202 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April 10, 1884. 



r <h* Sporisntm $omi$t 



SPENCE PITCHER'S BEAR. 



IT was away back in the days of flintlocks. Al that time 

 the northern border of Cattaraugus and Chautauqua 

 counties was mostly a wilderness, with only here and there 

 small openings, which were made in the heavy timbered 

 forest by the early pioneer settlers. This section of country 

 is somewhat rougn and broken, although not very moun- 

 tainous, and was at that early day as well, or perhaps better, 

 stocked with game than any other portion of the State. 

 Here were wolves, wildcats, foxes, raccoons, bears and deer; 

 also marten, which were found in great numbers all through 

 the southern part of the State, as well as in Pennsylvania, 

 and were eagerly hunted and trapped for their skins, which 

 were always a ready sale, and were among the most choice 

 specimens of fine furs that were then being collected in the 

 Northern and Middle States. Those beautiful little animals 

 have become nearly extinct. Perhaps a few may yet be 

 found in the northeastern part of New York or in Northern 

 Michigan. There was one other species of game that de- 

 serves mention. This was the panther; but it soon fled 

 beyond the pale of civilization. It. was rarely seen and more 

 rarely caught. In every new settlement there were plenty 

 of imaginative individuals who were ever hearing panther 

 screams, and who verily believed that panthers never trav- 

 eled through the forest without making night hideous with 

 terrific yells and screeching. If there had been no owls 

 there would have bteu a less number of panthers heard 

 from. I have tramped and camped in the woods more or 

 less for more than fifty years, and I must confess that my 

 ears were never greeted with a single yell or scream from a 

 panther. 



The first settlers of this region were men who had energy 

 and perseverance, some of whom immigrated from Rhode 

 Island, and others from the Mohawk Valley. There were 

 but few skilled hunters among them, and their guns were of 

 the coarsest kind— mostly of the old musket pattern. Deer 

 were plenty, however, and they could generally obtain a 

 supply of venison when other supplies failed. It was some- 

 times obtained by crust-hunting in the month of February 

 or March, when any unprincipled wretch could succeed in 

 killing deer. 



I always noticed that the most indefatigable crust-hunters 

 were those that never used a gun, but with knife and axe 

 followed up the dogs until the deer was pulled down. I 

 have been disgusted at the sight of the many fresh (and 

 worthless) deer skins which I have seen hanging around 

 some of the settlers' cabins in the months of February and 

 March. 



Beais were frequently caught in traps or log pens, and 

 some were followed up with dogs and shot. 1 remember of 

 one being caught in a somewhat singular manner, which I 

 believe never had a precedent. 



Spencer Pitcher was a noted hunter, who came with the 

 first settlers, and was known far and near only by the name 

 Spence. He was five feet eight inches high and weighed 

 170 pounds; his speed and endurance were remarkable, and 

 perhaps he seldom, if ever, found his equal. Now the ma- 

 jority of the inhabitants worked most ot the time and hunted 

 occasionally, but Spence hunted most of the time and worked 

 occasionally. He was hunting deer one rainy day about the 

 first of November, when he discovered a bear, but his gun 

 missed fire. Ordinarily his flintlock was sure-fire, but the 

 rain had wet the charge, and by the time he found that his 

 gun had become useless the bear had begun to make off. 

 Now a bear when started will almost invariably run uphill, 

 where he has a decided advantage over his pursuer if he has 

 the chance; but as they were then on the summit of a hill, 

 there was no other course open but down hill. So the bear 

 started on a full rua, and Spence was close a 1his heels. 

 There was some three inches of snow, and the continued 

 rain had made it slippery and slushy, and some fallen tim- 

 ber lay in the way, but the bear made good time and Spence 

 kept well up in the rear. At every attempt which he made to 

 crush in the bear's cranium with the muzzle end of his rifle, 

 it would just seem to slip about half a length ahead, and 

 every time he struck it lessened his own speed, so that he 

 had to put in his best to catch up again. 



They soon struck level land where the woods were clear 

 of logs and brush. Here they both settled down into a dead 

 run. The bear was rather lean and in good trim for running, 

 and Spenee for once had met his match, and so had the 

 bear. The fiat extended for a half mile, the course leading 

 toward another hiil, at the foot of which runs a small brgok. 

