336 



RECREATION 



his prey easy. He seldom or never hides 

 under or behind a rock, depending on his 

 speed to make up for his lack of crafti- 

 ness. His habitat is in the Au Sable and 

 the Manistee and their tributaries. Like 

 the Indians, he is disappearing before a 

 stronger race. He will soon be only a 

 memory. But I shall always think of him 

 as the perfection of game fishes and look 



back on him, leaping in the waters of 

 the clear Au Sable, with delight. 



gentle grayling, unto thee 



1 turn with grateful memory; 



Thy beauty and thy grace I praise, 



And mourn the limit of thy days. 



Yet, in that land where streams are bright, 



It may be, I shall catch a sight 



Of thy swift shadow in the air, 



And find a grayling leaping there. 



HUNTING BEAR WITH A .22 



ARTHUR C. WHEELER, M.D. 



While on a pleasure trip to Northern 

 Minnesota in the fall of '97, I went out 

 riding with a party of ladies and gentlemen 

 from Stephen to have a picnic and to see 

 some beaver dams, about 16 miles East of 

 there. I took my .22 calibre repeater along. 



^jl^ &f **, 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY OR. A. C. WHEELER. 



THE TWINS. 



We had traveled about 10 miles and were 

 passing through some small timber when 

 we espied 4 black bears crossing a branch 

 road not over 50 yards away. I soon had 

 my gun out of its case and the magazine 

 full of .22 long rifle cartridges. Then I 

 started in where the bear had disappeared. 

 The brush was extremely thick and the 

 grass so tall it made an excellent hiding 

 place for them. I hunted for them half an 

 hour and had nearly given up when I came 

 on them in a slough, only 40 yards 

 away. I saw one of the old bears first. She 

 stood nearly broadside, her head turned 

 and watching me as a cat would a mouse. 

 I raised my gun slowly, took good aim for 

 her heart and pulled. She went down the 

 instant the ball struck her, and I thought I 



had her, but in a moment she swung her 

 head to her side and began biting at the 

 wound. I fired again for her heart. When 

 the second ball struck her she jumped up 

 and began to shamble away. I fired 2 

 more shots before she reached the brush, 

 but 20 or 30 feet away. She ran 75 or 100 

 feet I thought, then stopped. Just then one 

 of the cubs made his appearance. I fired 

 and he fell, but immediately got up and 

 ran back into a clump of willows. The 

 other cub then started out, when I fired 

 and sent him back. When firing at the 

 cubs I heard the brush smashing as if an 

 elephant were going through, and thought 

 I caught a glimpse of another old bear 

 (probably the male) running off, but did 

 not fire. On going up to the willows I 

 fired 2 shots into them, driving out a cub, 

 which I shot at and broke his back. He 

 began to squeal when I ran up close and 

 shot him in the base of the head. This 

 stopped his music. At that juncture the 

 lever of my gun clogged so I couldn't load. 

 I knew the squealing of the cubs was like- 

 ly to bring the old bears down on me, so 

 beat a hasty retreat for 50 yards or so, 

 where I met one of my friends coming in 

 to join me. I took my gun apart but was 

 unable to find the trouble. I reloaded and 

 went back, but could not find the old bears. 

 The wounded cub climbed a tree when I 

 gave him a finishing shot 



We hunted for the wounded old bear but 

 could get no trace of her. Next day we 

 came back with some dogs, but could not 

 get them to follow the trail as they had 

 not been trained for that kind of work, so 

 we finally had to give her up. 



Funniman — Have you heard the story 

 about the 2 holes in the ground? 



Gullem — I suppose I'm to say "No!" 

 then you reply, "Too deep?" 



Funniman — That's not it at all. 



Gullem — No? Then I haven't heard it. 



Funniman — Well, well. — Philadelphia 

 Press. 



