A CUSHION SHOT ON SWARTZ CREEK. 



C. A. HARMON. 



Loving peace above all things I have 

 hitherto firmly suppressed the impulse to 

 fasten the epithet of liar on certain people 

 and, in spite of the fearful jar veracity sus- 

 tained at the hands of the author of "A 

 Racket in the Rockies," I again play the 

 nobler part and set him herewith an ex- 

 ample of fidelity to fact and detail which 

 I prayerfully hope he may remember in the 

 future, lest something awful happen to him. 



'Way back in the '90's I went into camp 

 on Swartz creek, in a country where game 

 was simply ubiquitous. I had to camp 

 on an island to keep the wild creatures 

 from disturbing me at night. Having 

 packed in but a meager outfit from Pierson- 

 ville, Mich., through a trackless wilderness, 

 I had much difficulty in organizing a camp 

 out of raw material ; but by working over- 

 time and exercising my inventiveness I 

 finally completed a rude but serviceable 7- 

 room cottage, with gas and hot and cold 

 water, and a catamaran. By that time, 

 however, I was entirely out of grub and 

 hungry ; so I took my trusty rille and 

 boarding the naphtha launch I set sail for 

 the low lying, blurly wriggling, distant 

 shore, which was under obligation for en- 

 chantment to 7 miles of the worst walking 

 I ever saw. I arrived while the sun .was 

 yet an hour high and after tying the car.ce 

 to an iron ring in the breakwater, I walked 

 down the railroad track to the first cattle- 

 guard and had the good fortune to observe 

 a large cinnamon elk drinking out of 

 Swartz lake. 



Although the distance was upward of 

 800 yards I took a Lyman rest over a mile- 

 post and applying my eye to the telescope, 

 I planked the eland through the lower lobe 

 of the solar plexus. He dropped as if shot. 



Simultaneously with the shot I saw 

 through the telescope dark objects fall from 

 a limb on a tree at nearly right angles to 

 where the doe had stood, but a good 80 

 rods to the West. Grasping my rifle firm- 

 ly I started across the glassy, frozen surface 

 and, after sticking the splendid buck, I 

 hurried over to where the dumdum had 

 glanced from his horn. I found to my 

 amazement that it had split a limb 63 feet 

 from the ground and shelled out g fat 

 coons like peanuts. They were either killed 

 or terribly injured by the fall. 



While I was looking at them and think- 

 ing how lucky I was that morning, a thin 



amber stream began falling into the high 

 grass near the foot of the tree. Glancing 

 aloft to ascertain its genesis I was still 

 further astounded to find that the hard 

 steel ball had, after settling the hash of the 

 coons, drilled a hole into the trunk of the 

 oak and by merest chance tapped a large 

 deposit of wild honey. I needed the honey 

 in my business, but for some time was at 

 a loss to know how I was to save it. Then 

 remembering the water-skins and wine- 

 skins of the East, I muttered as I fumbled 

 for my blade, "B'gosh ! Why not honev 

 skins?" 



Quickly splitting those 11 coons across 

 the North end and turning them out of 

 their hides, I soon had really serviceable 

 receptacles. I took one in each hand, wad- 

 ing back across the creek, skinned the 

 bear and hung all but the saddle high up, 

 to be taken in the next day. 



Since coming to camp I had been so 

 all-fired busy that I had neglected my 

 mending and in my buckskin pants were 

 numerous apertures through which brook 

 trout to the number of 92 had rushed in 

 terror, but found no escape as I waded 

 back and forth carrying my honey and 

 coons. It was an unusual way to catch 

 shad, but there they were, to speak for 

 themselves. Of course you have often heard 

 a pike speak. As it was fast growing dark 

 I hurriedly piled the honey and coons and 

 meat and black bass onto the buffalo hide 

 and grasping it by the tail I started for 

 camp, drawing my load behind me. 



It was pitch dark when I arrived. I 

 started to drop the tail, to unload, and it 

 all but slipped out of my hold, as a piece 

 of stretched rubber would. Being incap- 

 able of further surprise I calmly tied the 

 tail around a sapling and felt back for 

 the load but it was not there. Back and 

 back I reached, about 20 rods, when it 

 dawned on me that the greenness of the 

 hide, the heavy dew and the large deck- 

 load had caused the buckskin to stretch. 

 I was tired out. It was dark. I threw 

 myself on the sofa and slept until long 

 after sunrise. When I arose, the morning 

 sun had shrunk the hide; and the 13 coons, 

 the 93 perch and the hind quarters of the 

 antelope were before my door. 



The next day it rained. 



Advt. Try Keely cure for rumatiz of 

 the hair. 3tf. 



Bill Damm's daughter, Grace, has scar- 

 latina, and the whole Damm family is quar- 

 antined. — Ozark News. 



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