268 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Sept. 28, 1895. 



rific yell that lifted my hair and started the cold shivers 

 down my spine. It proved not quite overhead, however, 

 but in front of me, so that I caught sight of it and had my 

 gun leveled and readv for a spring instantly; and not an 

 instant too soon, for it sprang at me with tremendous 

 force. I fired and down it came, not quite where it 

 planned — on my head — but among the rocks and leaves at 

 my feet, with a charge of duck shot in its head. I got out 

 of the way in a hurrv, hut finding there was no further 

 danger, returned and shot it dead. J. W. Strout. 

 Massachusetts. 



WISCONSIN WANDERINGS. 



Some Marshfield Men. 



Marrhftp.t.t) is one of the live towns, a little to the 

 northwest from the center of the State. The Tremont 

 House is a plain $2 house, but Foster Bros., who keep it, 

 will sit up nights to accommodate their guests, and run 

 down everybody in town to get a gun for a gueBt who 

 wants to go shooting. And there are lots of other good 

 fellows there, too. 



If you ever go there drop into the Ontral depot and 

 ask for Mr. K>rr. the night operator. Tell him vou are 

 one of the Forest and Stream family, and he will meet 

 you with open arms. You will be calling him "Jim" be- 

 fore you have known him an hour. He knows every bit 

 of country around there for miles, and he would rather 

 roam the woods with you than to eat when he is hungry. 

 If you can tramp as far in a day as he can, you are a good 

 one. One morning we got on a hand car at 4 A. M. and 

 pumped it nine miles; from that time till nearly dark Jim 

 tramped the woods, and when he came out on the track 

 ahead of the car he executed a number of gyrations that 

 would have been the envy of a circus tumbler, sandwich- 

 ing Indian yells and shots from his gun between the wild 

 leaps and somersaults. When we came up to him, the 

 Dutchman of the party said, "Vot's der matter, Jim? T 

 dinks you vos grazy mit insanity all retty. Nicht bar?" 

 "Not a bit of it." said Jim, "just showing you how the 

 Indian acted after eating a peck of green cucumbers." 



When we got the car going its bpst Jim jumped off and 

 ran a race with it, keening it right up until he ran into a 

 big thistle. Jim has been round a good deal and had 

 several ups and downs, but tbev haven't soured him a bit. 

 He is full o f good comradeship, and will rejoice to see 

 you knock down a partridge in full flight more than if 

 he did it bimself. 



B»rt Jones, in the express office, is another good one. 

 Young, handsome and high spirited, a born sportsman 

 with a big heart, he will do anything he can to help a 

 brother sportsman to a good time. Not only are these 

 two young men good sportsmen, but they are good com- 

 pany, and they don't have to take a bottle when they go 

 shooting either. 



But how about the game? Well, we saw deer, bear and 

 wildcat tracks in the woods, and saw two deer. We killed 

 squirrels, gray and black, and partridges. It is not a real 

 good place for anv gram« but partridges. I tramppd per- 

 haps ten hours in all in search of them., and flushed 

 twenty-two. The cover is too thick for satisfactory shoot- 

 ing while the leaves are on. I got twelve shots and was 

 lucky enough to knock down six, but lost one, as I had 

 no dog. After the leaves fall the cover will be. fairly good 

 to shoot in, as there are vei*y few evergreen bushes. The 

 shooters here say the birds won't lie to the dog, and 

 Ididnotseea setter or pointer in the town. Very few 

 birds are shot on the wing. They are generally treed by 

 a mongrel dog, and the shooter walks up with a shotgun 

 and "knocks 'em right out of their feathers." Then the 

 dog pounces on them with a yelp and chews up the re- 

 mains. There are partridges all over the north half 

 of Wisconsin, and doubtless they are plentier in 

 some sections than around Marshfield; but there is no 

 place where a gentleman shooter can sooner become 

 posted as to the location of the various partridge pockets 

 in the neighborhood. Accurate information about the 

 haunts of the birds is often hard to get, and it takes a lot 

 of time to find them . At Marshfield the hunter need not 

 look for trespass sign boards. There are none there. 



Tramp Bears. 

 During the past two weeks bear have frequently been 

 seen in nearly all parts of middle Wisconsin, and are said 

 to be quite common in many localities. They appear to 

 be. on the move, most of those seen were crossing open 

 fields. In a good portion of the State there are no acorns 

 this year and the bear are probably hunting a supply of 

 late autumn food. The same is true of the squirrels. 

 There is a 40.000 acre tract of woods just south of Marsh- 

 field, and last November the ground was fairly covered 

 with a corns, upon which thousands of squirrels were feed- 

 ing. I shot dozens of them in a few hours. Two weeks 

 ago l spent a whole day in those woods and saw not one 

 squirrel. There are no acorns on the trees. People in the 

 more settled portions of the State say there were no squir- 

 rels last year, but now they are numerous. 



