FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



37 



to find the second. In a moment, hearing 

 hoofs tattooing, I looked around and found 

 No. I running off as if untouched. Two 

 shots carried my remonstrances after him, 

 but he went on, and I started again for 

 No. 2. He was gone, so I must have 

 creased them both. 



I dressed the cow and the calf and 

 started for camp, intending to stir up the 

 antelope on the way. 1 soon found a 

 bunch, and started to crawl up on them, 

 when they took alarm and ran right past, 

 stopping 50 yards away to look. I bored 

 one through the shoulders, but she ran 300 

 yards before she fell. They die hard. 



The next day I went out and got the elk 

 I had killed, and the second day took an- 

 other hunt. Unsuccessful. Third day, un- 

 successful, till nearly home, when I ran 

 upon 75 of the elk. I was riding a good 

 horse and resolved to run for it; headed 

 off half of them, dismounted, broke a 2- 

 year-old bull's hind leg and got him. I 

 could see 200 elk from there go down to 

 their winter range. 



W. L. Winegar, Egin, Idaho. 



AN AMERICAN IN KOREA. 



Woodbridge O. Johnson, of Easton, Pa,, 

 is one of few Americans who have had 

 the privilege of hunting in the interior of 

 Korea. In that strange country Koreans, 

 excepting the king's soldiers, are not al- 

 lowed to possess firearms. 



Mr. Johnson is a medical missionary, 

 and represents the Presbyterian board of 

 foreign missions. He is accompanied by 

 his wife, who was Miss Edith Parker, a 

 graduate of Vassar, and a native of In- 

 diana. 



Mr. Johnson graduated from Lafayette 

 college in 1892. He subsequently entered 

 the medical department of the University 

 of Pennsylvania and received his diploma 

 in 1895. He served 2 years in the Kings 

 county hospital, Brooklyn, N. Y. 



It was in the Maine woods that Mr. 

 Johnson learned to shoot. Many vaca- 

 tions has he spent in that wonderland with 

 his cousin, Olcott Payne, of New York 

 City. Mr. Payne is now in Seattle pre- 

 paring for a trip to the Orient. He recent- 

 ly received the following letter from Mr. 

 Johnson: 



"I have not had time to do much shoot- 

 ing. I have killed a good many Asiatic 

 pheasants — larger and sweeter than our 

 ruffed grouse— also ducks, which, with 

 geese, are here in multitudes all winter. 

 Deer are very scarce. At a monastery 

 where I was studying with my teacher last 

 spring there were several tigers and leop- 

 ards about. I saw and got within 40 feet 

 of a large leopard, but had no gun. At 

 another place I saw from my window a 

 large wildcat. 



"I expect to visit and study at the same 

 place this spring, and should like to try 

 for a tiger. A bird I have seen, but not 

 yet hunted, is the bustard, a big bird like 

 a wild turkey in some respects, except that 

 it flies high. 



"The Koreans shoot very little, guns 

 being prohibited to any but the king's 

 soldiers, and the few sporting guns they 

 have are flintlocks with full stocks. These 

 shoot from the hip. My shooting on the 

 wing amazes them. When not busy I hope 

 to have more time for shooting. 



"We are situated in a broad valley with 

 mountains on each side, about 100 miles 

 inland from Fusan, the Southeastern port 

 opposite Japan. The greater part of the 

 country is sparsely wooded, only in the 

 North having much itmber. Korea is as 

 large as Minnesota, with a population es- 

 timated at 12,000,000. The people are of 

 2 classes, the laborers and the 'yangbans' 

 or nobles. It is mountainous, except in 

 the North, some peaks always covered with 

 snow; deep, narrow valleys and a few 

 broad plains." 



OUR COON HUNT. 



E. B. L. 



ixaving heard from Farmer Wilson 

 that the coons were making havoc in his 

 cornfield, Jim and I, accompanied by his 

 little water spaniel, set out one still, crisp, 

 frosty evening with the determination of 

 capturing the whole coon family. We had 

 to travel about a mile and a half across 

 lots, and help each other through innumer- 

 able barbed wire fences before we came 

 within sight of the field of action. Our 

 little dog, Trip, ran before us into every 

 hole and corner, while we were busy lay- 

 ing our plans to drive the coons out of the 

 cornfield, and as fast as Trip should tree 

 them to take turns shooting them out. 

 We even went so far as to draw cuts with 

 sticks to decide which of us should shoot 

 the first coon The lot fell to Jim, and if 

 he should miss the first shot I was to shoot 

 him. 



Just then we heard the dog barking 

 away down across a field to the left, where 

 a ditch ran across the meadow. We fol- 

 lowed the sound and came to a small 

 bridge which crossed the ditch. There 

 we found the dog had treed something 

 under the bridge. Panting and out of 

 breath we waited a few moments, feel- 

 ing sure of our game. The dog kept up a 

 loud barking, but was afraid to go under 

 the bridge and bring out the animal. 



"I know he is a monster, or that dog 

 of mine would bring him out," said Jim. 

 "Or perhaps it is a wild cat." 



We yelled, "Sick 'em," to the dog, 

 but not an inch would he go under the 

 bridge. Finally we lifted up a plank, 



