3§ 



R EC RE A TION. 



done by this one she wolf would run up 

 into the hundreds of dollars. And where 

 there are hundreds of wolves on a range, 

 the amount of stock they kill is beyond 

 belief. The only way the wolf question 

 can be met is by a uniform cash bounty, 

 in effect over all the country infested by 

 them, of not less than $10 a head on 

 wolves. This bounty should be on cubs 

 as well as grown wolves. It is the lowest 

 sum that will induce men to outfit and hunt 

 wolves as a business. If something is not 

 done, and wolves increase for the next 

 decade as they have during the last, stock 

 raising, on the range, will be almost im- 

 possible. 



Next to the wolf as a destroyer of stock 

 and game comes the mountain lion or 

 cougar. This animal is found throughout 

 the mountains of the West, and in places 

 is abundant. 



It is more destructive to horses than to 

 cattle, rarely killing any bovine animal 

 larger than a calf, and not many of them 

 when other food can be had. 



Lions are fond of colts, and in certain 

 parts of the West it is now impossible 

 to raise horses on the range. The lions 

 get every colt. 



They also kill many deer; and where 

 mountain sheep are found one can nearly 

 always see where lions have had a feast 

 of mutton 



On the great winter ranges of mule deer 

 in Northwestern Colorado, thousands are 

 destroyed every year by I'ons. One lion 

 will sometimes kill 4 or 5 deer in a night. 



Lions are easily trailed and treed, or 

 brought to bay, with dogs; but the dogs 

 must be especially trained for this work. 



Win. Wells. 



AN HOUR WITH CANADIAN RUFFED GROUSE. 



W. E. WOODYEAR. 



It was on one of those beautiful days in 

 the early part of September. I was lying 

 in my little 7x7 A tent, pitched alongside of 

 one of the prettiest lakes in New Brunswick 

 — Lake Utopia, and when I heard in the dis- 

 tance a noise like some one, showering light 

 blows on a hollow log, I at once recognized 

 it as the v?ell known drum of the cock 

 grouse. I pulled on an old pair of mocca- 

 sins, and made a rush for my gun. In less 

 time than it takes to tell it I had it together 

 and was putting on my old hunting coat. 

 Then I started on a run in the direction from 

 which the noise came. 



I had gone about 300 yards when I heard 

 a " whir," saw dead leaves flying and my 

 longed-for bird going through the woods 

 like a shot. I slipped 2 shells into my faith- 

 ful little Scott and waited for the bird to 

 settle, which he did about 100 yards ahead, 

 after twisting around through the under- 

 brush for what seemed an hour. 



I started in pursuit, making as little noise 



as possible. When I got within a reasonable 

 gun-shot distance I straightened up and 

 made ready to shoot, kicking into a pile of 

 brush to flush the bird. Up he came, about 

 35 or 40 yards off. I raised, pulled and 

 missed with my left but did the work with 

 my right. Walking up to where the bird had 

 fallen I found him as dead as a stone, with 

 only 2 shot in him, one in the head and the 

 other through the heart. 



I put him in my pocket and started 

 for camp, but remembering that " Birds 

 of a feather flock together," I stopped, 

 and put 2 fresh shells in my gun. I had 

 gone but a few steps when another grouse 

 flushed. I pulled, and saw feathers fly. 

 but the bird kept on. I was on the point of 

 giving him up, when I saw him make 

 one mighty effort, then double up and drop. 

 He must have fallen into a whole brood of 

 grouse, for at that time of year, although 

 full grown, they had not broken up. It 

 seemed as if 50 birds had flushed at once; but 

 later I found there were only 9. I started 

 after then and they gave me some lively 

 sport. 



. One would get up on one side of me. and 

 when I 'would shoot the report would flush 

 one on the other side, or behind me, and I 

 would nearly break my neck trying to turn 

 quick enough to get a shot. 



After bagging 7 of the 9 I went back to 

 where I had left the dead bird which had 

 played so important a part in my sport. 

 After examining him closely, I found he had 

 been hit by only a few shot, and that one had 

 gone near the heart, which accounted for his 

 not dropping at shot. 



Speaking of shot going near or through 

 the heart, I have known deer and other large 

 game to run a quarter of a mile or more, 

 with a bullet directly through the heart. 



After getting my 9 dead birds together I 

 made my way hastily to camp as it was al- 

 ready quite dark. 



AT EAGLES' NEST. 



LOUIS P. SMITH. 



Easter Sunday found me at Portland, Me., 

 after a month's continuous travel without a 

 chance at field sports of any kind. Accus- 

 tomed to out-of-door life, I was getting 

 desperate and it is hard to tell what would 

 have happened had I not received a dis- 

 patch from Mr. Frank Cole of Biddeford, 

 Me., urging me to come at once, as ducks 

 were flying and everything was ready for a 

 day's snooting. The first train out of Port- 

 land, carried me bag and baggage, and I 

 had duck fever as only a duck hunter can 

 have it when he has not watched the decoys 

 for a whole season. 



At Biddeford station Mr. Cole's daughter 

 met me and told of immense flocks of coot, 

 black ducks, and old squaws which were go- 

 ing up the coast, and soon Mr. and Mrs. 

 Cole and I started for a 9 mile drive to their 