Barron, Wis. 

 An old resident of this place, who I believe is entirely 

 reliable, says he has been in the woods twenty-seven 

 miles northeast of Barron for the last three weeks putting 

 up a saw mill. It is four miles from the nearest house. 

 This man says there is a good crop of acorns, that both 

 deer and bear are plenty. Also many partridges and 

 squirrels. No doubt it is a satisfactory spot for a good 

 hunt. Perhaps it's no better than a hundred other places 

 for the whole north half of the State still has deer and 

 bear in varying numbers, and there are a thousand la kes 

 that have not been fished enough to hurt them any. Oh » 

 that this whole region could have been kept for the peo- 

 ple's hunting ground, and not one of its millions of majes- 

 tic trees ever feel the keen edge of the axe, or its waters 

 ever be vexed by the fishing net. But it cannot be. The 

 homesteader is following the lumberman, finishing the 

 destruction, and our grandchildren will shoot no deer in 

 Wisconsin. O. H. Hampton. 



Michigan Quail. 



JACKSON, Mich.— Everything points to exceptionally 

 fine quail shooting in this vicinity this fall. The birds 

 passed through the winter in good shape and the season 

 has been very favorable for breeding. Farmers generally 

 say that they are more abundant than for manv years 

 past. F. N.W 



A CAMP ON ROARING RIVER. 



IV. 



"Beware the fury of a patient man." 



Tuesday noon Smyth returned with the flour, and ex- 

 citement ran high. The Doctor said it reminded him of 

 the advent of a bull train loaded with provisions and 

 whisky into a new mining camp. Naturally enough 

 Smyth wanted to know what had been done during his 

 absence; how many deer and elk had been killed; what 

 success with the rainbows and Dolly Vardens of Roaring 

 River, etc., etc. The boys had depended upon the Doctor's 

 tact and talent to carry them through this trying ordeal, 

 which they well knew was in store for them, but even 

 the Doctor's genius signally failed him on this occasion, 

 and for once his honeyed words and gallant efforts proved 

 abortive. To say that Smyth was mad doesn't half express 

 it. and he turned loose such an avalanche of Scotch- 

 Irish, English. Latin, Greek and Chinook invectives as 

 the echoes of the Roaring River canons had never before 

 been called upon to chronicle. Then he turned his atten- 

 tion to One Lung. WordR being inadequate, he pro- 

 ceeded at once to illustrate his theory that "there is but 

 one argument that will effectually convince either a mule, 

 an Indian or a Chinaman of the error of his ways, or 

 that is at all effective in inducing either to do his duty: a 

 club." He lammed him all over camp, dragged him 

 through the ashes of the camp-fire by his queue, stood 

 him on his head, cuffed him. thumped him and walked 

 on him until, as Mead remarked when he interfered for 

 humanity's sake, "There won't be anything left of the 

 poor cuss, Smyth, except a piece of a queue and part of 

 a wart if you don't let up." Then Smyth politely re- 

 quested One Lung-to start a fire and get supper and plenty 

 of it at his earliest possible convenience. Doubtless the 

 poor Chinaman's fear of "Injuns" had been superseded 

 by his fear of immediate destruction at the hands of an 

 avenging angel, for you just ought to have seen the num- 

 ber and quality of the flapjacks he turned out. 



After supner Smyth, much to the relief of Mead and 

 Swift, gave One Lung verbal notice and fair warning that 

 if there was any more nonsense, any more "Injuns," or 

 any more three-in-a-bed business while he was in that 

 camp the wolves and bears would have a chance to feed 

 on a, dead Chinaman. The boys thought that Smyth was 

 a little too cruel, but they got a good night's sleep for 

 once. The Lord only knows how poor One Lung passed 

 the night. 



V. 



"For those that fly may fight again, 

 Which he can never do that's slain." 



There is always a calm after a storm. Wednesday 

 morning came bright and fair and still. Birds sang in 

 the trees, pheasants drummed in the thickets, blue grouse 

 hooted from the tops of the tall firs, and the murmur of 

 Roaring River came up from the abysmal depths of its 

 dark cradle. It was just such a morning as brings all the 

 better qualities of man's nature to the surface; just such 

 a morning as makes one love his God, his fellow-man and 

 himself. The pure mountain air is an ethereal nectar to 

 the lungs and membranes poisoned and inflamed by the 

 feculent air of the peopled valleys, always surcharged as 

 it is in summer with dust and impurities; and one is made 

 to feel that he is risen to a purer and higher life. There 

 is a freshness and vigor about the mountains that is in- 

 spiring and that makes a fellow feel glad that he is alive. 



