A6 
of bed, gently opened the heavy slab door that screamed on 
its hinges as loud asa Red River cart, sneaked around to the 
back of the shanty, and looked over the brush fence into the 
turnip pateh. There they were, three beauties, a big buck 
and two does. I slid back to the shanty for the musket. I 
met my man at the door and I reported what was in store for 
us in the turnip patch, and as he handed the arsenal of rings, 
screw nails, hollow iron, and walnut timberto me, I could 
hardly repress a chuckle when I thought of the deadly con- 
tents. I quietly cocke@ the arm, and crawled down along- 
side of the brush fence, while my Highland friend eagerly 
watched me. I crawled with the caution of a Mohawk, I 
crept with the stealth of a cat. I wanted to let my man see 
how close I could get to my prey, and to kill the deer and get 
the old fellow’s vote. Well, when I got within thirty yards 
from the game, I pushed the old gun through the brush 
fence, glanced along the sights, pulled the trigger, and killed 
nothing, There was no hammer on the musket. I rose up 
and shook the old foundry of disappointment at the deer 
fully half a minute before they took to the woods. My old 
Highlander and I spent half an hour or more looking for the 
hammer among the weeds and leaves before we foundit. We 
both felt mean over our luck; but as I was leaving the shanty 
my friend renewed his pledge to vote for my candidate, and 
on the following Thursday he made that promise good. But 
that buck was among the lot of biggest deer I ever saw in 
front of a gun barrel.” CABDRIEIGH. 
PARRY Sounp, 
MY FIRST DEER. 
WAS a colossal tenderfoot in those days, and Jack, our 
stage driver, innocently inquired to what use my arsenal 
(consisting of a repeating rifle, six-shooter, and seven-inch 
bowie) was to be put, and made several desultory remarks, 
reflecting upon tenderfeet in general and ‘‘durned -tender- 
feet” in particular. Game, according to this authority, had 
all followed the Indians, and the Indians were all dead or 
dying of consumption—of red eye, This was discouraging, 
to say the least, and my dreams of slaughter, deer, bears, 
ay ae oceasional redskin before breakfast, were rudely dis- 
pelled, 
Having decided that my mission upon earth was prospect- 
ing, I chose for my field the country lying roundabout the 
head of Badger Oreek, and there established my camp. Some- 
what mistrusting Jack’s statements regarding game and 
Indians, hoping to run across the former, and us a defense 
against the latter, I always carried my rifle and knife, soon 
learning that a six-shooter was not absolutely necessary. One 
afternoon, coming down one of the side streams running into 
the main creek, Lespied something that brought me toa 
sudden standstill. Tom, my partner, coming behind, 
thought of bears, A close scrutiny satisfied me that the long 
looked for big game was in sight. The deer stood motion- 
less, watching us, as much from having nothing to do as 
anything else, seemingly. Not so with us, We then and 
there held a council, which resulted in a declaration of war 
against that particular decr. Having all the afternoon before 
us, and being only five miles from camp, we waited. We 
could afford to, The game made the first move, start- 
ing on a slow trot, to a point that would bring 
it to the creek about half a mile below us. 
We went on cautiously, watching for any break in the pro- 
gramme. We had gone but a short distance, when the deer, 
also on the lookout, stopped short. A pause of five minutes 
occurred, during which we were closely watched. Not a stir 
from us, however, and. as before the game was the first to 
move. The above maneuver was repeated several times, we 
getting closer at each move and the pauses growing longer, 
until the spirit within us was moved to excitement. A 
friendly groye of quaking aspens giving us shelter, we 
dropped hats and coats, and with rifle in hand fairly flew. 
We were bound to get there. Without warning the trees 
disappeared and we rushed out into a clearing, and there, 
not fifty yards distant, stood a fine two-prong buck, motion- 
less as a statue. It was all doneinasecond, The result 
was instantaneous. The buck dropped in his tracks and was 
dead. Shot went through the heart. The game was ours, 
We did not shout; oh no. We only shook hands and acted 
as if demented for a few minutes. Fools, probably, but 
then remember it was my first deer. Tenderly we prepared 
the booty, and rigging it on a stick, shouldered it, horn, 
hide and hoof, and started for camp. That tramp is still 
fresh in in my memory. At some hour past midnight we 
were close enough to camp for Tom to go for assistance, 
which soon arrived. Since then many deer have fallen 
before my fire, but in yain haye I looked for or experienced 
that elation of spirit which accompanied the bringing down 
of my first deer, Koxomo. 
Sanina, Colorado. 
