354 FOREST AND STREAM. 
tucked away in their little beds, to be awakened now and 
then by some enterprising dog bolting in or out through 
the open window. Morning came full soon, for our ach¬ 
ing limbs had scarcely recovered from the previous day’s 
fatigue. Our fervent hope had been that there would be 
rain during the night to cool the atmosphere; but only a 
few drops was all that came. The morning, however, was 
somewhat cloudy, and the dew hung thick and heavy on 
the prairie grass. To-day we were to take a new route, 
and it was hoped that plenty of birds would reward our 
exertions. We were soon in the field, each one taking a 
course of his own. E. soon found birds, and the Judge, 
who was as anxious to keep even with him as he was to 
beat their opponents, soon went to help him out. They 
were shooting right and left, while I had not yet found 
birds. At last, one that they let slip came over to me, and 
I killed it. A short distance farther, on the crest of a hill 
in some very short cover, Dash began to draw; presently 
he sank quietly down with his.muzzle high in the air. [I 
am not writing about dog breaking, so I trust I may not be 
lectured by some professional because he did not come to 
a stand; but he knew what he was about as well as thouo-h 
he had been the image of a marble statue]. I walked up 
to him, when up got an old cock grouse, i pulled'trigger 
and down he came. I knew by DadTs actions that the old 
fellow was not entirely alone in that locality, and soon the 
covey was found, and none of them were left to swell the 
census of the next year’s shooting except one young bird, 
that got up with two others, and the old hen, and she went 
away minus numerous feathers. By this time I was well 
loaded down, and I made my way back to the team, where 
I found the others. I had not more than unloaded before 
the dogs had again found birds, and we all then advanced 
to take a shot. The birds got up, and three were knocked 
down, while two more went away badly wounded, and 
one of them was afterwards gathered as we advanced. After 
the discharge, E. and myself having loaded, the Judge was 
busy making some very lively motions about one end of 
the muzzle loader. “Hold on,” shouts the anxious Judge, 
“you fellows with your infernal breech loaders are not 
going to run over me in that way. You can’t play any of 
the swine on me, and if you don’t wait until I get loaded 
there’ll be a funeral not far from here; this thing is played 
out.” “Well, Judge, seeing it is you, 1 suppose we must 
wait; but we are pleased to inform you that a man of your 
standing going out amongst a covey of grouse alongside of 
a breech loader is not entitled to any rights that a white 
man is bound to respect.” The Judge is constitutionally a 
little nervous, and we seldom let a chance go by that will 
put the old muzzle loader in an unfavorable position. 
The few clouds that had obscured the sun and saved us 
from its rays were now dispelled, and things began to get 
burning hot—too hot, in fact, for men or dogs, and we 
drove to a little farm house and besought the piivilege of 
putting our team in the stable, and an opportunity to shield 
ourselves from the noon day sun. Only the lady of the 
house was there, and she, in broken English, directed us to 
an adjacent corn field, where her husband was at work. 
He came out barefoot and bareheaded to learn our wishes, 
which we made known. He replied that he would go to 
the house with us, and returned and got an old Springfield 
musket, which he kept in the field to shoot at any stray 
“sliicken” that might come along. We returned to the 
house, put out our team, laid our blankets in the shade of 
the house, and prepared our lunch. Our Teutonic friend 
brought forth a water melon, a dish of clabber, and an urn 
of cotfee, and we made an excellent dinner, the Judge and 
E. vieing with each other to see which one could get out¬ 
side of the most clabber, but the bottom of the dish being- 
reached before that matter was decided, the match had to 
be considered drawn. Hans was quite loquacious, aud 
asked, with a kno wing wink, “Do you fellers belong to 
that barty that got fined the other day,” referring to Gov. 
Woodson and party. 
