182 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Aug. 81, 1895. 



A few miles northeast of Talihina we passed through 

 the now notorious town of La Flore, where Silas Lewis 

 was executed by the Choctaw authorities in November, 

 1894, for complicity in the killing of several men during 

 a political row, the result of attempts of rival candidates 

 to secure the position of Governor of the Choctaw Nation. 

 The party to which Lewis belonged was defeated and his 

 trial was conducted by the other faction. A death sen- 

 tence waB passed and he was ordered shot. The execution 

 was deferred upon the request of President Cleveland, but 

 at last feeling that there was no danger of Federal inter- 

 ference, the sentence was carried out in the most brutal 

 manner possible. It was decided that the prisoner should 

 be shot by one of his political enemies in accordance 

 with Choctaw custom, and a member of the victorious 

 political party was chosen to do it. As had been pre- 

 arranged, the shot was not fatal and the condemned man 

 did not fall. No second shot was fired, but he was 

 thrown to the ground and strangled to death by the fin- 

 gers of his political opponents. He lived thirty-two min- 

 utes. There was no pretense of a fair trial and the death 

 was made as horrible and painful as possible. 



At Wister Junction we made the acquaintance of Jack 

 Ellis, a Deputy IT. S. Marshal, who has a "record" of 

 twelve men and a wide reputation in that country for 

 bravery. He told us that the train we were to take north 

 from South McAlister would probably be held up by the 

 Cook gang near Eufala, and he was "corroborated at Mc- 

 Alister by the conductor of the train. We did not need 

 to be told, however, that trouble was expected, for the 

 number of guards on the train showed that it was true. 

 One or two at a time these well-armed U. S. marshals 

 strolled into our ear to smoke and learn of our luck in the 

 field. They were Rood fellows, and one of them waB 

 carrying a bullet from "Cherokee Bill's" Winchester. 

 The express car was oidy opened when absolutely neces- 

 sary and then but one door at a time, while two marshals, 

 one at each side of it, kept a careful lookout for danger. 



Thus we rode on through the night and in the early 

 morning were again at Parsons. To bed for four hours' 

 sleep: then for those of us who were to go on east the 

 labor of packing our personal effects, and the party dis- 

 banded — no, not yet, for before we said good-by we were 

 all to have dinner with "Joe" — "Joe," the jolliest man in 

 the party; "Joe," whose eggnogs were dreams in alcohol, 

 poems in whisky; "Joe," who was never tired and whose 

 luck in the field came late, but it came large. Once more 

 we gathered round a, table and once more we hunted the 

 "Kimish" together in retrospect, separating in the hope 

 that we may again come together for another hunt in the 

 "Nation." Allan Hendricks. 



AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE. 



Those who have ever spent an evening around an Adiron- 

 dack camp-fire will each and every one without question 

 put it among their pleasantest experiences and recollec- 

 tions. There is no place wnere people come into close r 

 relationship and more congenial comradeship than when 

 seated before the blazing pile of logs in some secluded 

 camp. 



There is something about camp-life that sweeps away 

 the conventional bars and barriers of modern social life, 

 and brings out the inner man and his personality. Living 

 in the close companionship of every-day life, being setn 

 under all circumstances, little traits of character come to 

 light and one is "sized up" very correctly. The utter 

 simplicity of the mode of living, the share and share alike 

 methods, the bearing and forbearing that are so necessaiy 

 for peace, the absolute freedom from the outside worlo, 

 all tend to give insight into character such as cannot be 

 obtained elsewhere, and to bring people closer than they 

 can ever come in the rush and whirl of city life. Away 

 from the feverish excitement, far from the noise and roar 

 of the city, close to the heart of nature, in the sweetness 

 and purity of the mountain ah-, the veneer of conventional 

 restriction is worn off and a man becomes in a degree 

 like his environments, perfectly natural. So the social 

 intercourse of camp-life, where the party is made up of 

 congenial souls, is pure and sweet, and the friendships 

 formed are as lasting as the eternal hills amid which 

 they are made. 



But the truly delicious hours of a sojourn iu the woods 

 are those spent around the fire. When the day's work 

 is over, the guns cleaned and the various simple details 

 of living attended to, the banjos tuned and the "briar- 

 woods" lit, then comes the climax to all the joys of a day 

 in camp. 



The back log is rolled up, some fragrant cedar split for 

 kindling, the hardwood sticks put on and the fire is ready. 

 Aa it blazes and snaps the flames leap up, the outside 

 world grows dark until nothing is seen beyond the little 

 circle of light but the moon sailing over the pine treetops. 

 On every face lit up by the glow of the fire there is a look 

 of contentment, on every lip a smile. 