Doubtless poor One Lung felt duly grateful under the 

 circumstances that he was alive when, at 3 o'clock in the 

 morning, the alarm clock, previously manipulated by his 

 friend Smyth, announced to his unwilling ears that he 

 must crawl out and rustle up firewood and breakfast. 



One Lung's vocabulary of English was decidedly limited, 

 but he had succeeded in framing a sentence of three 

 words which (to himself at least) sufficiently expressed 

 his sentiments in general and of camp life in an "Injun" 

 country in particular. The last thing at night, the first 

 thing in the morning and all day long, sometimes with 

 emphasis, sometimes softly and inaudibly, often appro- 

 priately and more often inappropriately, came that wail 

 of despair: "No more fun!" until finally it was adopted by 

 the whole camp as a kind of rallying cry. Yes, it was 3 

 o'clock in the morning when the rattle of tin pans and the 

 aforesaid wail called the boys from their sweet slumbers, 

 and soon the whole camp was astir. 



It had been agreed the previous evening that Mead and 

 Swift should fish while Smyth and the Doctor should 

 hunt this day in order that the larder might at once be 

 supplied with proper evidences of the prowess of the gang, 

 and in recognition of the requirements of a properly regu- 

 ted camp among the wilds of Roaring River. One Lung 

 was to pick berries, of which there were plenty close to 

 camp. 



It has often been asserted by those who ought to know 

 better that there are no Dolly Varden trout in Oregon ex- 

 cept in the Mackenzie River. 



Dolly Vardens have been taken in several other Oregon 

 streams, notably in Williamson River that empties into 

 the upper Klamath Lake. 



Mr. Waters, a ranchman of that country, a reliable man 

 and a man that knows a Dolly Varden when he sees it, 

 tells me that he has seen Dolly Vardens taken out of the 

 Williamson that would weigh 12 or 141bs. Dr. Cox, Henry 

 Prettyman and others substantiate his statement. Smyth 

 has often declared that he has taken 4 and 51b. Dolly Var- 

 dens out of Roaring River, and one of Mead's chief objects 

 in making the trip into that country at this time was to 

 verify Smyth's assertion and, of course, have some fun 

 with him. 



After a most substantial breakfast, in which flour 

 played an important part, the boys went forth on their 

 missions as previously arranged and agreed. The Doctor 

 took his shotgun and struck out for grouse, Smith with 

 his Marlin ,38-55 went for deer, while One Lung, after 

 placing his Nordenfelt where it could be readily put in 

 operation in case of a hurried retreat, went, with many 

 misgivings and his usual wail, "No more fun," for ber- 

 ries. And it might be remarked that Smyth admonished 

 him to pick berries and not spend his time looking for 

 "Injuns," under the pains and penalties of a vine-maple 

 club when he returned. 



Mead and Swift slid gently down the almost perpendic- 

 ular mile to Roaring River, and went to work among its 

 pools and rapids with that diligence and energy for which 

 they are both noted when on a trout stream. 



The first clause of that unwritten law that governs all 

 true Bportemen directs that no game or fish shall be taken 



that cannot be used. So it was not at all strange that, in 

 this land of plenty, even before, high noon all the boys 

 except poor One Lung were back at camp with ample evi- 

 dence of success. The Chinaman was afraid to come in, 

 for he didn't exactly know just how many berries were 

 required to satisfy' Smyth's demands. The Doctor had 

 secured a fine bag of blue grouse, pheasants and a brace 

 of ptarmigan that had strayed down from their lofty 

 heights to feed on the berries. Smyth had shot a four- 

 pronged buck almost within sight of camp and had re- 

 turned even before the sun peeped in over the hills. Hi& 

 long trip for flour entitled him to the rest the boys found 

 him enjoying when they returned, and by mutual con- 

 sent he was allowed to sleep that gentle sleep, "balm of 

 hurt minds, great nature's second course," as Swift poeti- 

 cally put it, without being disturbed, even though the 

 boys could hardly smother the compliments prompted by 

 the sleek four-pointer that hung temptingly near his tent. 

 Mead and Swift had enough fish to last the camp two 

 days if it bad to take fish straight, and there, sure enough, 

 were the Dolly Vardens, two of them, good 4-pounders. 

 Rainbows predominated, but there was a good showing of 

 pure-bred mountain trout. 



While the Doctor and Swift cleaned the fish and set the 

 camp to rights, Mead strolled out to the berry patch to 

 bring the Chinaman in, for their mouths were watering 

 for juicy venison steaks and fat trout. 



Presently that monotonous song, "No more fun!" was 

 wafted to his ears, and calling to the poor heathen 

 they started on their return to camp. 



