A LYNX HUNT IN FLORIDA. 



\V. <A. REEVE. 



It was all arranged the night before. 

 George had asked if we would like a lynx 

 hunt. George is one of the most faith- 

 ful and honest guides in Florida. He lives 

 on the shore of Lake Apopka. Numerous 

 cats also live there. None of us had ever 

 killed a lynx, and, of course, we wanted 

 to add one to our list. There is war be- 

 tween George and these animals. 



At 5 130 a. m. we sat down to such a 

 breakfast as Mrs. Stokes alone can pre- 

 pare. We flagged the train in front of 

 the house, receiving the usually hearty wel- 

 come from Conductor Abberger. To travel 

 on his train is to get your hunting proclivi- 

 ties aroused to the utmost. He is a keen 

 hunter, and the stories of his personal ex- 

 periences will take you to your destination 

 all too soon. George met us at the little 

 station in front of his home. With him 

 were his nephew Henry and 2 dogs, Red 

 and Gyp. A walk of a mile took us to our 

 stands. Mine was by a picket fence at the 

 edge of a piece of woods and a thick swamp. 

 The captain, a retired naval officer, was as 

 keen a sportsman as ever pulled a trigger. 

 He could not only kill game, but knew 

 how to cook it properly. He was placed 

 several, rods farther in the woods. Grand- 

 pa, a kindly old gentleman from St. Louis, 

 was stationed on a knoll in the rear and 

 farther to the left. He is called Foxy 

 Grandpa from his accurate resemblance to 

 that famous gentleman. George, Henry 

 and the dogs proceeded to a dense hum- 

 mock about a mrle in front of us and began 

 beating the thickets. 



For half an hour we heard no sound 

 from the dogs, but Henry began and main- 

 tained at intervals of about one minute a 

 long-drawn wail, for the purpose of urging 

 on the dogs and starting the game. His 

 booow ! hooow ! hooow ! in a piercing and 

 high pitched .voice could be heard a mile 

 away. Then the deep, long-drawn voice of 

 Red broke the monotony and hastened the 

 blood through our veins. The sharper, 

 quicker yelps of Gyp joined the chorus, and 

 the chase was on. Nearer and nearer, 

 louder and louder, came the baying ; then 

 a lull. An anxious wait, and then away off 

 co the left the dogs took it up. The cat 

 had scented danger, and, making a circle, 

 had gone by, followed by Red. Gyp soon 

 began, having indirectly started another. 

 George was heard directly in my front, 

 urging him on; out he came no nearer. 

 The lynx was evidently circling. I scarcely 

 dared breathe, so quiet did I try to keep. 

 The tension was soon relaxed, for the cun- 

 ning animal had doubled on George and 



started for the big swamp in front and 

 safety. Henry's voice had long since be- 

 come inaudible, having followed Red out of 

 hearing. 



With George and Gyp lost to us 

 in the South and Henry and Red in 

 the Northeast, I began to lose interest. It 

 was one of those perfect, warm days so 

 common in Florida, and so beneficial to the 

 grip-racked patient from the North. A 

 gradual drowsiness was coming over me 

 when I was startled by the crack of the 

 Captain's gun, followed almost immediately 

 by 2 shots from Grandpa. At a shout from 

 the Captain I hastened to him. He stood 

 over a magnificent specimen of lynx. 

 The Captain said he too was dozing when 

 he felt impelled to look around. Behind 

 him and across an open glade was sneaking 

 this cat. Instantly the Captain fired ; in- 

 stantly there was in motion a spinning 

 wheel of leaves, twigs and lynx. Before the 

 Captain made up his mind to shoot again 

 the wheel suddenly straightened out, as 

 though a string had broken, and was still. 



"What was Grandpa shooting at?" I 

 asked. 



"Give it up ; let's go to see," he said. 

 Picking up Mr. Lynx, we started. Grand- 

 pa was standing by a young buck, with a 

 bloody knife in his hand, having 

 just cut the buck's throat. The bay- 

 ing of Red was heard coming to- 

 ward us. In his pursuit of the cat 

 either he or Henry had disturbed the deer, 

 which was trying to sneak away, not seeing 

 Grandpa, who sat with his back to a tree. 

 The deer was making for the big swamp. 

 Grandpa said he had been asleep, when, 

 awakening suddenly, he saw the buck pass- 

 ing about 20 yards away. Grandpa is the 

 soul of truth, but he was surely mistaken 

 when he said he had been asleep, for no 

 deer would have come within a mile of him 

 when asleep. I have slept, or tried to, in 

 the same tent with Grandpa, and I know. 

 Ask the Captain. Grandpa has not done 

 any hunting for 30 years and says he can 

 not shoot as he used to. I would rather be 

 able to shoot as poorly as Grandpa than as 

 well as some others. 



Harry met us at noon with the lunch, 

 having driven over from Mohawk to take 

 us back. Harry is Stokes' younger brother, 

 a happy, good natured and obliging assis- 

 tant to his brother in looking after the 

 comfort of the guests. After lunch we de- 

 voted the afternoon, on our way home, to 

 quails. At that I got my share of fun, but 

 Grandpa, as usual, got more than his share 

 of the birds. 



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