Oct. lft, 1895. , 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



337 



his range, or is blown so much as to be distressed, it is 

 wise to call him in and turn out another dog in his place. 

 There is an astonishing degree of difference in the capa- 

 bilities of dogs in respect to their endurance— some can 

 run but a short time before being blown, while others will 

 run for a long time in a hot sun with no apparent sign 

 of distress. Again, others fatigue easily, though appar- 

 ently strong and able to stand the work so far as appear- 

 ances indicate, while others seem to be strangers to 

 fatigue. 



In chicken shooting a wide ranging dog is a necessity, 

 but there is no quality more difficult to describe, for, though 

 his range be wide, it must be to the gun. A dog may 

 range wide and find plenty of birds, but from a sly inclina- 

 tion to self hunt he may be a most difficult dog to shoot 

 over. On the other hand, a dog that is honestly playing 

 to the gun is easily managed and successfully shot over, 

 even though his range be very wide. Every dog which 

 ranges wide is not necessarily a good chicken dog, for 

 there are many ill-broken dogs and ones of ill disposition 

 which will range wide with little thought of working to 

 the gun. Notwithstanding that the work is on prairie, 

 there is much opportunity for the dog to display judgment 

 in beating out his range properly, and also industry in 

 using his nose and legs constantly. Indeed, a good 

 chicken dog is rarer than a good quail dog, and of the 

 latter there is not an over stock. While the prairie ap- 

 pears much the same everywhere to the untrained eye, it 

 nevertheless presents a diversity of topography. There are 

 shallow basins, miniature water-sheds, hills and valleys, 

 yet all so near a level that they are not readily apparent 

 to the novice. There are stretches where the grass is very 

 short, others where it grows luxuriantly. The wise dog 

 learns to take advantage of these differences while seeking 

 for chickens quite as much as he does when seeking quail. 

 Wise dogs even learn the habits of chickens so far as they 

 relate to the dogs' use in seeking. Wise dogs will beat 

 out the stubble quite thoroughly morning and night, heed- 

 ing it but little in the midday hours. A dog of exceptional 

 knowledge will beat entirely around the stubble to hit off 

 any scent of birds which may have come in to feed, or 

 having fed, have gone out into the open prairie. Oats the 

 chicken fancies but little, and generally speaking it is a 

 waste of time to beat out oat stubble if wheat, barley or 

 flax is within a reasonable distance. If in a wheat coun- 

 try, the best course is to beat out the stubbles in early 

 morning, later skirt around their edges, about 100yds. 

 out in the prairie. If it is all open prairie then go ahead 

 anywhere and trust to luck and work. The chicken is 



MIWNIB T. 



spoken of here as being a prairie bird. It is generally so 

 written of and so considered. This is not strictly correct, 

 for it is found in the sand hills of western Nebraska, those 

 desolate and barren heaps, often entirely devoid of vege- 

 tation and at best sustaining but a sparse growth of grass. 

 In the hollows, where the washings of centuries have en- 

 couraged a feeble fertility, small patches of vegetation 

 struggle for existence; yet in that vast desolation chickens 

 abound in abundance. Grasshoppers afford a bountiful 

 supply of food for them, but in what way the grasshop- 

 pers earns a livelihood it is not easy to conjecture. 



In such sections as contain cover— dense brush or tim- 

 ber — the chicken has learned that it affords protection 

 from the shooter; so that instead of taking its flights out 

 into the open prairie when pursued it seeks the protection 

 of cover. " 



As it is not all of fishing to fish, so it is not all of shoot- 

 ing to shoot. In August and early September the prairie 

 country has on its best bib and tucker. The prairie is 

 a rich green, tinted in quiet tones with the colors of the 

 wild flowers, and the soft yellow of the grain fields makes 

 a gentle yet pleasing color contrast. Later, when the 

 grain is harvested and the yellow stubbles and monster 

 iStacks fade away into irregular and dim perspective, its 

 glory is changed, but not lessened. The pure prairie air, 

 the immensity of distance from horizon to horizon, the 

 novelty everywhere, have quite as much part in exciting 

 enthusiasm as has the easy trick of knocking the life out 

 of a few or a many stupid and inactive birds. 



B. Waters. 



Texas Quail. 



Waco, Tex. — The quail season opened on Oct. 1. While 

 the crop is unusually large, very few were killed on ac- 

 count of rank vegetation: we expect early frost, though, 

 at which time we can easily make good bags within a few 

 minutes' drive from town. Recent rains insure good duck 

 shooting. F. E. H. 



