Nov. 9, 1895., 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



403 



CHICAGO AND THE WEST. 



Hundreds of Hunters. 



Chicago, Nov. 2. — Mr. Charles Harris, traveling passen- 

 ger agent of the Big Four R. R. ,is just in from Wisconsin. He 

 says that 135 deer hunters from Ohio and Indiana got off 

 at one station — Abbotsf ord, Wis. — on one day this week. 

 The railroad people think there were over 500 men came 

 in from other States to hunt deer in Wisconsin last week. 

 Many of these men will revile the game laws which pro- 

 hibit hounding and all the easy ways of destroying deer. 

 Many will wonder where the deer went, pretty soon. In 

 Wisconsin the wise deer hunter wears a red cap, so that 

 he is not so apt to get shot at by some of the motley crowd. 

 Each season from two to six men are killed in the woods 

 of Wisconsin and Michigan. Nearly alwayB they are the 

 "wrong ones. 



There are three men in jail at Florence, Wis., for illegal 

 deer shooting. One is an Ohio man, and two are local 

 shooters. One of the latter was fined $60, and in default 

 ■went to jail for 60 days. The Ohio man was fined $47, 

 and jailed in default. 



In Chicago Protective Circles. 



City Warden Charles H. Blow was an undertaker before 

 he went into the warden business. He had no saloon at 

 that time. By industry he has accumulated funds and 

 started a saloon, on the window of which in gilt letters is 

 the legend "Blow's Place." In the door there is the f un- 

 sized figure of a stuffed elk. It is a cow elk, or at least 

 has no horns. A good sign for a game warden. 



P. S. — The Illinois State Sportsmen's Association has 

 not started anv saloon. 



Deputy Warden S. L, Hough has continued the war 

 along the sedgy banks of Fox Lake. On Oct. 25 Bert 

 Stanley fired a few shots after sunset, on Grass Lake. He 

 was fined $15. 



Chas. O. Boyle fired one shot before sunrise, on Long 

 Lake. It cost him 10 plunks of the realm. 



Wm. Dubois on Oct. 20, on Grass Lake, fired three shots 

 before sunrise. Value, $i5. 



Jack Suess on Oct. 25, on Grass Lake, fired five shots. 

 He claimed he was lost, and was firing signals of distress, 

 after sunset. The judge hardened his heart, and assessed 

 him $10. 



Geo. Beckwith and his friend Nelson were shooting in a 

 gunny sack blind, beyond the natural cover of the rushes 

 in Rankin's Bay, Fox Lake. Warden Hough arrested 

 them. The case is not yet tried. 



C. E. Gurley, of Chicago, fired after dark and was 

 arrested. He swore to the jury that he was trying to get 

 a shell out of his gun and couldn't, so he shot it off. Then 

 he cried like a baby to the jury, said he was of good 

 family and not used to being arrested. The jury let him 

 go. All the above cases were brought before Justice John J. 

 Burke, of Antioch, 111. The deputies seem to be willing to 

 undergo great inconvenience to catch these men, and 

 they have had great success all this fall. They are up- 

 held by sentiment, and are making a good object lesson 

 in protection. 



On Winnebaeo Waters. 



Mr. G. A. Buckstaff, of Oshkosh, Wis., the young 

 sportsman Assemblyman who has been back of the fight 

 on illegal netting in Lake Winnebago, tells me that the 

 wardens have burned over two miles of nets, and have 

 made it so hot for the law-breaking fishermen that they 

 have to sneak what few fish they catch by wagon to other 

 points, as the express companies are afraid to handle the 

 goods any more at Oshkosh. 



And They Protect in Dakota. 



There is a club of Dubuque, la., sportsmen who call 

 themselves the Minnewaukon Club because they some- 

 times shoot near Minnewaukon, in the Devil's Lake 

 country of North Dakota. The warden found they were 

 breaking the laws and made a raid, confiscating all their 

 game, which included 153 geese, 38 grouse, between 200 

 and 300 ducks and 84 jack-rabbits. They had previously 

 filled four trunks with game, which was exclusive of the 

 amount seized, and shipped it to St. Paul, but when they 

 reached the latter city their cup of woe ran over when 

 they were informed that the game warden had also at- 

 tached that. How they escaped being attached them- 

 selves is not known. It is sickening to read of the 

 slaughter of game made by visiting sportsmen in Dakota. 

 The hunt, which should be made an occasion of gentle- 

 manly pleasure, is all too often turned into a carnival of 

 killing. I could never see why such shooters should 

 come back and boast of such work. More power to the 

 wardens! 



Old Duck Grounds Burning up. 



Great fires have raged this week on the Kankakee 

 marshes of Indiana. The marshes have been largely 

 drained, and the dry weather has turned the bog into 

 peat. The old duck grounds are burning up. 



Bogus Placards. 



Unknown parties have filled the Fox Lake region with 

 bogus game law placards, which give wrong advice as to 

 the actual law. Several misunderstandings have arisen 

 from this pernicious business. 



Bears at Bobo. 



Preparations go on at Bobo, Miss. , for the bear hunt to 

 which I have been invited. Mr. Divine writes that the 

 party will probably consist of Mr. R. W. Foster, of New 

 Orleans; Col. Dick Payne, Mr. Noel Money, of Oakland, 

 N. J. ; Mr. Irby Bennett, of Memphis, with himself, also 

 of Memphis. The bears of the Delta would better be look- 

 ing for tall cane now, for about Nov. 17 there will be 

 trouble in their neighborhood. 



Mr. Divine writes also that Noel Money is already at 

 Memphis, and has had heavy shooting at Lucy, Tenn. 

 Mr. Money and his friend there killed over 200 quail in 

 two days and a half. They started twenty-five bevies the 

 last day they shot and killed seventy-five birds. The 

 crop of quail must be extraordinary. 