For a while each one s"its in silence, for there is some- 

 thing almost awe-inspiring in the great veil of darkness 

 that envelops the camp. The great busy workaday world 

 with its joys and sorrows, its riches and its poverty, its 

 successes and disappointments, seems so far away, and 

 the peace and quiet of the forest seem so near to heaven. 



The only sounds to mar the stillness are the hoarse 

 croaking of a frog on the shore, the wild weird cry of a 

 loon on the lake or the solemn hoot of an owl in a neigh- 

 boring pine. 



As the fire grows warmer and the pipes roll out clouds 

 of fragrant smoke, each one seems to wake from his 

 reverie, and soon the conversation becomes general and 

 spirited. Each one has his share of hunting or fishing 

 experiences to relate, and one realizes the old sayinsT 

 "Truth is stranger than fiction." From one to another it 

 goes, from grave to gay, from sober truth to unvarnished 

 fiction. Snatches of song and bursts of joyous laughter 

 from time to time make the forest ring, and the fire 

 crackles merrily, as if it desired to express its enjoyment 

 of this jovial good-fellowship around it. There is a genu- 

 ineness about these fireside festivities that seems sweet 

 and refreshing to the city bred man after his winter's 

 round of "society events." 



Soon the pipes are out, the last story told, and one by 

 one, tired from the day's exertions, the campers "turn 

 in." The last one to go gives the fire a gentle shaking up 

 and then joins the row of blanketed forms stretched out 

 on the fragrant balsam boughs. Left to itself, the fire 

 gently snaps and sings, until nothing is left but a bed of 

 glowing embers, whde lulled by the music of the wind in 

 the pines and the gentle lapping of the waves on the 

 shore the wearied sleepers are resting for the morrow's 



sport. The frog sits silent in his marshy home, the loon 

 is sleeping on the gentle wave, and over all is silent peace, 

 so calm and sweet. Away beyond yonder dark mountains 

 is the world of strife and discord, but here in nature's 

 solitude one seems to feel a foretaste of heaven's peace, 

 that peace which passeth understanding, 



There is no experience that is as Bweet to the man whose 

 nerves are jarred and jaded from the wear and tear of our 

 modern city life as such a night in camp. One is sur- 

 prised to see how much pleasure can be found in simple 

 amusement, and realizes how foolish the endless rushing 

 for excitement in society life is. Given a good camp, 

 plenty of duffle, and two or three congenial spirits to share 

 them, a man can work out more solid enjoyment than in 

 a whole season of balls and parties. 



After a summer's jaunt in the woods a man looks back 

 longingly on those quiet evenings around the fire, and all 

 his life long the memory will come back to him, and in 

 his dreams he will see again that firelit circle with its 

 merry voices and happy faces. In fancy he will live over 

 again those careless, happy hours when with rod and gun 

 he roamed the wilderness in search of sport and health. 



M. J. DURYEA. 



Buck Mountain Point, Long Lake, N. Y. 



MRS. AND MR. OUSEL. 



For as many years as I can remember, fly-fishing has 

 been one of my hobbies; and keeping my eyes and ears 

 open for bird life on the creeks and rivers part of the 

 pleasures of the sport. 



Necessarily in such situations the water ousel haR come 

 in for a good share of my habit of observation. I have 

 watciied closely their feeding habits and have endeavored 

 to learn something of their domestic life, with what 

 success you will see, as I have found two nests in rather 

 singular situations, so I think. 



Seven years ago, while industriously wading Cedar 

 River, in King county, I noticed an ousel fly to the limb 

 of an alder, which extended out over the river. That 

 struck me as being rather a singular proceeding, and I 

 decided to investigate. The limb was about eight inches 

 in diameter, had been broken ofF, and was dead for about 

 four feet from the end and partially decayed. As 1 came 

 close to it I noticed a hole about on the level with my face 

 and about ten inches from the end of the limb. The hole 

 apparently had been made by a woodpecker. As I 

 approached, Mrs. Ousel flew out. Looking inside what 

 was my surprise and delight to find three baby ousels, as 

 snug as you please. After feasting my eyes on the first 

 nest and young of that queer bird it had ever been my 

 pleasure to find, I came away fully resolved to see more 

 of them, which I did several times afterward. 



