FROM THE GAME FIELDS. 



447 



The total kill was gratifyingly large, more than 1,000, 

 doubtless 2,000, red legged and red beaked sea swallows 

 falling victims to the gunners' skill. As the birds find a 

 ready sale at 7 cents apiece, the hunters were unsparing 

 of powder, and local ammunition handlers did a big busi- 

 ness filling orders for cartridges. Len Swift brought 

 ashore 49 birds. Tony Rogers captured 128; Lew 

 Young, 150; Will Mott, about 300 ; Frank Rogers 

 367; John Rich 387. 



Two men are reported to have together bagged 350 

 birds, of which 52 were killed with 4 shots as the flocks 

 roosted on sand bars. 



Frank Rogers made a wonderful double shot, firing the 

 first barrel into a flock on a bar, and the second as it rose 

 for flight. He picked up 25 victims as the fruit of that 

 2-barrel fire; and as he had a lone berth and the birds 

 obstinately returned again and again to the locality, fea- 

 thers flew in clouds at each discharge of his gun. 



The local buyers have stacks in process of packing for 

 shipment to New York, and are expecting further lots dur- 

 ing the next few days. All are under orders from big New 

 York concerns^and all hustling to get as large a share of 

 the harvest as possible. 



One of the local buyers told The Globe man that last 

 season he shipped 4,000 terns to his New York house, and 

 that those were knocked down in 3 days. One Well- 

 fleet buyer hopes to secure 15,000 ere this season ends, 

 having received orders from New York to ship that 

 number if possible. 



Terns were formerly caught for food only, but now 

 the flesh goes to waste, while the skin, with head and tail, 

 wings and all feathers intact, serves to beautify my lady's 

 bonnet. 



This shows there is yet a vast amount 

 of work for the League to do in order 

 to stop the milliners from exterminating 

 certain species of beautiful and innocent 

 birds. 



To read of such slaughter as is detailed 

 above, by men who are called sportsmen 

 and who probably call themselves such, 

 is enough to bring the blush of shame 

 to the cheek of every decent man who 

 owns a gun. Those brutes are no more 

 sportsmen) than the men . employed in 

 Armour's slaughter house, who kill and 

 hang up thousands of hogs and cattle 

 every day. They are no more sportsmen 

 than the crews on the big barges who 

 drag nets in Long Island sound for men- 

 haden, where these fish are taken out by 

 the ton and made up into oil and ferti- 

 lizers. The tern shooters are no more 

 sportsmen than the Indians who go on 

 the Pribilof islands,, armed with clubs, 

 and beat to death thousands of seals. It 

 is high time the daily newspaper editors 

 of * this country should learn to distin- 

 guish between sportsmen and butchers, 

 and it is high time the law makers of Mas- 

 sachusetts should pass a law prohibiting 

 the killing, or having in possession, or 

 shipping of any bird for decorative pur- 

 poses, or that is unfit to eat. Gulls and 

 terns should be rigidly protected at all 

 times on account of their value as scav- 

 engers. 



The Massachusetts Division of the 

 League should take steps to have such an 

 amendment enacted at the next session of 

 its Legislature. — Editor. 



IN THE LITTLE BELT MOUNTAINS. 

 Big Timber, Mont. 

 Editor Recreation : 



Last fall, late in October, as the first 

 snows began to cover the mountains, El- 

 mer B., my brother Hank, and I started on 

 a hunting trip with a 4 horse team and 

 wagon, saddle horses, a tent, bedding, and 

 provisions for a week or more. 



We had before limited our hunting to 

 the Crazy and Snowy mountains and foot 

 hills. This time we decided to make our 

 permanent camp in the Little Belt moun- 

 tains. 



Early in the second afternoon, when 

 nearing the foot hills of the Little Belts, 

 we saw a bunch of antelope feeding on a 

 ridge. Elmer and I took our rifles and 

 went along the foot of the hill to where we 

 thought a good shot could be obtained; 

 then, climbing to the top of the hill, 

 brought down one each. Mine was over 

 400 yards from me when I shot, but it 

 soon fell. 



While dressing our game I looked for 

 Elmer, and saw him on his back, kicking 

 his feet around in the air. Now and then 

 he would stop and resume his work ; 

 then commence kicking again. As I was 

 wondering at this, I saw a bunch of ante- 

 lope coming toward -him. They would 

 stop and watch, and as he went through 

 his foot flagging movements would come 

 closer. When they were within 75 yards 

 he picked out a large one, fired, and 

 brought it down. The rest didn't wait to 

 see what was there. With his 30-40 he had 

 shot that one through the head, and had 

 broken nearly every bone in it. 



We stored our game in the wagon, and 

 by evening had reached the mountains. 

 We made camp in a grove of pines. A 

 spring was near, with numberless deer 

 tracks around it, but it was alkali water; 

 so, to make this agreeable to drink, we 

 had to make coffee of it. 



We staked out the horses, unloaded our 

 provisions, and, hungry as bears, ate a sup- 

 per of antelope steak and delicious biscuit ; 

 then rolled in and slept soundly. 



We were ready for the hunt by day- 

 light. Little snow showers coming up 

 frequently, I left my camera in camp, and, 

 each armed with his rifle, we started for 

 the sport. 



The climb up the mountain was diffi- 

 cult, but that once accomplished, traveling 

 was easy. 



The first day in this camp I killed a large 

 buck, with fair antlers, 4 miles from camp. 

 Next day, while going after it with the 

 saddle horse, I killed another near the 

 first. 



When I reached camp, the boys had not 

 returned, and I took a snap shot at my 





