APbIt, 23, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



A SLICE OF LUCKi 



HOW fully, as be casts a retrospective glance over the 

 vanished years, the hunter realizes that there are days 

 atid days. Days when, in spite of all his ingenuity and per- 

 severance, the shades of night turned his steps homeward 

 weary and unsuccessful, or days when, with the minimum 

 of effort, a Benjamin's portiou fell to his lot; when the un- 

 friendly snow, hardened by last night's frost after yesterday's 

 thaw, snapped crisp warnings of danger to far-away, vigi- 

 lant ears, or when, powdery and silent, it muffled and dead- 

 ened every footfall and bore him on to glorious viclorjM 

 when the fickle and eddying gusts carried to remotest hiding 

 places the taint of his presence, or when the steady and 

 favoring bre< Z". baffled the keenest-scented monarchs of the 

 wildwoods; when ti e uniimely crackle of a broken twig at 

 the crucial moment forfeited the one chance of the day, or 

 when, no matter whether noisy or still, his star of luck was 

 ever in the ascendant; again, when, worst of all, the hunted 

 and wounded game eluded his most persistent search only to 

 die a lingering and lonely death, or when, even with the 

 most risky and all but hopeless opportunities, bullet upon bul- 

 let sang prompt and deci-ive death knells. We have all 

 known our good ami our bad days, but we naturally prefer 

 to permit memory to linger on the cheering reminiscences of 

 the lucky ones; so 1 now recall what was, taking all things 

 into consideration, the most fortunate hunting experience of 

 my life. 



I was living at the time on Grand Prairie, a small settle- 

 ment situated some thirty or forty miles southeast of Kam- 

 loops and eighteen or twenty from the nearest accessible 

 point of the present Canadian Pacific Railway. In spite of 

 its pretentious name the prairie is only a narrow valley a 

 couple of miles or so in width, and probably three or four 

 times as Jong, with a small stream, dignified by the title of 

 Salmon River (I suppose on the lueus a non lucendo princi- 

 ple, for, so far as my observation goes, it is destitute of 

 salmon), winding through it. The trend of the valley is 

 east and west. On the north and south are timbered foothills, 

 covered with a luxuriant growth of fir and pine, running up 

 to meet the precipitous heights that cap the mountains. 

 Here and there the ruddy volcanic cliffs rise almost directly 

 from the grass-covered plain without any intervening slopes, 

 and from their crowns a further stretch of rolling, timbered 

 ground leads to the uppermost tier of rocks. Along the 

 mountain breast, with its dark, deep gulches, its grassy and 

 brush-dotted slopes, its tiny, rippling, crystal streams, that 

 are sucked up by the thirsty land before they can reach the 

 prairie, the deer wander in happy and safe seclusion, save 

 when the Shuswap Indians, with whom this is a favorite 

 hunting ground, are laying in a supply of meat, or when 

 some venison-appreciating settler leaves his work-a day life 

 for a while to enrich the family larder with a fat buck. 



In the winter of 1881-2, a number of Indians were camped 

 on the prairie, and they several times told us, during their 

 periodical visits to the house, of a mountain sheep with fine 

 horns which they had occasionally seen on their hunting 

 expeditions but had failed to capture. Now a genuine 

 Rocky Mountain sheep was game of a class I had hitherto 

 had no opportunity of hunting, and I felt proportionately 

 anxious to try my luck, though it seemed almost absurd to 

 expect success where so many had met with disappointment. 

 However, the thought kept forcing itself upon me that such 

 a chance might never present itself again, seeing that we 

 were separated from the Rockies by at least two minor but 

 far from despicable chains of mountains, the Selkirks and 

 the Gold Range, and that this was the first sheep seen in our 

 vicinity for a number of years. While hesitating and un- 

 certain whether to start on such an apparently wild goose 

 chase or not, one of the neighbors, who had been on the top 

 of the mountains to the north looking for stray horses, 

 dropped in to say that during the day he had seen thirty or 

 forty deer and the coveted sheep— the latter leisurely pick- 

 ing his way along a rocky sidehill half a mile or so from 

 him. This news decided me, and 1 prepared for a hunt on 

 the morrow. 