The statement went the rounds of the papers that the 
Governor and paity accidentally followed a covey of grouse 
across the line. Had the originator of that statement stud¬ 
ied his map and the facts of the case a little closer he 
would have discovered that between Missouri and Kansas, 
in the vicinity of St. Joe, flows the rapid Missouri river; 
consequently, the story that they were accidentally across 
the line won’t hold water. The gallant Governor, General 
Craig, Frank Hopkins, and the rest of the party, may be 
ardent sportsmen, but it is a little too much to accuse them 
of wading in the “big muady” and trumping eighty-five 
miles into Kansas after a covey of birds, no matter how 
large. 
The plain, unvarnished tale can be told in a few words. 
The Governor and party had gone out on the St. Joe and 
D. C. road on the afternoon of the 14th in order to be ready 
for the next day. aud having part of a day on their hands, 
and nothing to do, they concluded to drive out with their 
dogs and see what the prospect was. Some discussion had 
arisen before starting about taking guns along, when a gen¬ 
tleman of the place remarked, “ f ake them, and if you get 
complained of i’ll pay your fiue.” Some little pitcher with 
iaige ears, immediately conveyed the remark to a party 
who, in business or otherwise, was a rival of the gentle¬ 
man who made the statement. The dogs were taken out, 
and accidentally, of course, some guns. The dogs found 
birds, and acciUental.y somebody’s gnn went off. Spies 
had been sent out to watch, the act was at once reported, 
aud when they returned to town they found that the Jaws 
of Kansas would apply to the Governor of Missouri just 
the same us to any other individual. 
1 trust that whoever may read this will please note that 
the Governor of Missouri did not accidentally violate the 
laws of Kansas. But i have again forgotten my mutton, 
and unless I adhere closer to it, for want of space the edi¬ 
tor, and for lack of patience tne reader, will never find the 
end of this hunt. At four P. M., the mercury still indicat¬ 
ing 100 degrees, we took the field and had quite good suc¬ 
cess. Not one half of what we might have had, however, 
had the ground been damp and the weather less hot. As 
it was, however, we bagged sixty-eight birds. That night 
we again staid at the farm house, and in the morning went 
into town to prepare for the noon train, shortening our in¬ 
tended stay a day on account of the intense heat; besides, 
we had enough, and more than enough, birds for our 
friends and ourselves. We found that IS. and Lie Colonel 
had taken the field, leaving instructions for the train to 
lake tfiem up when it came along, as tliey would be on the 
line <of the road, which was none. 
After we had all got together, and the contending parties 
began to count up, a stumbling block came in the way in 
the shape of Judge S., who had' hunted along with the 
Colonel and his brother. When he was called upon to tell 
how many birds he had killed he didn’t know. He said 
whenever birds got up, and thev all fired, his brother and 
the Colonel claimed all the birds killed, and the only way 
that be could get a bird at all was to shoot one when they 
did not see him, for if they did they were sure to shoot and 
then claim the bird, and he could not tell how many birds 
he ought to claim. So the matter was not finally settled, 
but was disputed ad libitum on the way home. The last 
thing I heard that night as I went to sleep was Judge H. 
saying, “Now, Eli, that’s too thin; you know that Charlie 
and the old muzzle loader beat you, and you have tried to 
count in your brother’s birds to save yourselves.” A hearty 
laugh was the reply, and I heard no more. 
For Forest and Stream. 
ON THE UPPER MISSISSIPPI. 
BY nAVTLAUD. 
O NE of the most thoroughly enjoyable excursions in 
the whole extent of this new country of ours is tlie 
trip from Aitken to Brainerd, nearly one hundred miles 
down stream via the Mississippi River. Two years ago a 
party of us, now scattered far and wide, made tliis trip the 
first time it was ever done or even attempted by sportsmen; 
not that it was a hard or dangerous route, but from the 
supposition that it would be monotonous and game scarce 
it was given the go by. 