 Spence knew very well that when the bear reached the foot 

 of the hill he would soon be left far in the rear, and what he 

 was going to do toward capturing the bear he probably did 

 not know himself, unless he could provoke the bear to turn 

 upon him, in which case we would suppose that the chances 

 would have been more than two to one against him. The 

 small stream before mentioned had a bank five or six feet. 

 high on one side, while the opposite side was fiat and cov- 

 ered with sand and gravel. Up to this bank they came at a 

 2:40 gait; the bear plunged down the bank into the water, 

 while Spence, dropping his gun, leaped over the bear, land- 

 ing on the gravel some ten feet beyond. Here he snatched 

 up a round stone which happened to lie within his reach, 

 and whirling around, threw it at the bear's head, which was 

 not more than six feet distant. The stone struck the end of 

 his nose probably the most vulnerable part of the animal, 

 when the bear suddenly turned around, dropped his head 

 between his forelegs, and as quick as thought Spence grabbed 

 him by the long wooly hair on each flank, which caused a 

 sudden flank movement that brought them both into the mid- 

 dle of the stream, here about two feet deep. Bruin was 

 caught at a disadvantage, he had a heavy incumbrance tug- 

 ging at his hindquarters. He tried hard to turn on his cap- 

 tor he tried to wring out and tried to kick out, but it was no 

 go,' Spence hung to him with the tenacity of a forty-pound 

 steel trap. ... 



His success depended wholly on his active muscular pow-er, 

 in keeping the bear's rear end well raised up, which brought 

 his head under water. Then by a mighty effort he succeeded 

 in forcing his head under the edge ot the opposite bank, 

 where he° held on (as he said) until the bear kicked his last 

 kick He always asserted that if they had crossed the stream 

 at any other place, that he would have been unable to have 

 overleaped the bear, and if that round stone had not laid pre- 

 ciselv where it did lay, he could not have stopped him. 



Spence lived to hunt with pill-percussion priming, also 

 until percussion caps were used, and died when about sixty 

 years of atfe, long before breechloaders came into use. 



The region before mentioned is now mostly covered with 



valuable farms, and wonderfully adapted to dairy and stock 

 raising, and is occupied by the third and fourth generation, 

 who know about as much concerning the first settlers as 

 they do about the Esquimaux or New Zealanders. Now the 

 thrifty farmer gathers his hay and grain into barns, which 

 groan under the burden of plenty, and thinks not, nor knows 

 not, of the privations, toils and hardships endured by the 

 pioneers who first cleared the way and virtually laid the 

 foundation to the present thrift and prosperity of the coun- 

 try. It is not a question with the farmer of to-day whether 

 he will be able to eke out his scanty supplies until next 

 potato harvest, but rather a question whether he will be 

 able to clear as much clean cash from his farm produce as 

 his next neighbor. Antler. 



Grandview. Tenn., March 4, 1884. 



DEAR SHOOTING. 



SEVERAL years ago there lived in Illinois two families 

 O by the names of Crickley and Drake. There had al- 

 ways been a fierce rivalry between the two families, both in 

 field and farm pursuits, which rivalry was further intensified 

 when one afternoon Colonel Crickley, having followed a 

 wounded buck for several hours, at last came up with him, 

 and found old Drake and his sons cutting him up. This 

 incident added fuel to the fire, and from that time there was 

 nothing the two families did not do to annoy each other. 

 They shot each other's ducks in the river, purposely mis- 

 taking them for wild ones, and then by way of retaliation, 

 commenced killing off each other's pigs and calves. 



One evening Mr. Drake, the elder, was returning home 

 with his ' 'pocket full of rocks" from Chicago, whither he 

 had been to dispose of a load of grain. Sam Marston was 

 with him on the wagon, and as they approached the grove 

 which intervened between them and Colonel Crickley's 

 house, he observed to his companion: 



"What a beautiful mark Colonel Crickley's old Roan is, 

 over yonder!" 



"Hang it!" muttered old Drake, "so it is." 



The horse was standing under some trees about twelve 

 rods from the road. Involuntarily Drake stopped his team. 

 He glanced furtively around, then with a queer smile the 

 old btrater took up his rifle from the bottom of his wagon, 

 and raising it to his shoulder, drew a sight on the Colonel's 

 horse. 



' 'Beautiful !" muttered Drake, lowering his rifle with the 

 air of a man resisting a powerful temptation; "I could drop 

 old Eoan so easy." 



"Shoot!" suggested Sam Marston, who loved fun in any 

 shape. 



"No, no; 'twouldn't do," said the old hunter, glancing 

 cautiously around him. 



"I won't tell," said Sam. 



"Wal, I won't shoot this time, anyway, tell or no tell. The 

 horse is too nigh. If he was fifty rods off, instead of twelve, 

 so there'd be a bare possibility of mistaking him for a deer, 

 I'd let fly. As it is, I'd give the Colonel five dollars for a 

 shot." 



At that moment the Colonel himself stepped from behind 

 a big oak, not half a dozen paces distant, and stood before 

 Mr. Drake. 



"Well, why don't you shoot?" 



The old man stammered in some confusion, "That you, 

 Colonel? I— I was tempted to, I declare! And, as I said, 

 I'll give you a 'V for one pull." 



"Say an 'X' and it's a bargain." 



Drake felt of his rifle, and looked at old Roan. 



"How much is the horse wuth?" he muttered in Sam's 

 ear. 