When morning dawned I took my rifle and a lunch in 

 case of any delay and started up the mountain, Very for- 

 tunately for the success of the enterprise there had been a 

 slight snowfall during the night, and as I toiled upward I 

 noted with hopeful satisfaction the excellent tracking and 

 the noiselessness of my steps. The whole mountain was 

 familiar ground, for 1 had killed deer in almost every pari 

 of it, so there was no difficulty in selecting the proper course 

 to pursue to reach the place where the sheep had last been 

 seen. Straight upward till the base of the highest line of 

 cliffs barred" further progress in that direction, and then I 

 turned at right angles along the face of the hill, and cautiously 

 picked my steps among the scattered rocks that had fallen 

 from above, till I gained a point up which a steep but prac- 

 ticable path to the summit ascended. Right on the trail 

 there was a solitary downward track that set my pulses 

 throbbing tumultuously, for, though I had never seen a 

 mountain sheep's hoof-prints before, I knew I saw them 

 then. With watchful gaze and ready rifle, step by step, 1 

 followed down the mountain. Down went the track lower 

 and lower, over grassy slopes, where the mildnets of the 

 morning was already wasting the new-fallen snow; through 

 belts of fir and pine, where my senses needed to be doubly 

 on the alert. Onward and downward the sheep had gone, 

 never stopping to nibble the grass or to crop the tiny shoots 

 of the underbrush, but ever pressing steadily downward. 

 Downward till I knew that I was nearing one of the points 

 where the lower cliffs directly overlooked the prairie; down- 

 ward, till my heart began to sink and my mind to be filled 

 with misgivings lest the game had eluded my pursuit by 

 crossing the valley to the possibly more congenial, because 

 more inaccessible, heights to the south. 



Near the southern edge of the last narrow fringe of tim- 

 ber that lay between me and the front of the mountain, the 

 sheep had for the first time varied from the unswerving 

 directness of his march, and had zigzagged in and out a little 

 among the brush. By this time the snow had almost dis- 

 appeared, and it had become a matter of some little difficulty 

 to follow the windings of the track, but still the melting 

 snow had softened the ground sufficiently to leave the hoof- 

 prints perceptible enough on close examination. Slowly and 

 patiently I followed the animal's steps, stealthily moving, 

 yard by yard . till finally I stood behind the outmost tree, 

 looking anxiously across the hundred and fifty yards of open 

 rocky ground that alone separated me from t^e bluff in front. 

 More than ever did I fear that the chase bad been in vain, 

 for the only possible bit of cover that could shelter the sheep 

 was a diminutive stunted juniper growing alone about fifty 



yards from where I stood. The brush was so dwarfed and 

 small as to seem quite incapable of concealing any animal 

 as large as the one whose trail I had been following; but as 

 it was the only 6pot of cover within sight, I watched it much 

 as a eat would watch a mouse-hole. As 1 stood, with rifle 

 cocked and half raised, debating in my mind what course 

 to pursue, a movement behind the juniper brought the rifle 

 to my shoulder just in time to cover the shoulder of the ram 

 as he rose quietly from his resting place, and leisurely 

 stretched himself, apparently quite unalarmed, but with his 

 head half turned toward me, a clean broadside shot. The 

 low bush concealed his legs, and thus prevented me from 

 appreciating his appearance properly; but I must confess 

 that my first feeling was one of keen disappointment, for he 

 looked squat and ungainly to eyes accustomed to the more 

 slender and graceful deer. His head, too, surmounted by 

 its monstrous horns, was seemingly so utterly out of propor- 

 tion as to largely enhance the first impression of his ungainly 

 ness. 