The Prairie Chicken Scarcity. 



Edmonton, Alta, N. W. T., Oct. 3— There has been a 

 great scarcity of chickens throughout the Northwest Ter- 

 ritories, and duck shooting is not good at all. P. 



Which would you Bather? 



Put up stovepipes or go shooting? 



DAKOTA GOOSE SHOOTING. 



ON the third day of October last I landed on the depot 

 platform at Mayville, Dak., with gun and hunting duds. 

 I had promised K. , a cousin of mine who resides there, 

 to make him a visit in the fall shooting season, and there 

 I was. At his office whom should I find busy loading 

 shells and preparing for a hunt but friend H. , of Jones- 

 ville, Wis. This was an agreeable surprise, for H. is a 

 crack shot and a genuine sportsman who enjoys the 

 camp and is handy with frying-pan and coffee-pot. He 

 told mo K. was out, but would be home in the evening; 

 he was expecting me, and the plans for the campaign 

 were all made. Evening brought K., who had developed 

 into an enthusiastic sportsman; and if he and his wife 

 did not make me feel welcome and at home during my 

 Btay may I never pull trigger again. 



Noon of the next day found K. , H. , myself and one A. , 

 who resides at Mayville, a big-hearted, social fellow, in a 

 spring platform wagon, rigged out with tent and pro- 

 visions for several days, bound for Golden Lake, about 

 eighteen miles west, where, according to reports, the 

 geese were plenty. It was bright, sunshiny weather, 

 with the crisp, bracing air which makes a fellow feel 

 so good and creates a wonderful appetite. The country 

 for about sixteen miles was almost as level as a floor. 

 It would be a sight for many an Eastern man to see 

 the rich soil and the immense wheatfields, where in sev- 

 eral places the steam threshers were at work. K.'s 

 splendid driving team made short time of it, and at 

 about 3 o'clock we arrived at the Sake, and could see a 

 flock of white brant, or snow geese, sitting on a sand 

 point jutting out in the water. It was decided that A. 

 and the scribe were to try and crawl within range, while 

 K. and H. drove to the opposite shore. In this way we 

 would stand more chance of getting a shot at them. By 

 crawling on all fours, and sometimes dragging ourselves 

 at full length, we reached the lake shore, where we had 

 some tall rushes to cover us; and we fairly got within 

 long range. By this time K. and H. had reached their 

 place, and as we rose up so did the geese. A. let loose 

 his 8 and I my 12-bore on them. Four dropped at 

 once and some more went down in the rushes 

 out in the lake, and we heard H.'s 8-bore as 

 the flock went over him. We called out to K. 

 and H. to bring the boat, that was to be somewhere 

 on their side; but the distance was too far to make 

 us understood, so I started around the east shore to get 

 there. After walking a distance, I scared a crippled 

 gray goose out of the rushes on to the lake, but the dis- 

 tance was too far for a shot. When I reached the south 

 side, K. had got hold of one of our cripples, which had 

 swam clear across the lake. H. had dropped one, found 

 the boat and was on the way across to A. K. and myself 

 sat down, lit our pipes and watched H. pick up four of 

 the nearest killed birds. Then a race took place between 

 the crippled gray goose and A. , in which finally A. and 

 8-bore came out ahead. I now took the boat and found 

 three more in the rushes. This commenced fine: eight 

 birds the first four shots. 



It was now getting dusk and we went to the shed on a 

 wheatfield close by, where the team was hitched. We 

 put the team in one end of the long shed, built a fire in 

 the open air and cooked our supper; but I shall not soon 

 forget the long faces of H. and K, when it was discovered 

 that the coffee had been left behind. After chatting 

 around the fire we put it well out and bunked in the spare 

 end of shed. I need not mention to many of the readers 

 what a good rest a fellow enjoys after spending such a 

 day, if fairly fixed. 



Next morning we were up early, but there were no 

 geese, so we walked about a mile west, where there is a 

 marsh several miles long, but in one place about fifteen 

 rods wide. H, and K. waded across, and we had a fine 

 chance for pass shooting at ducks, of which there was a 

 considerable number in the marsh. How many times H. 

 wiped our eyes I will not mention (those rubber hip boots 

 he kindly lent me made me feel so comfortable standing 

 in the cold water that I have no hard feeling over it). 