We shipped our two boats and supplies to Aitken one 
afternoon, landed them carefully, poled our way down 
Mud River, killing half a dozen ducks in the rice fields as 
we passed along, and an hour or so before sun down our 
joyous party of six were floating down the Mississippi. As 
we floated along we noticed on the oozy banks frequent 
signs of deer, and though a little early in the season, it was 
unanimously agreed that for “just this once” we should, if 
we could, have some venison, and so shipping the oars we si¬ 
lently sent the boats around the curves with the paddle, 
hugging the brushy banks closely, but it was useless; the 
wary deer would smell or see us, and get out of our way 
quietly. 
“Do you know anything about‘shining’ deer, Junior,” 
asked Senior, of the sieersman in the forward boat, as they 
came together at the mouth of a small lake. 
“I reckon,” was the response, “and here is good ground 
for that business.” r 
The boats were drawn on shore and unloaded, the can¬ 
vas fly spread, fire lit, and our camp all in good shape at 
short notice while Junior busied himself in improvising a 
“jack.” Selecting a white birch about a foot in diameter 
he carefully removed the bark a foot in length and pared 
oft the edges till the roll assumed a half circle in shape, 
then fitting a crescent shaped piece of wood in each end, 
secured in place by small wooden pins, be fastened a short 
stout pole to one end securely, fitted two small rolls of birch 
bark inside, in which he placed two candles, and then se¬ 
cured the whole thing firmly in the bow of the boat, and a 
“jack” was completed; one that, if thepaduler and shooter 
knew their business, is equal to Murray’s far famed, intri¬ 
cate contrivance, made with a fireman’s hat, plate glass 
front, etc. 
While we do not defend or believe in the practice of jack 
shooting generally, we claim that when a party of sports¬ 
men want venison, have no dogs, or do not know the coun¬ 
try, and are particular not to shoot at anything but a buck, 
and only then when needed for camp u e, that it is as le¬ 
gitimate a sport as driving deer on a runway, and it takes a 
cool hand both in the bow and stern of a boat to get a deer. 
Try it, some reader who has never had any of this experi¬ 
ence, and though he may be a crack shot in the field or the 
forest, though his nerves may be as steel under ordinary 
circumstances, he will find that when his paddler, with 
noiseless stroke, drives the light boat within shooting dis¬ 
tance of a big buck some dark night that liis trusty rifle 
will shoot wild, or his favorite double barrel throw the 
buckshot over or under the game instead of into it. 
All ready now, supper was eaten, and as soon as it grew 
dark Junior pared down the edges of his paddle to a thin, 
sharp edge, wrapped a handkerchief around the staff, so 
as to avoid any thumping in the boat, and placing Senior 
in the bow with a heavy double gun, took his place in the 
stern with a “navy six” on the seat beside him, and pushed 
out into and up the winding outlet. 
A few moment’s work and the lake was reached, and as 
the boat was turned towards the west side, keeping just 
outside of the rushes and lily pads, Senior lit the candles; 
the broad stream of light lit up the foliage and shore so 
that every object was distinctly visible. As the boat moved 
along without a ripple, JunioY thought of his sport in the 
Adirondacks with cherished friends of years ago, of just 
such nights and just such sport in prospect on Meachem 
River with Criss Crandall, with his noiseless paddle behind 
him, or on Marion River, or lovely Blue Mountain Lake 
with Jim Cross or jolly Frank Hobart in the stern; but his 
reverie was suddenly broken as his practiced ear caught 
the familiar “plop, plop, plop” sound made by a deer feed¬ 
ing, and in a whisper Senior was warned to be cautious, 
and the boat’s head turned towards the sound. Out of the 
fog and darkness rose the form of a deer, half immersed 
in water, looking white aud spectral-like. Senior’s gun 
was at his shoulder, he shaking from head to foot, and the 
muzzle of his gun describing circles in the air. 
“Pass, Senior,” said the paddler, “it’s a doe, and her 
fawns can’t spare her just yet,” aud slapping his paddle on 
the water away with a snort and a whistle went the fright¬ 
ened animal. 