"About fifty." 



"Gad, Colonel, I'll do it. Here's your 'X.'" 



The Colonel pocketed the money, muttering, ' 'Hanged if I 

 thought you'd take me up. " 



With high glee the old hunter put a fresh cap on his rifle, 

 stood up in his wagon, and drew a close sight on old Roan. 

 Sam Marston chuckled. The Colonel put his hand before 

 his face and chuckled, too. 



Crack went the rifle. The hunter tore out a horrid oath, 

 which I will not repeat. Sam was astonished. The Colonel 

 laughed. Old Roan never stirred. 



Drake stared at his rifle with a face as black as Othello's. 



"What's the matter with you, hey? Fus' time you ever 

 served me quite such a trick, I swan." 



And Drake loaded the piece with great wrath and indig- 

 nation. 



"People say you've lost your knack o' shooting," observed 

 the Colonel, in a tone of cutting satire. 



"Who said so? It's a lie!" thundered Drake. "I can 

 shoot — " 



"A Jtorse at ten rods, ha, ha!" 



Drake was livid. 



"Look here, Colonel, I can't stand that," he began. 



"Never mind, the horse can," sneered the Colonel; "I'll 

 riskvou." 



Grinding his teeth, Drake produced another ten-dollar bill. 



"Here," he growled, "I am bound to have another shot, 

 anyway." 



"Crack away," cried the Colonel, pocketing the note. 



Drake did crack away— with deadly aim, too — but the 

 horse did not mind the bullet in the least. To the rage and 

 UHutterable astonishment of the hunter, old Roan looked him 

 right in the face, as if he rather liked the fun. 



"Drake," cried Sam, "you're drunk ! A horse at a dozen 

 rods, oh, my eye!" 



"Just you shut your mouth or I'll shoot you," thundered 

 the excited Drake. "The bullet was hollow, I'll swear. The 

 man lies who says I can't shoot ! Last week I cut off a goose's 

 head at fifty rods, and kin dew it agin. By the Lord Harry, 

 Colonel, you can laugh, but I'll bet now, thirty dollars, I can 

 bring down old Roan at one shot." 



The wager was readily accepted. The stakes were placed 

 in Sam's hands. Elated with the idea of winning back his 

 two tens, and making an "X" into the bargain, Drake care- 

 fully selected a perfect ball, and even buckskin patch, and 

 beaded his rifle. It was now nearly dark, but the old hunter 

 boasted of being able to shoot a bat on the wing by star- 

 light, and without hesitation drew a clear sight on old Roan's 

 head. 



A minute later, Drake was driving through the grove, the 

 most enraged, the most desperate of men. His rifle, inno- 

 cent victim of his ire, lay with broken stock on the bottom 

 of his wagon. Sam Marston was t»o frightened to laugh. 

 Meanwhile, the gratified Colonel was rolling on the ground 

 convulsed with mirth, and old Roan was standing undis- 

 turbed under the trees. , 



When Drake reached home, his two sons discovering his 

 ill humor, and the mutilated condition of the rifle stock, 



hastened to arouse his spirits with a piece of news, which 

 they were sure would make him dance for joy. 



"Clear away," growled the angry old man. "I don't 

 want to hear any news; get awav, or I shall knock one of 

 you down." 



'But, father, it's such a trick." 



"Blast you and your tricks." 



"Played off on the Colonel." 



"On the Colonel?" cried the old man, beginning to be 

 interested. "Gad, if you've played the Colonel a trick, les' 

 hear it." 



"Well, father, Jed and I, this afternoon, went out for 

 deer — " 



"Hang the deer, come to the trick." 



"Couldn't find any deer, but thought we must shoot some- 

 thing; so Jed banged away at the Colonel's Roan, shot him 

 dead !" 



"Shot old Roan!" thundered the hunter. "By the Lord 

 Harry. Jed, did you shoot the Colonel's horse?" * 



"I didn't do anything else." 



"Devil, devil!" groaned the hunter. 



"And then," pursued Jed, confident the joke part of the 

 story would please his father, "Jim and I propped the horse 

 up, and tied his head back with a cor*, and left him stand- 

 ing under the trees exactly as if he was alive. Ha! ha' 

 Fancy the Colonel going to catch him. Ho! ho! ho! wasn't it 

 a joke?" 



Old Drake's head fell upon his breast. He felt of his 

 empty pocket-book, and looked at his broken rifle. Then in 

 a Tueful tone, he whispered to the boys: 



"It is a joke, but if you ever tell of it, or if you do, Sam 

 Marston, I'll skin you alive. By Lord Harry, boys, I've 

 been shooting at that dead horse half an hour at ten dollars 

 a shot." 



At that moment Sam fell into v gutter. Jed dragged 

 him out insensible. Sam had laughed himself almos^to 

 death. h. h\ 



THE FROG CATCHER. 



