HUNTING DANGEROUS GAME. 



E. L. BROWN. 



There is no sport like deer hunting. This 

 thought was in my mind one day last No- 

 vember, as I started out alone, in a light 

 wagon loaded with camping outfit and 

 drawn by my old Indian ponies. On the 

 way I was joined by Harry and Dave, 2 

 mighty hunters. After 2 days of tedious 

 travel, along the sand ridges, we ap- 

 proached the game country. 



The road along these ridges follows the 

 old Pembina trail, a relic of Minnesota's 

 Territorial days, which extended from St. 

 Paul to Winnipeg. The 3 deeo ruts, made 

 by the creaky wooden wheels of the " Red- 

 river carts " and the single ox walking be- 

 tween the shafts, are still plainly marked 

 along the ridges, except where some Nor- 

 wegian had plowed it up, with the fantastic 

 notion of raising a crop. 



Game is scarce along the road. We saw 

 several jack rabbits scurrying over the 

 prairie. Harry was lucky enough to kill 2 

 with his rifle; fine fat fellows, as large as a 

 fawn, almost. A few coveys of sharp-tailed 

 grouse and some stray pinnated and ruffed 

 grouse were also seen Common cotton- 

 tail rabbits were everywhere in the brush. 

 They were just getting their white winter 

 coats, so showed plainly among the dark- 

 brown bushes. 



Our camp was made on Spruce ridge. It 

 snowed enough the 1st night after going 

 into camp to make tracking possible. In 

 the morning we all strayed off after deer. 



" Oh, who would stay indoors, indoors 

 When the horn is on the hill, 

 With the crisp air stinging, 

 And the huntsman singing. 

 And a ten-tined buck to kill? " 



Harry and I had just returned to camp 

 when Dave came in. He had found a fresh 

 track, which he followed to an old beaver 

 dam, where it disappeared into a hole in the 

 bank. Harry and Dave went with an ax 

 and a spade, and dug the animal out. It 

 was a nice, fat little animal, weighing 15 

 pounds, commonly called skunk; the first 

 of many, and the beginning of a remarkable 

 experience. 



Later. Harry and I looked uo an old den, 

 seen before, on a ridge among the bushes. 

 A good path was worn at the holes, and 

 there was dry grass at each entrance. The 

 animals were not at home, so we followed 

 a crooked, indistinct little path for about 

 Yi mile, winding over poplar ridges and 

 through little meadows, until a fresh track 

 was found. 



The little animal had been digging open 

 old rabbit and badger holes, probably hunt- 



ing for mice and beetles. From here he 

 had wandered into a marsh, where we found 

 his hole, in a hummock. Paths led in all 

 directions; showing where he had been 

 bringing in dry grass for a nest. 



The hole was shallow, so the thin shell of 

 sod was easdy chopped off, exposing a big 

 nest and its striped occupant. A vigorous 

 poking with a pole brought, first some thin 

 streams of yellowish fluid, then old stripes 

 himself. A hard blow with a club laid him 

 out. We then dragged this one and the 

 first killed to camp. 



That evening they were skinned. I saved 

 the first one for mounting, for the skin was 

 large and fine. While we were at work; 

 some neighboring hunters called, but did 

 not stay long; they complained of a strong 

 odor. We had detected something of the 

 kind ourselves, earlier in the day, while kill- 

 ing the animals; but now we scarcely no- 

 ticed it. 



The following day, as Harry was skir- 

 mishing around on a big sand ridge, he 

 found a skunk's track. Following it into 

 the bushes, it led to a den, not far from the 

 scene of the day before. There was a pile 

 of grass over the hole, which was shallow. 

 Harry cut through the shell of sod and 

 stirred up the animals. Whenever one 

 showed its striped face, he put a revolver 

 bullet through it. This was kept up until 

 6 of the beauties, a whole family, were piled 

 up in an aromatic heap. 



During the day I found a badger's track 

 and followed the curious trail — something 

 like a fox track, but short steps and wide. 

 The erratic course led to a den, at the en- 

 trance of which I set a trap. 



Harry came proudly into camp, dragging 

 his load, about 60 pounds of skunks; to say 

 nothing of the weight of the atmosphere. 

 There were rich times about our camp that 

 night. Dave concluded to go home, saying 

 he did not care to hunt deer, anyway. 



On another day we followed the trail 

 made by a mink dragging a rabbit. It led 

 for a number of rods into a swamp, to a 

 hole under a root. A trap was set, and the 

 mink caught. The badger did not come out 

 until the night before camp was broken, 

 when that, too, was caught. It was a fat 

 female, weighing 18 pounds. 



Two families of Indians camped one 

 night on the ridge near us. The squaws 

 came to our camp to beg. Thev had been 

 on the big sand ridges farther West, en- 

 gaged in the vulgar occupation of hunting 

 skunks, and had killed about 200. The 

 skins brought 75 cents each. 



One Indian was asked if the meat is good. 

 "Shegocko," he replied, earnestly, pointing 