“Senior, keep cool, and come down to business; no buck 
fever allowed in this boat,” was Junior’s whispered cau¬ 
tion. 
“Confound it,” was the muttered response, “what ails 
me; I was cooler and steadier up the Red River when we 
cleaned out Banks.” 
On went the boat, ripping the glassy surface of the still 
lake as noiseless as a knife blade, and disturbing the frogs 
and night birds that with many a splash and flutter got out 
of the way of our boat. Suddenly, to the left of us two 
glaring, fiery balls appeared through the darkness, and as 
the boat stole nearer a lordly buck stood gazing at us, head 
and tail up. 
“Steady, Senior, and let him have it,” and bang, bang 
spoke the heavy gun—one cartridge ploughing up the water 
just ahead of the boat, the other going far above and be¬ 
yond the deer, who gave one or two frantic jumps and 
stood staring at the light, whistling and snorting like a 
small engine. Junior whirled the boat half round, and 
c ocking his revolver blazed away—one, two, three shots— 
the first taking effect in the fore leg, the second a miss, the 
third through the neck, bringing the animal down, and an¬ 
other shorter range shot through the head as the boat came 
nearer effectually laying him out. To say that Senior was 
wild—as he raved about his luck, his gun, his nerves, and 
filled the calm night full of “chin music” and double head¬ 
ed adjectives—is drawing it mild indeed. He pleaded 
earnestly for one more chance, but Junior shook his head, 
and loading the deer into the boat they started for camp. 
“Here they come,” said M., as he kicked tlie smouldering 
embers of the camp fire together, and set the tea kettle on 
the blaze, “and you bet they have got a deer, or Junior 
would not be rowing as lie is; wake up, boys, and give 
them a hand.” 
As he spoke the prow of the boat touched the beach, 
and all hands helped carry the game to camp, where, be¬ 
side the bright fire, the story as to how it was done, who 
did it, etc., was told. Senior had to come in for his full 
share of chaffing, which he bore with his usual good na¬ 
ture, promising'the party that he would keep trying till he 
could “shoot a deer at night on the jump with a revolver.” 
Rolled in our blankets we slept the sleep such as comes 
only to those who enjoy life in the woods, and awoke as 
the sun began to show himself over the tree tops. We sat 
down to a breakfast (fairly earned) of venison steak, wood 
duck, and fish—fresh fish with the usual appropriate fixings. 
En route again—down the rapid river for an hour or so 
without incident of note, save that Senior got a long range 
shot at a bear, and peppered his shaggy hide with a'charge 
of No. 5 We ran our boats ashore at an inviting spot, 
filled a pail full of ripe, luscious whortleberries, and shot a 
few pigeons. A mile farther down we saw a camp of Chip¬ 
pewa Indians, and as some of our party were from the 
east, to whom the greasy loafers were a curiosity, it was 
decided to mahe them a call. Four lazy Indians, as many 
frowzy squaws, a horde of beady-eyed pappooses, and a 
lot of mangy dogs composed tlie outfit. Dirty, lazy, poor, 
and proud of it, they lay in sullen silence and would not 
speak a word; even tlie dogs did not bark, but grumbled 
suspiciously at our heels. We tried to engage some of the 
“noble reds” in conversation, and essayed the same thing 
with a squaw, to whom was offered a cigar. The cigar 
was taken as quickly as a trout takes a fly, but no further 
would she trust herself. Borne of the party wanted some 
beadwork, pipes, or something of tlie kind, but their mul¬ 
ish silence tired us all out, till a bright thought struck S., 
who, turning to the filthy crowd, got off the old, old story, 
“Have a drink, Nitchee?” Quick as a flash their expres¬ 
sions changed from wolfy selfishness to a hound-like beg¬ 
ging. They sprang to tlieir feet like acrobats, and crowded 
around our "boats. The genial Senior seated liimself in the 
stern of our supply boat, and drew cupful after cupful of 
the foaming lager (the strongest fire water we had), till 
each Nitchee had had a beaker. Then they were willing 
to talk and to trade. Bead work was found, stone pipes 
were produced, and one big Indian wanted to give S. his 
dog. Finally, tlie fun was brought to a sudden close by a 
■ squaw trying to kiss Senior, who. in his most pleasant 
tones, “begged to be excused, madam; but if another 
drink of beer,” etc., all tlie time making for the boat, 
where he seized a paddle and kept her at bay with one 
hand while he proffered a cup of lager with the other. It 
was a picture we would have given something to have had' 
photographed. The wild scene, the bluff in tlie background, 
the rushing river in front, and the fiat boats in the fore¬ 
ground, side by side with the Indians’ bark canoes, the 
grinning Indians, the perplexed Senior, tlie wizened old 
Hecate of a squaw, and the noisy sportsmen, who enjoyed 
it all. It was rich in the extreme, and has brought up 
many a laugh since then. 