BULLET VERSUS BUCKSHOT, 
Liditor Horest wand Stream: 
“Piute” gets into a stew about the man who shoots deer 
with a “hand cannon,” don’t he? That’s all right, He 
needn't use such an implement if it hurts himto. But he 
ought not to sit down so heavily on other folks who, in 
widely diiferent circumstances and localities, use a ‘‘seatter 
fun” to get venison now and then. Out in California and 
away off somewhere else, where deer are waiting for some- 
body to make a target of them with a rifle, buckshot might 
be frowned on, but in other places where deer are scarce, 
people get them any way they can. IJ know of places where 
Swamps are so vast and impenetrable that it is impossible to 
get deer excepting at night by fire hunting when they come 
out to feed, and although it steeped me in ignominy, I shot 
deer with buckshot and had a good time, and got venison, 
too. Maybe I like a rifle as well as “Piute,” The first deer 
T ever shot was in Colorado, and my weapon it was a Win- 
chester, or as we called it then a ‘‘Henry.” 1 like the sharp 
report of a rifle first-rate, and used to be proud of my skill 
when I could shoot squirrels through the head, but when 
deer aren’t ‘‘comatible’’ with a ball, then the bang of one of 
“Pinte’s” “hand cannon” answers to get meat. I believe it 
tastes just as good and gives as much nutriment as if shot 
some other way. 
“Piute” speaks of the man who “‘boasts of his wonderful 
gun that sent its dozen buckshot through the body of a deer 
at a hundred yards.” Well, I should reckon, He couldn’t 
do any better with a rifle, nor kill the deer any deader., 
Then ‘Pinte’ up and says, says he, ‘Tf a man were stary- 
ing and had no weapon but a shotgun he would be justified 
in killing a deer with it, but under no other circumstances.” 
Kaiser Wilhelm! Whatadictum. Id never a dreamed it. 
And again he fulminates; ‘‘Those methods which require 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Well, don’t the shotgun require a little skill, and don’t it 
give game chance of escape? I should say so. 
And then “Piute” goes on to tell about a barbarous, ab- 
horrent, brutal shotgun man who went grizzly hunting and 
shot at a deer at fifty yards, and the deer ran away, and a 
highly civilized and enlightened gentleman of the nineteenth 
century opened fire with a rifle and knocked the deer down 
in its tracks, An example of awful quick killing. And the 
deer got forthwith up and streaked it a mile before he finally 
died. Suppose there had been no trail of blood all this mile, 
would the animal any the less have crawled away and died 
because he was shot with a rifle? 7 
_ As between the rifle and shotgun, the former in my estima- 
tion is the neatest weapon—for some work—I prefer it. 
But what about the fellows out on the plains and in the 
mountains who pump lead into game far or near as long as 
there is lead to pump, without knowing whether the game 
runs away to die a lingering death, I don’t suppose that is 
brutal. There is a pro and con to this subject. as to eyery 
other, and it won't do to lay down a law as inflexible ag those 
of the Medes and Persians. To call a man barbarous and 
brutal because he differs with you is very unkind, If shot- 
guns will get game under certain circumstances as well as or 
better than rifles, then am I at liberty to take my choice, or 
if *‘wums” will catch fish better than minnows, then will I 
use “‘wums” without being necessarily relegated to the 
dominions of Pluto, 5. 
MIDSUMMER SPORTS WITH THE GUN. 
New is red midsummer's sultry time, 
The August days, the season's prime, 
The skies, the earth, are all a-glare, 
A drowsy calm pervades the air; 
The chestnut grove with umbrage deep 
Droops its great limbs as if asleep, 
The locust leaf, the willow spray 
Swoon in the hot midsummer day; 
The thistle-down may searcely float 
Abthwart the air its silken boat, 
The cobweb-thread, the gossamer 
May searcely their light streamers stir, 
And scarce of breeze is sigh or hum, 
Yor earth is silent and air is dumb, 
Yet goes the sportsman out with gun 
To swampy clump in brooklet-run, 
For there where deepest shades pervade 
The inmost heart of thicket-glade. 
The woodcock makes his hermit-lair, 
Feeding at will on daintiest fare, 
And there despite the toil and heat, 
The gunner invades the dim retreat. 
Though fervid burns the August day 
On salty meadow and spacious bay, 
Yet swift on wing are the bay-bird flocks 
O’er sandy beach and weedy rocks; 
Now high in air, in lengthened files, 
Now swooping low to reedy isles, 
Now sweeping over the marshes green, 
Where the mower’s scythe hath lately been, 
For there it is their great delight 
On fluttering pinions to alight, 
Oh, many and sweet the days of yore, 
When I would traverse the sandy shore, 
Through many bright August days have sat 
Amid thy meadows, Barnegat, 
Or hid in ambush pass’d the days, 
Long Island, in thy ample bays, 
When daylight dawn’d on sea and shore 
How dear those meadows to explore! 
