 

 ward. 



Here, Barstow proposed I should wait 

 for Mr. Rowe, who was coming with the 

 packs and 2 horses, and go with him to the 

 camp a few miles away, where I could hunt 

 during the evening. I preferred harder 

 work, with more chance of game, and re- 

 mained with Barstow. 



We were an hour in reaching the first 

 opening, on a spur of the ridge below us. 

 There we found a meadow of 2 acres, and 

 a deserted cabin with a spring bubbling 

 beside it. Just South of this,, was another 

 spur, high and rocky, topped with scrub 

 oaks, and, lower down, covered with bay 

 trees, birches, and blackberry bushes. *In 

 these we caught a glimpse of a deer, as 

 it jumped to cover, and ran to the spot, 

 hoping to see it again. While looking for 

 it, we saw another deer on the ridge above 

 — a small buck— about 125 yards from us. 



To end an argument as to who should 

 shoot first, we both fired at once, but the 

 buck stood its ground, uninjured. We fired 

 again and wounded him. Then we ran up 

 the ridge to see how badly he was hit. On 

 the way, we jumped a doe, but let her pass. 

 It was now well toward sunset. Already 

 the shadows were creeping up the hill- 

 sides, marking the ending of a glorious 

 day. In the fading light we could find no 

 sign that the deer was severely hurt, 

 though we felt sure such was the case. The 

 next day we followed the blood marks half 

 a mile, but did not get the deer. It made a 

 meal for the wild hogs or buzzards. 



The same evening, after losing the trail 

 of the deer, Barstow went on further, under 

 some oaks, and soon I heard him call, 

 "Look out! There goes another buck!" 

 and saw one coming in my direction. It 

 was a sure shot, yet I missed it, and missed 

 again. Then Barstow fired twice without 

 result. Getting another shot, I caught the 

 deer just in time. In a moment more it 

 would have been over a bluff, and out of 

 sight. 



The sun was now below the horizon, 

 though still casting crimson color up the 

 Western sky. There was barely enough 

 light to shoot by, as we went on through 

 the openings. Soon a full moon replaced 

 the sun. We struck the ridge 2 miles be- 

 low the place we had first crossed. Here, 

 in an opening, 2 deer were feeding. I 



would not fire at them, but Barstow did.. 

 Even with the bright moonlight, it was 

 too dark for good shooting, and the deer 

 ran off unharmed. We reached camp at 

 last, and after supper, and an hour of story 

 telling, rolled in our blankets, and slept 

 the sleep of the tired. 



Next morning we were afoot before the 

 stars had faded from the sky, and hunted 

 over the same ground as on the preceding 

 day. Barstow had gone to an opening 500 

 yards below me, when I heard several 

 shots; he had started a small deer from 

 some hazel brush, and brought it down. 

 We packed the deer some 2 miles, to the 

 top of the ridge, and I sent it to my home. 



Next day we returned to where we had 

 hung the buck, and took it to camp. There 

 we rested from our labors, during the few 

 days we remained in the woods; doing no 

 more hunting, but eating venison, drink- 

 ing from the mountain streams, and inhal- 

 ing the pleasant odors of the pine forest. 



THE FARMER'S STORY. 



Last November found Judge B and 



I enjoying our Thanksgiving vacation at 

 quail shooting near one of the beautiful 

 lakes in St. Joseph county, Mich. We had 

 been in camp 2 days and with only mod- 

 erate luck with the birds. 



On Saturday we were out at break of day 

 and had good shooting; returning to camp 

 about 11 o'clock. Soon we had prepared 

 a dinner such as only hunters can fully ap- 

 preciate. 



As we were finishing the meal, farmer 

 L strolled into camp to pay us a visit. 



Mr. L , is by birth a German, has 



been in the country but a few years, and 

 does not speak our language with the 

 greatest fluency. When we showed him 

 our game he seemed pleased at our suc- 

 cess, and asked innumerable questions 

 about how our dog worked. Finally, he 

 asked if we ever hunted foxes. We told 

 him we did not find time; adding that we 

 thought foxes rather scarce. Pointing to 

 our left, the farmer called our attention to 

 a small, sparsely timbered island, sur- 

 rounded by willows and low land. 



"A fox hat her den dot islant last 

 spring," he said. We saw he had a story 

 -to tell, and urged him to tell it. After a 

 moment's hesitation — apparently to collect 

 his thoughts — he proceeded: " Dat fox. 

 she was fery tame. She would come off 

 dot islant und arount dem villows und 

 across dot marschlant und ofer dot fielt bei 

 mine house, und schneak arount to steal 

 mine hens; but I see her come, und she 

 don't got von of mine hens. She come 

 efery day most. Dot dog of mine," — ■ 

 pointing to a cur he had with him — " he 

 kill efery voodchuck bei dis farm; but he 