Onward again, with many a laugh and joke, the Indians 
watching us till we had rounded the point, we stopped 
where tlie trail leads from the Big Bend to Rabbit Lake. 
We had been told that this carry was about a mile long. 
We found that a woodman’s mile is as long in this country 
as anywhere else, viz., two miles and a half. It was a 
warm day, our supplies were numerous, our boats heavy 
enough to carry, and it was evening before we got our out¬ 
fit over and our tent pitched on tlie shore of Rabbit Lake, 
famed for bass fishing and duck shooting in its eight miles 
of outlet. 
We were tired enough to go to sleep early, and as soon 
as supper was over all turned in. Early in the morning 
one party with a minnow net, made from a remnant of our 
mosquito bar, captured a lot of minnows, joined the others, 
and then, with rod and line, began to haul in the black 
bass, pike perch, etc., till taking them ceased to be a plea¬ 
sure. On shore for dinner; then, with fish and game care¬ 
fully packed amidships in dry grass, guns loaded, we were 
off for the outlet, which is one vast field of wild rice, with 
a stream of clear, bright water, wide and deep enough to 
float a boat, curling through it. The young ducks, able to 
fly fairly, were in swarms, and we had rare sport for a 
couple of hours. The water was low enough, and the 
rushes and grass held up on shore, so that we did not lose 
many. Two or three hours of this sport, and we had 
worked our way down to the mouth of the outlet, and were 
ouce more on the Mississippi, fifteen miles from Brainerd. 
Now, with the long oars out, one man at each, and a pad¬ 
dle going at the stern, we went at a rapid pace, taking all 
the short cuts, and availing ourselves of the currents all we 
could, going through French Rapids, a mile of water that 
runs like a mill race with all steam on, till near Brainerd 
the bluffs began to show themselves, and in the gathering 
gloom we could discern the mouth of Rice Lake outlet, and 
knew that our joyous trip was nearly at an end. We 
slacked up somewhat, letting the current bear us along, 
waiting for the other boat, which, being heavier, had 
dropped astern, and just ahead an Indian in his bark ca¬ 
noe, singing his monotonous chant, stole out of the sedge 
aud started down river. He had about two boat lengths 
the start, but with a whoop and a yell we were after him, 
and our skiff fairly jumped as we three did our level best. 
The Indian, who did not know what the matter was, 
thought his time had come. Choking off his song, he 
threw his might into the paddle, and the bubbles began to 
break and foam in front of his canoe as he surged it for¬ 
ward. A “stern chase is a long one,” always, and for all 
our efforts the Nitchee gained on us, and as he leached his 
landing he jumped from his canoe and scrambled up the 
bank like a big lizard, and began to cast reflections on us 
in the Chippewa tongue, to which we replied with the 
phrase used with so much effect earlier in the day, and 
when he came down- the bank we were forty rods away. 
Then Mr. Chippewa did bless us, and his sarcastic re¬ 
marks followed us down stream a mile. We waited for 