The other nest was discovered on Bear River, in this 

 county, on June 8 last. Having walked up stream for 

 about five miles, without seeing anything of much interest 

 but elk, bear and deer sign, I started to fish down, and 

 had fished perhaps a mile when I saw an ousel flying 

 toward me. Standing still in hopes that it would come 

 close to me, I was rewarded by having it light not over 

 20ft. away. I noticed then for the first time that it was 

 carrying something white in its mouth. Ha ha, my 

 beauty, a nest somewhere; you shall be watched until 

 you go home. To my left at a distance of about 6ft. were 

 the upturned roots of a giant fir, with the body of the 

 tree lying up the river. Mrs. Ousel would run up the 

 bank for a few feet, then stop and eye me; a few feet 

 further and another look; until she was about 8ft. from 

 me, and there she stood for at least two minutes. To my 

 intense surprise the white thing in her mouth was a tiny 

 trout — surprise, because I was not aware that they caught 

 fish. Suddenly she made up her mind that 1 was all 

 right, and sprang up into the roots of the fir, returning in 

 perhaps ten seconds, but without the fish. Stepping to 

 the root it took but a minute to discover the nest snugly 

 ensconced in a hole formed by the interlacing of some of 

 the smaller rootlets. It was lined with grass and had all the 

 appearance of being warm and comfortable, and contained 

 three little ousels just about ready to fly. They looked at 

 me with as much curiosity as I did at them and did not 

 appear to be the least bit afraid. 



Now here is another curious thing about their feeding 

 habits. Situated on Cedar River, about twenty miles from 

 Seattle, there was a dam, at the foot of the dam an apron. 

 When the river was low in the fall of the year, while en- 

 deavoring to get over the dam, salmon would run on to 

 this apron, where they became an easy prey to the neigh- 

 boring population. When an overripe female was struck, 

 some eggs would squirt out, and of course would sink, 

 resting on this apron, and whirling around in the little 

 eddies, where the water was say 8 or lOin. deep and with 

 little current. When a salmon egg is dead it turns a 

 whitish pink. Noticing the ousels diving there several 

 times, investigation prompted by curiosity led me to get 

 in the brush on the bank and watch them, and to all ap- 

 pearances they were having a lovely time diving for those 

 eggs, and I presume feeding them to their young, for after 

 every successful dive the possessor of the choice morsel 

 would immediately fly off with it. 



Mr. and Mrs. Ousel are queer little folk with queer little 

 ways, and well worth watching as a side issue to the 

 pleasures of enticing the wary trout from his pool and 

 riffle, Jim Mac. 



Shoal Water Bat, Wash. 



A Free Country. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



This is surely a free country, where every man can do 

 as he pleases so long as he complies with the law; and 

 our laws are so liberal that no man should want to violate 

 them, and if he is much of a man he won't. 



Here we can have any kind of a gun we want. Those 

 of us who want to carry a 10 or even 161bs. gun can do 

 so, while others want to carry as light a gun as the man- 

 ufactories turn out. And as to the different calibers, 

 there will always be a difference of opinion among sports- 

 men. 



For quite a number of years I carried a heavy rifle, and 

 wanted the largest cartridge I could get after I got to 

 using breechloaders. But for the last twenty years I 

 have used a 7Hbs. rifle and a small cartridge, and I do 

 better than I used to with a heavy one. In a hard day's 

 tramp on the mountains a pound or two makes a big dif- 



ference. Take it when a man is five or six miles from 

 camp and the sun has gone down. He gets very tired of 

 his gun, especialy if it is a 10 or 13-pounder. He has to 

 carry it on his shoulder; he cannot take it in first one 

 hand, then the other, or run it through his arms across 

 his back. No matter how much his shoulder may ache 

 there he must keep it. 



I have often been asked what kind of a rifle I like best. 

 I invariably tell them. I practice what I preach. They 

 can see my two rifles. I would not have any other kind. 

 For big game I keep a .38-55, and for small game a .22, 

 long cartride. 



And so it is in regard to the different kinds of game. 

 If any man wants to believe there is a family of fan tail 

 deer, or mule deer; cinnamon, brown, black, pine-nut, 

 grizzly, silver-tip, baldf ace, white, polar or any other kind 

 of bear; or two kinds of panther or cougar, mountain lion 

 or catamount, he can do so. 



All we want is for him to believe it. 



I have killed a good many fantailed deer, fromtheCim- 

 maron to the Bitter Root. Among those I have never 

 killed a buck or an old doe. The tails on the yearlings 

 and even two-year-olds seem to have attained their full 

 growth and reach nearly to the hock. The hair, when it 

 is prime, is 6 or 7in. long. When they run with their tails 

 up, which they usually do, it makes quite a fan, one a 

 foot and a half long and over one foot wide. 



Now the blacktail deer from the Cimmaron to the Brit- 

 ish line, I think, are the same deer. The yearling's eats 

 are as large as they ever get; and take a yearling or a 

 fawn in the winter and from its color and the size of its 

 ears most every one thinks they are a different deer. 



So it is with the bear. I have killed quite a number, 

 but not much of a variety — the black and the grizzly. 

 Yet I h^ve never been so fortunate as to find one that was 

 not a rank coward and would get away if it could. 