How long I stood in that fashion drinking in every detail 

 of his appearance — and I am candid enough to admit that his 

 style became much more striking as our acquaintance pro- 

 gressed—I don't know, possibly not more than two or three 

 seconds, though it certainly seemed as many minutes. A 

 slight motion on his part suggested meditated flight, so I 

 pressed the trigger and assisted him to make up his mind a 

 trifle more promptly perhaps. Half a dozen rapid bounds to 

 the left carried him to the brink of a steep cleft in the rocks 

 down which be literally slid on all lours. There was no 

 snow and on the bare ground I could not see a drop of blood. 

 I ran to the edge of the gulch so as to get another shot if he 

 attemDLed either to run down to the prairie or to climb the 

 opposite bank, but there was no sign of life. Down in the 

 bottom of the ravine, however, on a patch of snow which 

 the sombre shade of the sheer cliff liad preserved, was a long 

 streak of red. It was utterly out of the question to follow 

 his short cut to the bottom, so I climbed back up the moun- 

 tain till I could manage to scramble into the gulch with 

 safety. Carefully following it down to the prairie, I 

 presently spied the ram jammed between the trunk of a pine 

 and the rocky wall of the ravine. I was morally certain he 

 was stone dead, but, to remove all doubt, I gave him another 

 bullet. It was unnecessary, however, for the first one had 

 gone clean through his heart. He was lean, but, without 

 the head, dressed 140 pounds. The head was a noble one, 

 and to-day graces the dining-room of a Spallumcheen friend. 



Often in thinking over the subject of this sketch, when I 

 remember the rarity of the animal so far west of the Rockies, 

 the bare chance there was in such a stretch of country of 

 even striking his track, the strong possibility of not getting 

 a successful shot even if he was started, the fortunate snow 

 fall which just lasted long enough for the needs of the oc- 

 casion and no more, and the accommodating manner in 

 wflieh he journeyed homeward so as to save the trouble of 

 packing, 1 cannot help regarding the work of that January 

 morning as a huge slice of luck. R. M. C. 



Cache Creek, British Columbia. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



THE AUDUBON SOCIETY. 



THE Audubon Society has given form to what may fairly 

 be characterized as a national movement. The wide- 

 spread circulation of Forest and Stream has penetrated 

 to the remotest towns and villages of the land ; the press has 

 been stirred up and the best sentiments of the American 

 women have been roused. Local secretaries have been 

 appointed in different towns in almost every State in the 

 Union, and correspondence is flowing in from all the States 

 and Territories, as well as from Ontario, Quebec, and the 

 maritime Provinces of the Dominion. The registered mem- 

 bership is well into the thousands, and several thousand of 

 the Society's pledges are in the hands of its local secretaries. 

 The TJtica (N. Y.) Secretary heads the list with a member- 

 ship of upward of two hundred, which will probably be soon 

 eclipsed, for while the movement advances generally with a 

 steady glow, it occasionally burstsinto a flame of enthusiasm. 

