200 



RECREATION. 



of Lake Itasca, and put up for the night. 

 The following morning we pulled for Hen- 

 nepin creek, 13 miles to the Southeast, and 

 reached it about 3 o'clock in the afternoon. 

 All hands set to work pitching camp and 

 getting things in shape for a week's .shoot- 

 ing. 



When day broke a light tracking snow 

 had fallen and we made an early start ; 

 father and uncle going up the creek and I 

 down. 



Two miles down I came on the tracks of 

 a big moose and followed him about 8 

 miles. Then it began to snow and after 

 a while I lost the track. Not being dis- 

 couraged by this bad luck I kept on and 

 after an hour or so was rewarded by start- 

 ing a band of 3 moose. They escaped un- 

 harmed and I went on until dark. I gath- 

 ered fire wood, built a brush house and got 

 through the night as best I could. In the 

 morning I ate my last morsel of lunch and 

 after studying out my whereabouts I start- 

 ed for camp. I found another track and 

 as it led in my direction I concluded 'to 

 follow it. Before long I saw, in a hollow 

 under a big pine, a large moose. I was not 

 long in getting a bead on him and when I 

 fired he went down. Throwing in another 

 cartridge I started to where the animal lay 

 apparently dead. I was going up the other 

 side of the hollow when I saw my moose 

 coming my way like a locomotive and not 

 more than 30 yards from me. By the time 

 I got my rifle to my face he was close 

 enough for me to see his eye winkers and 

 I cut loose. He went down again, dead 

 this time for sure. 



I went to him and saw that my first 

 shot had creased his neck stunning him for 

 a while, but my last was between his eyes. 



The next day I laid in camp and my 

 father and uncle succeeded in killing a 

 small bull. That ended our hunt. 



Robert Moak, St. Paul, Minn. 



A WARDEN IN THE FIELD. 



November 15, '98, 3 friends, Dr. Feeter, 

 Wilber Blair, his brother Jay and I set 

 out for a day among the quails and rabbits. 



The place we fixed on is known as 

 Blair's Thickets in the central part of 

 Franklin county, Pa. We had selected this 

 locality because it had not been hunted 

 •that season. The day was cloudy, just right 

 for quails. Jay, he was along to carry the 

 game, but not for swine. We stopped 

 when we had a reasonable bag. 



At the edge of a thicket we separated, 

 the Dr. and Wilber with one dog, Jay 

 and I with the other. The doctor soon 

 started a covey of quails and it was amus- 

 ing to see him try to shoot with an empty 

 gun. He joined in the laugh, remarking: 



"It was a mighty lucky thing for the 

 birds." 



We could not find the birds for a time, 

 but while hunting for them I placed 5 rab- 

 bits to my credit. Soon after this my dog 

 flushed one quail, which fell to my gun. 

 We flushed the covey and 2 fell to our 

 credit, one to the doctor, one to me. 



Next we looked up the rest of the covey. 

 We had not gone far when I added an- 

 other rabbit to my string and after a few 

 steps more both dogs came to a stand and 

 one old quail rose. He swished and dodged, 

 showing he knew what was coming. "Boom, 

 boom," 2 cracks hastened his departure. 

 We kept this up all forenoon, miss and hit, 

 till it was time for the doctor to go. 



When we got home we had 12 rabbits 

 and 9 birds of which 9 rabbits and 4 birds 

 fell to me ; one rabbit and 5 birds to the 

 doctor, and 2 rabbits to Wilber. Not a big 

 bag to some, but we are no game hogs and 

 were satisfied. We expect to have some 

 fine sport in the near future on what was 

 left. 



The doctor is our game warden and has 

 done much to break up the unlawful killing 

 of game in our county. Since his appoint- 

 ment there have been 23 arrests and 22, 

 convictions. $635 in fines have been collect- 

 ed. The practice of killing game out of 

 season is carried on in some parts of the 

 county yet, but we hope to stop it in time. 

 B. J. Minter, Orrstown, Pa. 



A VETERAN IN WASHINGTON. 



I have been what young men of to-day 

 call an old style sportsman, ever since I 

 could wield a hickory fishpole, lift a gun 

 or set a trap. Few sportsmen of to-day 

 have used or seen the kind of shooting 

 irons we hunted with 50 or 60 years ago. 



In 1838, when I was 10 years old, my 

 father moved from New York to the then 

 Territory of Iowa. Eastern Iowa was then 

 unsettled and full of game. Father was 

 no hunter and disliked hunters. He was 

 a born tiller of the soil and remained so 

 all his life; but not so 'with me, his eldest 

 son. I was the black sheep of the flock. 

 I loved the woods and prairies and all that 

 they contained far better than I did the 

 cultivated fields. There was little time in 

 pioneer days for a boy to hunt or fish ; yet 

 my good father, when I was 11 years old, 

 allowed me to buy an old flint lock single 

 barrel shot gun. I have owned many fine 

 rifles since then, yet have never felt the 

 same joy as when I first found myself 

 possessor of that old gun. 



With it I killed squirrels, ducks, quails, 

 grouse and such small game as a boy. will 

 shoot. But, as the woods were full of 

 turkeys and deer and as geese came in the 

 grain fields by hundreds, I soon tired of 

 my little gun and traded it for an old rifle 

 running 60 round balls to the pound. That 

 was the way we measured the bore of a 