 Here we spent most of this day. 



The next day it was fine weather, but with no geese, so 

 we had a whack at the ducks again, and as A. did not feel 

 well we concluded at noon to drive back to Mayville and 

 rig out for a trip in a different location. We came home 

 about sundown, when most of the game was distributed. 

 Our bag was ten geese, forty-one ducks and nine snipe. 



The two next days were rainy, cold and disagreeable, 

 and we spent the time most comfortably in K.'s office 

 talking over old times, loading shells and interviewing 

 the few farmers that came in from the country in regard 

 to game, but we were always prompt on hand to do justice 

 to Mrs. K.'s table. She certainly must have had experi- 

 ence in hunters' capacity by the way the table was sup- 

 plied, and the hearty way we were told to do our best did 

 not lessen our appetites either. 



Monday morning at sunrise found us about forty-five 

 miles northwest of Mayville on a large wheatfield with 

 some small lakes close by. Here the straw had been 

 hauled away from the thresher, but not burned. We 

 jumped out, set the decoys and fixed places in straw piles, 

 while K. took the team to a shed about eighty rods south. 

 We had hardly got fixed before a flock swung by my 

 place, and I had the luck to drop one to each barrel, 

 which made me chuckle to myself, being for once ahead 

 of H. and the 8-bore. 



It now commenced to cloud up and the flight of the few 

 geese that were around seemed to be more to the north- 

 west. H. and A, went out on the Btubble, laid flat on 

 their backs some distance apart, and before long dropped 

 one each, mighty long shots and single birds at that. 

 The forenoon flight was now over; we dug two pits in 

 what we thought was a better location. It now looked 

 quite stormy and there was a slight sprinkle of 

 cold rain. When we had all fixed H. and A. 

 went over to the lakes, K. and I went to the shanty. On 

 some of these large wheatfields there is often a shed for 

 teams and a shanty for the men, and these are not used 

 except in seeding, harvesting and threshing. The door 

 was not locked, there was an old stove, with a table and a 

 straw bunk across one end of the uncovered floor. This 

 was right in our hands. We started a fire in the stove, 

 and after shedding a copious amount of tears we finally 

 got the smoke to go out through the old battered stove- 

 pipe. H. and A. now came and reported no luik. We 

 had a very comfortable dinner. Outside it was quite dis- 

 agreeable in the drizzling northwester. After a while 

 the weather cleared up and we took our places in the 



pits, expecting good sport, as the weather was just right. 

 H. and A., getting tired of waiting, went to the lakes 

 again. Toward sundown some small flocks came by, but 

 did not decoy well, yet we got some long shots and 

 dropped several. K. went to pick one up that he thought 

 done for, but it started on a run, K. after it with gun in 

 hand; finally the goose spread its wings and sailed off, 

 leaving K. much disgusted for not giving it another shot 

 when in range. While K. had his race three cranes 

 came by my pit; I shot, but did not stop any. While K. 

 was talking with a farmer driving across the field a flock 

 of geese passed over and he dropped one right on the 

 team. It was now getting dark and we started for the 

 shanty, where the boys had a good laugh on me. K. 

 poured out about a pint of ground coffee in a cup and 

 asked me to put it in the cooking tin we boiled our coffee 

 in. I thought I did so, but when K. took the lantern to 

 see if the pot boiled there was the coffee high and dry on 

 top of the dark cover laid over the pot. 



We spent a very comfortable night, and were on the 

 pits at daylight; but there were no geese. A single crane 

 came by, and we all let loose on him; he only made a cir- 

 cle and came back in range of H. and A.'s pit, where he 

 was dropped in fine style, much to H.'s satisfaction, as he 

 wanted the bird to mount, having none in his large col- * 

 lection. The weather was now clear and crisp, but with 

 no signs of geese; so at noon we backed up and started for 

 Golden Lake. When about half way we came to a small 

 lake. Here a large flock of snow geese was circling 

 around, and part lit on a wheat field close by. Here we 

 used our old tactics. A. and myself got within 75yds. of 

 them, when the flock arose like a small cloud; we let 

 loose on them, and to our surprise only one dropped, K. 

 and H. getting no shot at all. We fooled around here till 

 dark, got one more, and then started again for Golden 

 Lake, where we arrived at our old camping place about 9 

 o'clock. The boys again had a good laugh at the scribe's 

 expense. A. started at once for the lake shore to build a 

 fire, K. and H. took care of the team, I got the grub box 

 on my shoulder and started after A. , but lost the direction, 

 and had to come back to the shed and take a new start. 