 At Grand Rapids, Mich., there have been numerous public 

 meetings within the past week, and the question of discarding 

 feathers put to the vote at the women's clubs and carried in 

 the affirmative by two-thirds majority, amid lhe sighs of the 

 minority. At Davenport, Iowa, too, an influential public 

 meeting secured a very important adhesion to the cause, ac- 

 companied by resolutions to organize for the propagation of 

 the movement in affiliation with the parent Society, while 

 from secluded villages come letters from isolated women, 

 who unmoved by any evidences of enthusiasm around them, 

 announce the destruction of their leathers and ask permission 

 to labor for the cause. The Natural History Society of 

 Toronto is taking comprehensive measures for securing the 

 co operation of the clergy of all denominations throughout 

 the Province, but beyond and above all this the New York 

 milliners, anticipating the results of the movement, have 

 brought out their spring stock prettily decorated with bright 

 flowers, ribbons and artistic bead works. The head gear of 

 the women on the streets is a moving museum of stuffed 

 birds and fragments of birds, but the shop windows reflect 

 back few feathers excepting the graceful plumes of the 

 ostrich. These are gratifying results from a movement which 

 is but yet in its infancy, the promoters and officers of which 

 have hardly had time to consider the details of their organiz 

 ation. We are happy to announce that the certificates of 

 membership, with a beautifully executed portrait of John 

 James Audubon, the painter naturalist, are now ready for 

 distribution, and we wish that all secretaries who do not 

 receive their quota within the ensuing week would send us a 

 list of their membership. Those members who have been in 

 direct communication with the parent Society will receive 

 theirs as early as possible, but the secretary's hands are full. 



Dr. I. E. Nagle writes of the bird destruction in Florida: 

 "What a sad contrast to all that is the present condition of 

 things. So-called hunters have shot out and frightened away 

 all of the game and singing birds in the State, except those 

 which hide in the almost inaccessible portions. And though 

 it is almost as rare a thing to see a bird in a day's travel as it 

 is to find a hen's tooth, yet the hunters go tramping in search 

 of the poor birds, which they call game. It is a pitiful and 

 pitiable sight indeed to see a big overgrown lout of a fellow, 

 after being out all day with a gun, come home in the gloam- 

 ' ing, toting a tom-tit as big as one's thumb, and act as if he 



had done a great thing in shooting away a pound or two of 

 shot to do the deed of killing. The noise that such shooters 

 make with, their guns, popping all day long, frightens all 

 song and plumage birds so that "not a ebirp or chirrup, except 

 What comes from the pugnacious ahd fearless sparrows, are 

 beard in the land. So if you want to hear a mocking bird or 

 red bird, you have to go to some barber shop dr drink shop 

 or elsewhere, where the 'critter' is kept prisoner in a cage. 

 The past cold winter and the shooters have almost annihilated 

 the birds in this section, and if there ever was a time that 

 demanded a cessation of such wholesale slaughter of thepoOr 

 birds, now is the time, and we earnestly bope that the gun 

 clubs and sportsmen's associations will urge the matter and 

 inflict the most stringent punishment against these promiscu- 

 ous and abominable gun snappers and powder-burning 

 wretches." 



On page V. is printed the pledge blank of the Audubon 

 Society. Those of the readers of Forest and Stream 

 who are interested m the work of the Society may cut out 

 this pledge form and return it with signature; and receive in 

 return the certificate of membership to which its signer is 

 entitled. Where no local secretary has been appointed (the 

 Society wishes to have one in every town), applicants for 

 membership may send their pledges directly to ihe Society. 

 In no case will a certificate of membership be issued before 

 the receipt of the signed pledges. The signing of any of the 

 pledges will qualify one for membership in the Society. It 

 is earnestly desired that ei>ch member may sign all of the 

 pledges. Beyond the promise contaiued in the pledge no 

 obligation nor responsibility is incurred. There are no fees, 

 no dues nor any expenses of any kind. There are no con- 

 ditions as to age. Address Thus Audcbon Society, No. 40 

 Park Row, New Yoik city. 



HABITS OF THE BLUEJAY. 



Editor Forest and Stream; 



"Awahsoose" alludes in a recent communication to a fool- 

 ish prejudice existing among the farmers against the bluejay. 

 That this feeling exists there is no doubt, nor that it is 

 widely spread There is no question that this bird steals a 

 good deal of corn, both from the ear while still upon the 

 stalk and from the corn cribs, where he can manage to find 

 entrance to such. In this region there is much complaint of 

 his depredations upon the wheat in shocks and stacks, audit 

 will be difficult to convince the people that the bird does not 

 do a great deal of mischief with little benefit of any sort aris- 

 ing from his insect-destioying proclivities. 