LITTLE Jean Beghin was born in Belgium and learned 

 the business of catching frogs in the Netherland 

 marshes, but having an ambition above the capture of 

 batrachians had enlisted in the Belgian army. But the light 

 pay and lighter rations of the Leopolds tempted little Jean 

 to desert and tender his services to Napoleon III., not as a 

 purveyor of grenouilks for the imperial table, but to become 

 an imitator of Cortez in the conquest of Mexico. But the 

 conquest of Mexico has wrecked ttie hopes of many a Johnny 

 Crapeau, and our little Jean deserted from the French army 

 in Mexico and sought the liberty of the Stars and Stripes. 

 Such are the vicissitudes of military life. Nothing succeeds 

 but success. Now, and for the last four years, we find little 

 Jean at Arivaca, Pima county, in the southwestern part of 

 Arizona, catching frogs. 



The valley is about six miles long by three miles wide, and 

 the cierwga contains enough frogs to faed the French nation. 

 Little Jean wears India rubber boots, and has made nets, 

 held open by old barrel hoops, which he spreads for the lively 

 frogs to jump into for some vegetables and the sight of red 

 flannel, when up goes the sweep, and little Jean is rewarded 

 with six or ten dozen frogs per net. He then empties the 

 net into a bag, and the bag into barrels, where there is some 

 water and vegetable matter; but the barrel is so high that 

 the frogs cannot jump out. The frog is a great jumper, and 

 Jean lias some trained frogs here which can jump from 

 seven to ten feet. He will wager money against any jump- 

 ing frogs this side of Calaveras county, California. 



Jean thinks the frogs breed twice or more a year from 

 eggs deposited in the sac of the female, and estimates the 

 number of each spawn at from fifty to a hundred. As frogs 

 have an amazing longevity there is no danger of the supply 

 being reduced, and the increasing taste for frog suppers is 

 bringing this batrachian into large demand. I can remem- 

 ber when frogs were scarcely considered proper food in 

 America, when the country was overflowing with an abund- 

 ance of meat quite as delicate as chicken. The French and 

 Chinese have far outstripped us in searching out the bounties 

 of nature for human food. 



But to return to the frog catcher who, instead of wearing 

 the decoration of the legion d'honmw and a home in Its 

 Inmlides must earn his living by chasing the lively frog, and 

 very poor pay he gets for it, too. Only 50 cents a dozen on 

 the place and 60 cents per dozen in Tucson, sixty miles 

 distant. Jean's frogs go about four or five to the pound, and 

 are esteemed the best in Arizona, as the desert is not famous 

 for producing frogs. 



I have endeavored to stimulate Jean's ambition by advising 

 him to go into the canning business, by canning live frogs in 

 the summer time for a winter market, in fact, have told him 

 that frogs would live a thousand years in a hermetically 

 sealed can, and then come out jumping. That may be a lie, 

 but I did not originate the story. 



By looking at the "Resources of California," by Hittel, 

 page 386, I find the consumption of frogs in San Francisco 

 amounts to 4,000 dozen at $3 per dozen, with a rapidly in- 

 creasing demand. If our people would learn to utilize the 

 bounties of nature, there would be no hungry people in 

 America. 



I have been on this place twenty-five years ago "out of 

 meat," and Apaches so bad around that we could not go for 

 aame; without sense enough to catch the abundant supply 

 of frogs and feast like Lucullus. I prefer them A laBordeUme 

 with red wine. ,-■,,, 



1 forgot to mention that Jean has a team of frogs bridled 

 and harnessed, and when he hitches them up for a drive the 

 bucking beats any bronco team I ever saw crossing the plains. 



The temperature here to-day is 70°. Scenery unsurpassed 

 in Italy, Switzerland, or even the fancied valley of Rasaelas 

 —not a'ilake of snow for several years. Plenty of arable 

 land; more grass than millions of cattle can eat, and mines 

 everywhere yielding paying ore; but it is a long ways from 

 New York. Charles D. Postos. 



Arivaoa, Arizona, March 1, WXi, 



A Tame Qtjaie. — I have a quail (Orty.v ruyiinanus), male. 

 It was caught Dec. 20, 188tf. 1 keep it in a cage three feet 

 Ion"- by two feet wide. He is as tame and contented as he can 

 be.° The remarkable point about this quail is that, after 

 moulting, his whole throat and subscilary line came out coal 

 black, and his entire plumage is darker. To all appearance 

 he is strong and healthy. Do they change their plumage 

 this way in captivity? I feed him on wheat shorts, with a 

 little canary seed, and keep tufts of grass in the cage, and wet 

 it down every day. This keeps it green, and he is very fond 

 Of green grass. I wish I could get a female, 1 would try 

 and breed them,— Ot, W. L. (Gildersleeve, Conn., March 81), 