 Bears will ran further when they get the scent of a hunter 

 than any animal that has been hunted by 



Lew Wilmot. 



A Man-Eating Shark Fake. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



The question whether there are man-eating sharks in 

 the bays and waters off the New Jersey coast is a matter 

 of interest to fishermen in this locality. It therefore be- 

 hooves us to investigate all sensational stories of attacks 

 by sharks on men, and sift them down to a basis of truth. 



In the daily papers of Aug. 'S there were varying ac- 

 counts of an attack in Raritan Bay by a shark on a man. 

 The following are two of the statements published con- 

 cerning the occurrence: 



Philadelphia Times. 

 Rescued from a shark. A man jumps to tbe aid of a companion 

 whom the monster had dragged overboard. Special telegram to the 

 Times. New Brunswick, Aug. 2. While out rowing in Raritan Bay 

 to-day Elias Turner, of Woodbridge, was pulled overboard by a Bhark. 

 His hand was trailing in the water when the man-eater grabbed him. 

 Jacob Van Hess, a companion, plunged overboard with a sheath 

 knife, and after a desperate struggle drove the shark away and res- 

 cued Turner from his perilous position. 



Philadelphia Press. 

 Seized by a shark. Elias Turner pulled out of a boat by a man- 

 eater. Seized his arm, which was trailing in the water, and broke it 

 io two places. Special dispatch to the Press. New Brunswick, Aug. 

 2. Jacob Van Hess and Elias Turner, of Woodbridge, had a thrilling 

 experience to-day with a shark. They were rowing in Raritan Bay, 

 and Turner fell asleep with his left arm trailing in the water. He was 

 suddenly awakened by a fierce tug at his arm, and before Van Hess 

 could hasten to his assistance he was pulled overboard by a big man- 

 eater. Van Hess quickly dived io the assistance of his companion, 

 With a sharp knife he attacked the shark, and after stabbing it repeat- 

 edly caused the man-eater to lelease his hold on Turner Then he got 

 Turner in the boat and rowed ashore. Turner was suffering severely 

 from the rough treatment he received. The shark caught his left 

 arm, which had been broken, and fractured it a second time. 



The New York World amplifies the shark story and tells 

 it with great detail. 



Feeling interested in getting at the truth, I made inquiry 

 through friends located at New Brunswick and Wood- 

 bridge, who I knew would investigate the matter thor- 

 oughly. They have done so with the usual result of find- 

 ing no foundation in fact for the story. 



One of my friends writes: "I have thoroughly investi- 

 gated the shark story, and I am fully satisfied that there 

 is absolutely nothing in it. It originated in the mind of a 

 newspaper reporter." 



Another says: "I have investigated the subject matter 

 contained in the inclosed clippings, and find to my satis- 

 faction that it is all a fake, or a joke on some one, pre- 

 sumably a reporter. While at this season there are many 

 large sharks off Sewaren and Boynton's Beach (one hav- 

 ing been caught measuring abour 8ft. long), and hundreds 

 of men, women and children are bathing there, no one 

 has heard of anything of the kind." H. S. D. 



The Gray Wolf in Tennessee. 



Brownsville, Tenn. — I have been much interested in 

 the snake controversy, and am glad the horn brood has 

 been represented in other sections. I am satisfied that wo 

 are not to furnish the one to split the wagon tongue. A 

 moccasin nipped my finger while I was fishing in June, 

 but beyond a terrible scare little damage was done. 



There are several of us who would like an answer 

 through your columns as to whence comes a species of 

 1 irge gray wolf which in the last four years has taken pos- 

 session of our river bottoms and seems to have gone to 

 permanent housekeeping. Twenty-five years since tbe 

 small black wolf was exterminated, and now, as though 

 dropping from the sky, comes this gray monster that none 

 of our dogs can successfully tackle; in fact, for a dog to 

 leave the pack a few yards in a chase is always fatal. 

 This creature has little fear of man, and renders his range 

 useless as a place to raise stock or hogs. Perhaps some 

 correspandent can tell us what he is?, whence he comes, 

 and what of him, and why he has waited for this late day 

 to make his appearance, for until very recent years we 

 knew him not. Good luck to the paper and its corre- 

 spondents — may the tribe increase. Benj. C. Miles, 



Bluebird's Nest in an Electric Lamp. 



Brewer, Me.— The prospect for game this fall is good. 

 A plenty of deer, some moose and a few caribou are 

 reported. Small birds have been extremely scarce. I 

 have seen but one bluebird this whole season and this one 

 built in a singular place, in the shade of an electric lamp. 

 English sparrows often do this, but I never knew of any 

 other bird doing so. Manly Hardy. 