To see each incoming flock appear, 
To hear their whistlings echoing clear; 
To hear the plaintive, mournful cry 
Of willet as they circled by, 
The cries of brant-birds, dropping down, 
Of martins, clad in dusky brown, 
The shrill of longshanks. or the faint 
Soft notes of dowitchers’ complaint, 
The cries of flocks of jack-curlew, 
As high o’erhead their squadrons flew, 
Are sounds in hot midsummer noon 
Heard by each salty marshlagoon. 
GREENPORT, July 27. Tsaac McLennan. 
A BEAR HUNT IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 
OUBTLESS there are many of your readers who have 
passed one or more seasons in this town, so well known 
to pleasure seekers, who haye fished the many streams and 
can testify to the abundance of trout, but there are com- 
paratively few who realize that deer and bear are still plenty 
in these mountain regions. Those who have been on Thorn 
and Iron mountains will recollect the dark forests stretching 
north and westward to Mt. Washington, east to the Maine 
line, thence northerly in an unbroken wilderness as far as 
the eye can extend. This was formerly a favorite feeding 
ground for moose and deer, but the early settlers so earnestly 
pursued the war of extermination that moose have not been 
seen for years, and at the rate the shameful winter hunting 
is now carried on, the deer must in afew years share the 
same fate. But old bruin, the king of these forests, has 
been more difficult to ‘‘corral,” and still roams far and near 
at will, giving the sheep pastures frequent calls, and raiding 
cornfields and apple orchards with surprising impartiality. 
The last spring I determined to carry out a long cherished 
desire for a bear hunt, at a season when there would be 
sufficient snow to trace his footsteps and impede his progress 
if he entered the gulches and ravines he delights to travel 
through when followed in the summer season. Accordingly 
on the 28th of April mine host of the Jackson Falls House, 
Mr, G. P. Triskey, a most enthusiastic and accomplished 
sportsman, and myself, accompanied by one of the best guides 
and woodsmen in this section, started out for the ledges of 
Sable Mountain. We soon came to the “‘forest primeval” 
and found snow to a considerable depth; we donned our 
snow shoes at once and preceded by our guide, who carried 
a heavy muzzleloading -rifie, axe, knapsack, stuffed to the 
overflowing with food and raiment, and my companion con- 
fidently asserted we should find in it also a Sibly tent and 
spare snow shoes when we reguired them. Mr. Trisky fol- 
lowed in light marching order, burdened only with his little 
seven-pound shotgun that he has used from Georgia to Maine, 
trying it now against Southern alligators, and now Northern 
a little skill and give the game some chance of escape, etc.” | bears. I brought up the rear somewhat handicapped with 
[Ava 14, 1884, 
my ten-pound rifle. We started at a brisk walk, the crust on 
the snow being sufficiently hard for easy snowshoeing, 
At eight o’clock we struck the well defined trail of a bear 
and three cubs. “Then there was hurrying to and fro,” one 
would follow directly on the track and one at each:side at a 
little distance to take advantage of the doubling and short 
turns they make. This is good policy, for the average New 
Hampshire bear is a most excellent walker, and with all the 
advantage, his pursver is reasonably sure of sufficient exer- 
cise befove he is overtaken. The chase was continued till 
nearly noon before we were near enough to hurry them from 
awalk. It was quite easy to determine this, as the snow 
had by this time become quite soft, and though while walk- 
ing slowly, a bear can, by spreading his paws and creeping 
along, go almost anywhere that 4 man can on his snow- 
shoes; he goes down badly when hurried. We now pushed 
ahead as rapidly as possible, assured by our guide that if we 
pushed things, they could be overtaken by sunset. As 
usual they selected the hardest possible ground ¢o trail in, 
and as this country was visited by a tornado inthe fall of 
'83 and is full of hills and timber blown down and tangled, 
it was difficult to travel it at great speed, except to one per- 
fectly versed in woodcraft and familiar with snowshoes, 
and here the efficiency of our guide showed itself, carrying 
his heavy load with apparent ease, and encouraging us to 
the highest possible speed. 
We planned to overtake our game on the banks of the east 
branch of Saco River, which we knew was considerably 
swollen and hard to cross, and there we were correct in our 
calculations, for coming on the high bluff that, make the 
banks at this place (between Double Head and Sable moun- 
tains), we saw the cubs in a small copse on the banks of the 
stream. It has always been said by old hunters that a bear 
never deserts her young. Relying on this we kept the cubs 
in sight, and anxiously watched for the old one, After afew 
minutes they commenced to break for cover, and I shot the 
foremost one, and in afew minutes the other two were dis- 
posed of by Mr. Triskey and our guide. The old one had 
during the firing crossed the stream, the noise and thick 
cover enabling her to do so unseen by us. We waited anxi- 
ously, but in vain, for her to return within range, and it be- 
ing nearly sunset, we retraced our steps to the village, not 
displeased with our day’s sport. 
