XXIV 



RECREATION. 



ONE WEEK IN BUCKTAIL CAMP. 



Sunday morning broke bright and clear, 

 with the grass blades tipped with ice. The 

 bay mare had been hitched to the light 

 blackboard, the pack basket tightly strapped 

 on behind, loaded with good things to eat, 

 and we were away for a week's hunt. We 

 drove 12 miles and left the horse at Young's 

 logging camp, then walked on over a good 

 trail.. About a mile in, we overtook Bill, 

 smoking and whistling softly to himself. 

 In less than an hour we came in sight of 

 Bucktail, a warm log camp, that had taken 

 us 4 weeks to build. It stands on a dry 

 knoll in the edge of heaiy green timber, 

 close to a cold spring; has 2 good bunks, a 

 stove, a table and 2 benches. 



Bill had the camp in good shape, and we 

 immediately unpacked the basket, had a 

 dinner and a smoke, a few stories and then 

 to bed. During the night the wind shifted 

 into the South and with it came a fine rain. 

 Long before daylight Bill was up. We 

 dressed warmly, had a hearty breakfast and 

 started out. The rain had softened the 

 leaves, so we made little noise in walk- 

 ing. On the edge of Shanty Beaver 

 meadow, a well known feeding ground for 

 deer, we sat watching until nearly 8 o'clock, 

 then started toward Moose river. We had 

 hunted but a short distance when we jumped 

 2 deer. I circled to cut them off, and had 

 gone but a few rods when I heard Bill's 

 rifle crack. He called to me that he fired 

 at both the buck and the doe and had put 

 the buck to its knees. We saw where the 

 old fellow had been down, but no sign of 

 blood. All day we followed those 2 deer, 

 and at night we left them on the edge of 

 Twin Sister lake. 



It froze hard during the night and the 

 burnt grounds were white with frost. The 

 next day, when we found where a deer had 

 crossed, we followed that old . buck until 

 our legs ached, but did not get a shot. 



That night something awoke me, and I 

 heard the crack of brush in front of the 

 door. I awoke Bill, and held a blanket 

 over the window while he lighted a bull's- 

 eye lantern. We then got down the old 

 smooth bore rifle and I loaded it with buck- 

 shot. We opened the door, a ray of light 

 was thrown on the brush, and I saw a pair 

 of bright eyes looking at the light. I took 

 the best aim possible and pulled the trig- 

 ger. There was a flash, a roar, and I 

 picked myself up off the floor. We lighted 

 the lamp and lantern, put on our sweaters, 

 boots and trousers and started out to see 

 the effect of my shot. We followed the 

 tracks and Bill found a bunch of hair, 

 clotted with blood, so we knew the buck- 

 shot had hit something. In the morning, 

 after long search, I saw a leg sticking out 

 of a clump of bushes, and I knew that the 

 old smooth bore had done its work well. 

 He was a spike horn buck weighing about 

 no pounds. 



We jumped a doe one morning and had a 

 running shot without success. Bill then 

 said I should go out to the lake and he 

 would drive through to me. Later I heard 



the old .44 speak, and Bill called that he 

 was coming. The noise came nearer and in 

 a moment I saw a good sized cub tearing 

 through the underbrush. I at once fired 

 my 30-30, and the second shot stopped him 

 with a ball under the right eye. Bill had run 

 on to him, climbing a burnt stub, and suc- 

 ceeded in getting a good shot. The first ball 

 had gone through the cub, knocking him 

 off the stub, another had struck him on the 

 left shoulder, and Bill's third shot caught 

 him just above the tail. 



We had hunted an hour Saturday, when 

 we heard firing across the river. We 

 turned, that way, thinking perhaps the hunt- 

 ers would drive the deer toward us, and 

 they did. Bill saw a splendid buck mak- 

 ing his way across a swale. I tried a shot, 

 which fell short, so I raised my sight 3 

 notches and tried again. I was still short 

 and immediately put it up to the last notch. 

 The buck was running directly to our right, 

 and we had a livelv time for a minute, but 

 our buck kept straight on until out of 

 range. That afternoon I returned home. 

 L. W. Secoy, Utica, N. Y. 



The customer was looking at the stock of 

 canary birds. 



"This one is your best singer, is it?" she 

 said. 



"Yes'm," replied the proprietor of the 

 birds. 



"Has it an amiable disposition? Does it 

 ever get the sulks?" 



"No oftener, ma'am," he said, "than you 

 would naturally expect in the prima donna 

 of the establishment." — Chicago Tribune. 



The sick man had called his lawyer. "I 

 wish to explain again to you," said he, 

 weakly, "about willing my property — " 



The attorney held up his hand .reassur- 

 ingly. "There, there!" said he. "Leave 

 that all to me." 



The sick man sighed resignedly. 



"I suppose I might as well," said he, 

 turning on his pillow. "You'll get it, any- 

 way." — Judge. 



Dot's mother said to her, "My dear, you 



should not say, T guess,' 

 But say 'presume.' " That very day Dot 



wore a nice, new dress ; 

 "I'd like a pattern," said a friend, and then 



the child to whom 

 She spoke replied : "We haven't one ; we 



cut it by presume." 



— Philadelphia Post. 



Speaker — I defy any one in this audience 

 to mention an action I can perform with my 

 right hand that I cannot do equally well 

 with my left. 



Voice from the Gallery — Put your left 

 hand in yer right hand trousers pocket ! — 

 Chicago News. 



IF YOU WOULD LIVE NEXT TO 

 NATURE READ RECREATION. 