 Well, it was pitch dark and with no fire yet to steer by. 



Next morning brought bright, clear weather with strong 

 southwest wind; we could see no signs of geese, so we all 

 went down to the lake shore for a whack at the ducks, and to 

 prepare an extra good breakfast. The writer was detailed 

 to supply the snipe, and soon brought in nine. A good 

 fire having been built in the lee of the lake bank, H. soon 

 had the snipe in the frying-pan, and a master of break- 

 fast it was. We had just pitched in, when a Bingle 

 pelican came flying and lit close to the shore beyond a 

 point to the north of us. This made H. and A. drop every- 

 thing. Casting a longing glance at the snipe in the frying- 

 pan, they grabbed their 8-bores and started off on a run. 

 We soon heard the boom of their guns and on coming 

 back H. carried the dead pelican with a beaming counte- 

 nance. Here was a worthy subject for his skill as a taxi- 

 dermist. Breakfast over, fire put well out, we went to 

 the marsh and had some splendid duck shooting, the wind 

 blowing strong and ducks flying low; but no geese show- 

 ing, at noon we packed up and came back to Mayville 

 early in the evening. Our bag was sixteen geese, one 

 crane, one pelican and twenty-five ducks. The pelican 

 measured 8ft. 6in. between tips of wings. These were 

 small bags for so many guns; but the geese had not yet 

 come in any great numbers to the feeding grounds, or 

 might have taken another flight. K. was disappointed; 

 he wanted to show me what he called Dakota goose 

 shooting, but I had to start for home next day. We all 

 admitted having had a splendid time, a fair amount of 

 game, and we had hopes of having more such trips 

 together in the future. The next day I was on my way 

 home, where I arrived all right and found all well. S. 

 Beloit, Wis. 



OCTOBER. 



A Reverie. 



What better than this cool, steely autumn weather 

 can bring the hunting instinct to the top in the sports- 

 man's heart? That feeling which in itself makes the 

 breath freer, the eye brighter, the step lighter. What 

 can better bring to his mind the remembrance of happy 

 hours spent treading field and forest, every nerve tingling 

 with enjoyment, every sense alert to catch the faintest 

 sign of game? 



Perhaps it is the pheasant or quail, so hard to flush, so 

 quickly out of range; or it may be the quiring bark of a 

 gray squirrel has attracted your attention. 



Look therel He's on that big chestnut! Look there! 

 His big bushy tail (that's all) comes into view as, carefully 

 keeping the limb between yourself and gun and his body, 

 he works his way swiftly to the end, where, with a long, 

 flying leap, he may gain the denser woods and freedom. 



A sudden chatter! A flash of gray as he clears the in- 

 tervening space at a bound. You peer through the 

 smoke. Something dropped sure. Yes, something 

 dropped, but it's only a "six-buncher," loosed by your 

 charge; and you proceed to regale yourself on the eon- 

 tents of the "six-buncher" as somewhat of a consolation 

 for the loss of the squirrel, who can be heard chattering 

 away in the forest beyond, but with a trifle more defiance 

 in his voice than before, you imagine. 



Your gun lies by your side or leans against a tree. With 

 a burr in your fingers you are most unprepared for a quick 

 shot. But this is just the time that our long-eared friend 

 Brer Rabbit chooses to whisk across, a rod away, and dis- 

 appear. An instant more and you would have had that 

 fellow; but it is no use to follow him. Your dog is a set- 

 ter; won't chase rabbits. 



But you grasp your gun firmer, hitch it a bit closer to 

 your shoulder and start off once more. "Go ahead, pup, 

 and make up for lost time. Whoa! steady, there. That's 

 a stand sure." Now go on. There's a rustling in the 

 underbrush, and with a roar of wings the noblest of all 

 game birds bursts into view. Yes, and out of it just about 

 as quick. 



But you have fired the old reliable right, and there is 

 a thud, and once more the rustling in the underbrush and 

 among the leaves. "Fetch!" And the next moment your 

 retriever has deposited in your hand a fine pheasant. It 

 is placed in the pocket of your hunting coat. With new 

 zest you start out; But a glance at your watch — whew! 

 half-past six. Who would have thought it? Time to 

 quit, and you start for home happier than if that last 

 grain speculation had netted you a hundred more. 



Chas, A. Barron. 



