FLORIDA GAME. 



WALTER F. MICKLE. 



We are " crackers " by adoption — Travers 

 and I. We shoot only fairly well — Mr. 

 Travers with a Lancaster hammerless, 

 while I handle a Stephen Grant hammer gun. 

 For weeks we had talked of a trip to " Hells 

 Paradise," some 50 miles Southwest of 

 Fort Myers. Before we started, excessive 

 rains had flooded the whole country, cover- 

 ing the roads with from 3 inches to 3 feet of 

 water. However, having made arrange- 

 ments to go, a little water did not deter us. 

 At the appointed time I packed my blankets, 

 saddled my pacing pony, and rode to Mr. 

 Travers' place. There I found his trusty 

 servant, Dave, assisted by Smith, the col- 

 ored cook, loading a big wagon with camp 

 •equipage. We decided to drive in a buggy, 

 instead of going horseback as usual, as I 

 wished to take along a camera. Mr. Travers 

 and I, with my Gordon setters, Betsey Bob- 

 bet, and Terza Ann, drove on ahead; while 

 Dave's Schneider, a famous bear dog, and 

 Perline, a little pointer, followed splashing 

 through the water. 



We were soon beyond civilization and 

 sport began. Betsey found and pointed a 

 covey of quail, Terza backed beautifully, and 

 that confounded bear dog rushed in and 

 flushed. We each got a bird, and marked the 

 rest in thick palmetto 100 yards away. I 

 took the precaution to tie Schneider hard 

 and fast to the buggy, with an extra half 

 hitch back of his fore-legs. The birds lay 

 well, and we put them up one at a time. 

 Terza was retrieving a bird I had shot, when 

 she caught sight of Betsey pointing. The 

 pup instantly backed, with the quail in her 

 mouth, making me wish I had a camera in 

 Tiand. Betsey's bird was flushed and shot by 

 Mr Travers. We killed 7 out of that covey, 

 my companion not missing a shot. I missed 

 one, an easy left quartering bird. 



We drove on through mud and water as 

 rapidly as possible; yet it took us 2 1 /? hours 

 to reach Bull-head Cypress, Sy 2 miles from 

 Fort Myers. Here we unhitched, and. while 

 waiting for the camp wagon, shot 4 jack 

 snipe. Long before it came in sight, we 

 rieard our colored cook encouraging the 

 team, and uttering the weird, melodious 

 call, so peculiar to the far Southern states. 



Smith is a natural cook, and soon after 

 his arrival, had a light-wood fire going, and 

 coffee on. The birds were broiled to a turn, 

 the rice and sweet potatoes could not be 

 beaten, and after taking an observation 

 through our glasses, we did full justice to a 

 fir^t rate meal. 



After feeding the horses and mules, we 

 again started on our way. Now and then, a 

 ^band of whooping cranes would utter their 



call, and spreading immense wings, seek a 

 more secluded place, far from the Winches- 

 ter, and from man. Wood ibises rose in 

 flocks of from 2 or 3 to 500, their snow- 

 white plumage showing with grand effect 

 against the sombre hummock and cypress. 

 The little killdeer flew fearlessly about us, 

 whirling and circling free as air. 



Soon we passed the Half-way Ponds, and 

 just beyond, Terza roaded up and made a 

 point, in which old Betsey joined, within 30 

 feet of the buggy. 



As my pon} r objects seriously to the noise 

 of a gun, we drove to a convenient pine, and 

 tied. Returning to the dogs, who, with 

 slobbering lips, and quivering nostrils, made 

 a picture worthy of field-trial winners; we 

 flushed the quail. Mr. Travers made a clean 

 right and left, while I got in but one barrel, 

 and secured my bird. The remaining birds 

 flew low, and scattered badly. We followed 

 and put up 5, bagging all but one. Again 

 we took the road. Finding turtle doves fly- 

 ing, we gave them our attention, and potted 

 them when we had a chance. I abhor pot- 

 hunting, yet think a dove a game-bird, no 

 matter how you get it. Our doves are so 

 very wild, it is difficult to get a fair shot. 

 We camped that night at Scrub Pens, and 

 after a royal supper, turned in early. Long 

 before day-break. Smith had breakfast ready, 

 and hastily eating it, we splashed on through 

 the water, toward the Everglades. 



At Race Ponds, Betsey pointed a jack 

 snipe. Mr. Travers and I, tied up. and 

 hunted around the pond, finding 4 more. 

 As we were returning to the buggy, a big 

 doe jumped from the palmetto skirting the 

 pond, and vanished in the piny woods. We 

 dined at Bucks Pens, and by dusk reached 

 the Allen place; first dry land seen since 

 leaving Fort Myers. 



Here we were expected, and Phil. Yeo- 

 mans, with his brother John, joined our 

 party. The next day we hunted quail and 

 doves, getting 19 quail, and 29 doves. Phil, 

 went on a still-hunt for deer, and came in 

 with a buck on his shoulder. He reported 

 having killed, and hung up, 2 more deer, and 

 a turkey. By day-light next morning, Dave 

 and Phil, had brought in the deer and tur- 

 key, and we resumed our journey; this time, 

 with no road to follow; Phil, and John lead- 

 ing, to keep us out of bog-holes, we rode 10 

 miles before camping for the night. It was 

 raining hard, but we were too tired to 

 stretch the tent we carried. Cutting pal- 

 metto fans, for beds, we crawled under 

 blankets, and slept soundly in spite of the 

 rain. 



Next day we moved on to our final camp. 



