FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



UNCLE JOE'S STORY. 



BEN COLE. 



" A remarkable shot," by J. F. Warner, 

 and Dr. Coquina's diagnosis of the case, in 

 February Recreation, reminds me of a 

 story told by Uncle Joe — an old hunter and 

 trapper — to a party of sportsmen. We were 

 sitting around a fire, one rainy night, dis- 

 cussing the events of the day. One mem- 

 ber of the party remarked that deer were 

 uncertain animals. Uncle Joe knocked the 

 ashes out of his pipe. " That's so, pard," 

 he said; " deer are powerful unsartin crit- 

 ters an' you never know what they will do 

 next. Did I ever tell you of a spearance I 

 had with one onct?" Being assured we 

 had never heard the story, Uncle Joe 

 cut off a big chew of plug, and began: It 

 was a long time ago, afore them repeatin' 

 rifles was thought of. In them days if a 

 feller had a good single barrel muzzle 

 loader he was well fixed. But I wanted 

 somethin' better. I had seen rifles with a 

 shot gun under 'em — over an under, they 

 called 'em. But I didn't want no shot 

 gun; so I had a gun maker make me a 

 double barrel rifle on the over an' under 

 plan. She was a dandy; 36 inch barrels, 

 60 balls to ther pound, curly maple stick 

 an' brass trimmins; an' she would shoot as 

 well as she looked. Thar warn't ter 



rifle in York State. I killed a slew o' deer 

 the fust year I had Betsey. Then I had the 

 best deer dorg that ever stood on legs. He 

 didn't have no pedigree as I knowed of. He 

 war jist a dorg. But he could put a deer to 

 water quicker 'n scat; or he'd bring 'em to 

 your stand or trail 'em slow and tell you 

 when you war most on to 'em. If thar war 

 snow on the ground he'd stay behind you 

 till you told him sick 'em. He war so purty 

 I called him Satan. 



The next fall arter I got Betsey, I had a 

 big job clearin' a piece o' new land; so I 

 didn't hunt any till the fall rains come on. 

 It rained for 2 days. Then it turned around 

 an'- snowed. I knowed it would be fine 

 huntin' next day. That night I cleaned up 

 old Betsey an' run a lot o' bullets; filled my 

 horn full o' powder an' cut a lot o' patches, 

 greased 'em with taller an' got all ready for 

 an' airly start. Next mornin' I was in the 

 woods as soon as it war light. Thar war 

 about 4 inches o' snow on the ground, an' 

 in half a hour I struck the track o' a mighty 

 big buck, an' it war as fresh as a trout. I 

 didn't want the dorg around, so I quoted 

 a passage o' scriptur' to 'im — Luke 4th 8th 

 — an' he got. I follered the old feller about 



2 mile, when Satan sed we war gettin' close. 

 Purty soon, I seed the old chap in a clump 

 o' bushes. He war ended right tword me. 

 It warn't a very good show for me but I 

 knowed I could drap him as he warn't 

 morn 18 rod away. I drawed a bead right on 

 the center o' the old feller an' let drive. He 

 didn't drap as I spected he would. He jist 

 shook his head a little. Satan, insted o' 

 stayin' behind, let a yelp out fit ter split, an' 

 lit out arter that deer, hellbent fur 'lection. 

 I yelled at him to come back, but he kep' 

 right on. I was that mad I clean forgot 

 thar war another barrel to my rifle. Ther 

 buck didn't seem ter mind what war goin' 

 on till Satan war within 7 or 8 rods uv him. 

 Then ther buck humped up his back an' let 

 an orful cough, an' Satan draped right in 

 the snow as dead as a mackeril, with a bul- 

 let right atween his eyes. Then I war some 

 mad. I pulled up the gun an' unhitched 

 the other barrel on the old cuss in a little 

 less than no time. lie didn't mind it much 

 morn he did the fust time. He pawed the 

 snow a little more. I drapped the but o' the 

 old gun in the snow an' poured 2 charges 

 o' powder into her, put on a patch, laid a 

 bullet on it an' war jest drawin' the ramrod 

 when I seed the old feller a humpin' up his 

 back agin. I squatted quickern litenin', 

 when zip, come a bullet an' knocked my 

 old coonskin cap off my hed. If I hadn't 

 squatted jest as I did, the old feller would 

 a plugged me plum through the gizzard an' 

 no mistake. I didn't stop to pick up my 

 cap but got behind a big basswood an' fin- 

 ished loadin' the old gun. Then I started 

 out to investigate. When I got to the 

 bushes whar he stood, thar he lay deader 

 'n a last year's bird's nest. I looked him 

 over carefully; thar warn't a scratch on him 

 as I could see. I went back to the clearin' 

 an' got some help an' got him home. Then 

 we held what doctors calls an inquest, but 

 thar warn't a mark o' a bullet on him, in 

 him or anywhar that we could see. The 

 ony thing that didn't look right war a red- 

 ness of his throat, like as if he had the can- 

 ker rash. As I said afore, deer are power- 

 ful unsartin." 



" And you don't know what killed him," 

 we asked. 



" Not fur sure. I told a doctor 'bout it 

 onct an' he sed the deer hed ketched the 

 bullets and swallered 'em and had coughed 

 'em up at me and the dorg. The trouble 

 was 'at he hed coughed so hard the last 

 time he hed busted a vessel an' died from 

 colly wobbles o' the diaphragmic column, 

 or somethin' like that. 



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