Mead had carelessly thrown his pistols and other 

 weapons aside before leaving camp, as he had no thought 

 of seeing any kind of game so close at hand. One Lung 

 was in advance with his pail of berries, wrapppd in his 

 own dismal reflections and occasionally murmuring, "No 

 more fun!" when all of a sudden he stopped short and 

 gazed intently at a small berry patch near the trail. 

 "You savey him?" he asked in a whisper, and then with 

 the despairing shriek, "Him bear!" he dropped his pail of 

 berries and ran for camp as if the devil was reaching for 

 his queue. 



Away went the bear in the opposite direction, but the 

 Chinaman never stopped or looked back until he reached 

 camp. Seizing Mead's pair of six-shooters, one in each 

 hand, he fired ihe whole twelve shots straight up into the 

 tree tops and then ran for his Nordenfelt. But Smyth 

 was on his feet by this time and had the poor devil by the 

 throat and was about to administer a sedative not pre- 

 scribed by the best medical authorities, when Mead 

 appeared on the scene with explanations and appeals for 

 mercy in One Lung's behalf, that softened even Smyth's 

 cold and stony heart. One Lung wrung his hands and 

 moaned, "No more fun!" "No more fun!" which on this 

 occasion was construed by the boys to mean no more 

 berries unless they picked them themselves'. 



VI. 



"Or in the night, imagining some fear, 

 How easy is a bush suppos'd a bear." 



The afternoon was spent around camp by all hands — 

 by the boys with that contentment and happiness that 

 are born of success; by One Lung with that resignation 

 that is born of despair. Guns, pistols and knives were 

 cleaned and oiled, rods wiped and put away in their 

 cases, lines unreeled and festooned among the branches 

 to dry, and the whole camp put in ship-shape for a two or 

 three days' trip further back in the mountains for elk. 

 Swift said that he proposed to have just as good a pair of 

 antlers as those that hung on Mead's walls at home, and the 

 Doctor declared that, for juiciness and flavor, nothing else 

 in the wide world could compare with elk steaks; so it 

 was agreed that there should be an elk hunt. This lazy- 

 ing around camp of a hot afternoon after a successful 

 forenoon's work is most enjoyable. To the ordinary 

 sportsman, preparation and anticipation are his greatest 

 delights. 



A trip into the elk country of any of our mountains in- 

 volves a deal of severe hard work, and puts a fellow's 

 powers of endurance to a sore test; all of which the boys 

 thoroughly understood and fully appreciated. 



One Lung watched these preparations for what he 

 readily understood to mean a prolonged absence, with dis- 

 trust and dismay, but his well-founded dread of Smyth's 

 vengeance kept his mouth shut. Of course it was every- 

 body's understanding (except One Lung's) that the 

 Chinaman should remain at camp and look after things 

 in general during their absence. 



Now the idea of staying in camp for two or three long 

 days and nights alone, even with his 300-per-minute Nor- 

 denfelt for protection, was the last idea in the world that 

 One Lung felt disposed to entertain, but he stoically kept 

 his own counsel. The smell of fresh meat and fish drew 

 quite a number of forest varmints around camp that night, 

 as was made painfully evident to the poor Chinaman by 

 the frequent rustlings in the adjacent brush and by an oc- 

 casional growl or howl in the not very remote distance, 

 and he spent most of the night sitting by the door of 

 Mead and Swiff s tent with his Nordenfelt handy. Smyth 

 was very tired and slept soundly, which of course relieved 

 the Ch inam an of much serious embarrassment. Naturally 

 enough in his state of mind he would now and then see 

 some monster approaching him from among the shadows, 

 and on such occasions he would incontinently seek safety 

 inside the tent. But he was afraid Smyth might awake 

 and find him there and so he spent the night alternating 

 between in and out. But the long night wore away, day- 

 light came, breakfast over and everything snugly stowed 

 away. 



The boys commenced to strap on their harness and One 

 Lung, much to the astonishment of the others, commenced 

 to climb a tree. He had something to say, and he didn't 

 propose to 1st his friend Smyth have the floor or the ad- 

 vantage of Mm on this particular occasion. When he had 

 reached what he evidently regarded as a safe altitude and 

 seated himself on a suitable limb he proceeded with his 

 oration something after this fashion: "You savey him In- 

 jun? You savey him bear? You savey him clougar? You 

 savey One Lung? One Lung no likee die! him heap good 

 man! him likee see him flodder, him mudder! him alle 

 samee no likee stay!" 



"Come down from there or I'll fill you full of cold lead," 

 said Smyth as he picked up a Winchester. But One Lung 

 had anticipated all this and knew that Smyth wouldn't 

 shoot him. And doubtless he had canvassed the whole 

 situation during the night and had made up his mind 

 rather to die the death of the brave than suffer lingering 

 torture. He had had his gay and evidently meant what 