Now the jay, as 1 have before stated in the columns of the 

 Forest and Stream, is a particular friend of mine, notwith- 

 standing his intractable voice, and I have been on familiar 

 terms with a good many of them. I have not harmed oue 

 for more than thirty years, and I am sorry that my knowl- 

 edge of their habits during the milder portion of the year is 

 insufficient for me to decide how far they are beneficial or 

 otherwise to the farmer's crops. My intimacy with them 

 has usually ceased with the close of the snowy months, dur- 

 ing which I have often had many of them as pensioners 

 upon my bounty. So far as 1 know, they spend their sum- 

 mers in the woods. 



WiJl some Thoreau or Burroughs kindly enlighten on these 

 points the friends and enemies of this beautiful bird? 



1 often regret that I have not been favored by circum- 

 stances in the accurate study of ornithology, but if 1 have 

 missed many facts 1 have also learned a few. My favorite 

 bird is the woodpecker. I like his ways and admire his per- 

 sistence. I have derived much satisfaction from watching 

 the methods of the bird in its different varieties, and nave 

 sat within a few feet of the pileated woodpecker while he, 

 with his combination tool chest, created a pile of wooden- 

 ware as large as a fair-sized cooking range. 1 have seen one 

 of a different variety tapping upon one of the iron suspen- 

 sion rods of a bridge over the Ocouto River, in Northern 

 Wisconsin, and this upon the 10th of January. I could not 

 identify the species, neither could I suppose that the racket 

 he made had an amatory purpose, and I had too much re- 

 spect for the mental characteristics of the genus to think that 

 he expected to derive any sustenance from that piece of iron. 

 On the whole I am of the opinion that he was seeking to 

 keep up appearances, just as sailors are said to have been set 

 to pounding the anchors during a calm. 



Not to occupy too much of your space with these matters, 

 I desire to offer a suggestion. There are certain varieties of 

 birds which are specially banned, and devoted on principle 

 to destruction by most who cultivate the soil. If the Audu- 

 bon Society could issue for distribution among farmers a 

 circular or pamphlet, especially devoted to the consideration 

 of the habits of this class of birds, pleading their cause where 

 reason exists, and enforcing the plea with facts, and in the 

 case of any feathered felon whose predatory or destructive 

 propensities outweigh his services, admitting the fact and 

 proposing remedies, it might be beneficial. _ It is hard to 

 persuade the average countryman that all birds should be 

 spared. I myself cannot take that stand, although 1 have 

 signed the three pledges of the Audubon Society. 



Kelpie. 



April 14, 1&>6. _ 



HAWKS VS. PARTRIDGES. 



Editor Fwesi and Stream : 



If hawks kill so many more partridges than guns do (as all 

 huntsmen who are opposed to the protection of game by law 

 try to make us believe), is it not right funny that where the 

 report of the gun or rifle never breaks upou the stillness of 

 the scene there game is always plentiful. The cold winter 

 of '57 destroved all the partridges in Virginia west of Rich- 

 mond, and when the war broke out they were still scarce; 

 yet in the fall of '65, after four years of peace alike to the 

 hawk and the partridge, the latter were more numerous than 

 the oldest inhabitant had ever seen before, and I venture the 

 assertion that more of them were exhibited for sale in the 

 streets of Richmond that fall than have been seen there 

 within the last ten years all put together. I suppose it is the 

 hawk that has so thinned out the muskrat in tide-water Vir- 

 ginia and not the trapper; that it is the hawk which has well 

 nigh extirpated the wild pigeon of the West and not the 

 pigeon shooting, and that the wolf and panther have been 

 the slavers of the vast herds of bison of the plains and not the 

 fur hunter. 



For my part, I wish all the hawks and all their tribe, with 

 all the ferce natures, were at the bottom of the deep sea. But 

 it surprises me that every one who has given the subject a 

 moment's thought does not see at a glance that man is the 

 destroying angel of all the animals upon this earth when he 

 sets himself to the work. N. 



Virginia, March, 1886. 