Reserve your fire for the old bear, for I’ve lost all confi- 
dence in her standing fire for her young’s sake. ES Wa 
Jackson, New Hampshire. 
COLORADO GAME. 
A RECENT issue of the Denver Republican gave the fol- 
lowing notes about the game resorts of Colorado: “The 
choice of places to visit depends upon the time to be devoted 
to the trip, the object sought and the expense to be incurred, 
A reporter asked an old prospector and hunter, who has 
spent every summer for many years in the mountains, and 
knows the advantages and disadvantages of eyery region, 
where it is best to go this year. The answer was, ‘That de- 
pends upon circumstances. If you want to go upon the line 
of a railroad, go to Wagon Wheel Gap. That’s the best 
place on the line of a road, both for hunting and fishing, If 
you want to go off with wagons or pack animals, there are 
better places to visit. Middle Park is a good place. You 
cap go there with wagons and make the trip in three days 
from Denver, There is fair fishing there yet, and some 
chance to kill game, ‘There are some deer left, and occasion- 
ally an elk, when you get up close to the snow. A good 
hunter can kill plenty of game, but a tenderfoot might set 
hungry if he depended upon killing his meat over there. 
Then there is an occasional bear, if you want any of that 
kind of hunting. There isa way of going to Middle Park 
that people don’t know anything about, where there are good 
fishing and hunting most of the road; but you’ve got to go 
with pack animals, because there is nothing but a trail. You 
go from here to Ward, in Boulder county, and from there to 
the South St. Vrain; from that point there is a trail leading © 
over the range, coming down right into Grand Lake in ~ 
Middle Park, One can go in one day from Ward, and is 
sure to find game when crossing the range. Estes Park is 
about as good as Middle Park for fishing, but not so good 
for hunting. But it isa cheap place to go to, for you can 
hire your camp outfit, hauled in by a stage and delivered 
where you want it, cheaper than you can hire a team of pacl: ~ 
animals. > 
‘The old prospector gives some information in regard to 
mosquitoes that is worth knowing. He says that all along 
the range up close to the snow, in the northern part of the 
State, the mosquitoes are so thick at this time of the year 
that there is no comfort in being there either for man or 
beast, They will continue to be bad till the latter part of 
August, By that time the frosts will have killed them. 
There is a wonderful difference between different parts 
of the State in regard to mosquitoes. In the southern 
part and in Gunnison county there are not enough mosqui 
toes to annoy one; but ‘God pity the fellow,’ said he, ‘who: 
tries to hunt or camp along the range now anywhere north 
of Gilpin county. ‘The best hunting in the State is in Gar- 
field county. ‘To get there you go by rail to Red Cliff, and 
from there by stage to Dotsero, at the mouth of Hagle River 
This distance is fifty miles and the fare $10. At Dotsero 
you can hire a team or pack animals and go about fifteen 
miles up on the Sweetwater. There you can have more 
fun in one day hunting and fishing than you can have in any 
other place in the State in a week. Why the whole country 
is alive with deer and elk. And if you want some real wild 
camp life, where few people have ever been, you can get it 
by going to Trappers’ Lake, only twenty-five miles away, 
The iake is full of trout and the whole country is overran 
by elk and deer. But the mosquitoes are bad there, too. 
For comfort you don’t want to go till late in August, Don’t 
ever go to North Park. 1lt’sa funny thing, but there ain’t a 
trout in the park, while in every other place in the mountains 
there are trout in all the streams. There is fair hunting 
there, about the same as in Middle Park. As to when to go 
camping, if you are going for rest in a cool place, now is as 
good atime as any to go. Butif you are going for sport 
only, wait until the mosquitoes are gone, and then go where 
the sport is best.’ ” 
In relation to the above, our correspondent, ““W. N. B.,” 
“The Republican article 
writes from Denver, Col,, Aug. 3: 
is fairly correct. Ide not knew the author, The descrip- 
tion of abundance of game on Sweetwater, in Garfield 
county, will apply equally well toa large portion of the 
northern part of that county, and to the southeast portion 
of Routt county, throughout all of the ‘Book’ or ‘Roan” 
group of mountains (familiarly called the ‘Flat Tops’) and 
covering the sources and courses of many streams besides 
Sweetwater Creek. 