The Bell and the Shot. 



The big shoot at Atlanta was minus the company of 

 Mr. Tom Divine, who was counted upon to head the 

 Memphis contingent. The reason of his non-attendance 

 is not generally known. I am credibly informed that it 

 was on account of a difference of opinion between him and 

 a gentleman of color. 



The nigger had a cow killed by Tom Divine's railroad, 



and Tom gave him $10 to settle the claim and took the 

 bell that was on the cow; but the nigger insisted on hav- 

 ing the bell returned. Tom would not give it up, so the 

 nigger sued out a writ to replevin the bell, and Tom had 

 to stay home and attend court in place of a shoot. 



It is no secret that Tom Divine has a room full of un- 

 lawful cowbells he has thus accumulated. But what 

 would you expect of a claim agent who would offer a man 

 $15 in settlement for the death of his wife and family — 

 and make the settlement, too! 



Mr. Irby Bennett shot a great gait at Atlanta, and more- 

 over was out every night at some ball or pink tea. We 

 have only a few men who can singlefoot, trot, gallop and 

 canter as Irby does. 



They Left no Potatoes or Pumpkins. 



Among callers at the Western office of Forest and 

 Stkeaji this week were Mr. Harry R. Loughran, of the 

 Iroquois Gun and Rifle Club, of Pittsburg, Pa.; Mr. F. F. 

 Merrill, of Milwaukee, Wis. ; Mr. J. Herbert Watson, of 

 Brooklyn, N. Y. The latter was on his way to the cours- 

 ing meet at Goodland, Kan. E. Hough. 



909 Security Building, Chicago. 



WISCONSIN WANDERINGS.-1II. 



At Fairchild, Wis., there was found a good hotel, with 

 a host disposed to attend to the wants of his guests. 

 Arriving there at noon and after dinner, finding that no 

 business could be done till evening, I unpacked the gun 

 and strolled into one of the many scrub oak groves which 

 dot the country to the west and south of the village. 

 The trees are of young and vigorous growth, few of 

 them over 50ft. high, and none or at most very few of 

 them with holes in them, but everywhere were scores of 

 squirrel nests made from leaves, showing that these 

 groves were the favorite summer resorts for them. Two 

 were bagged in a few minutes, and having no use for 

 more, I turned my attention to the thick brush in the 

 ravines that looked good for ruffed grouse, but none were 

 seen. 



The N. C. Foster Lumber Co. have a logging railroad 

 running twelve miles northeast from the village, and 

 are building an extension further into the woods. The 

 engineer of the road said he saw prairie chickens fly from 

 the train almost daily, and gave me a cordial invitation 

 to go out on the log train next morning until chickens 

 appeared, when he would stop the train and let me off, 

 and pick me up on the evening train. As every foot of 

 ground traversed by the road is pine chopping or tamarack 

 swamp, I thought the birds must be partridges, and told 

 him so, but he said, "No, we see partridges in the swamp, 

 but these birds I've been telling of are prairie chickens." 



I was curious to know whether these were chickens 

 being evoluted into partridge habits, and the next morn- 

 ing found me on the pilot of the locomotive, gun in hand, 

 and alert for a sight of some of those chickens. There 

 was not a square foot of prairie on the entire route. The 

 land had been covered with pine in the drier portions, 

 and tamarack and spruce in the low places. All the large 

 pines had been cut; fires had killed the smaller ones, as 

 well as the tamarack and spruce. Thousands of them 

 were still standing, branchless and blackened to their 

 pointed tops, while hundreds of thousands more were 

 lying on the ground or across each other, many of them 

 turned up by the roots and others broken short off at 

 various heights. In the moister portions, grass had got 

 some hold, and patches of fire-stunted bushes were on the 

 higher grounds. It was a dreary- looking waste, that be- 

 came still more so after two hours' climbing over the 

 fallen logs, and stumbling over roots. No houses, no 

 cattle, no visible life of any kind. Twelve miles into this 

 wilderness we went, but no chickens were seen. Then I 

 got off and tramped for seven hours and saw no life ex- 

 cept a few chipmunks. I did not expect to see any prairie 

 chickens, but hoped to find some sharp-tailed grouse. 

 When the afternoon log train came along I mounted the 

 rear of a long train of log -loaded cars, headed for town. 



When we were within two miles of town six chickens 

 flew from the engine and alighted 200yds. from the track. 

 Marking them by a pair of big pine stumps, I jumped off 

 when the train slowed up for the mill, and walked back 

 a mile and a half after those birds. I wanted to know if 

 they were really prairie chickens. They were flushed 

 about 25yds. from where they had gone down, and got up 

 quite wild. Tho first shot set one to wabbling badly and 

 the next barrel brought the bird down with a broken 

 wing. Marking it instantly by a stump, I turned to 

 watch the other one. It was flying irregularly, making 

 desperate efforts to tower, but presently fell on its back 

 close to a bush covered with scarlet oak leaves, making it 

 very easy to mark it. The other one lay where it fell, 

 but I could not find it until it tried to fly. The one by 

 the oak bush was lying on its back, dead. 



It needed but one look to see tbat they were the pin- 

 nated grouse — the real prairie chickens — an old hen and 

 five young cocks, heavier than the old hen. I had killed 

 thousands of them on the Iowa prairies, but these were 

 the first ones for more than seven years past, so I shook 

 hands with myself over the good luck and examined the 

 birds with as much interest as if they were the first pair 

 that had ever fallen before me. Then I indulged in some 

 old-time chicken shoots on the Iowa prairies, with Ezra 

 and the Smith boys, and other shooting companions, many 

 of whom are now gone, as well as the chickens. Then I 

 followed the rest of the chickens and flushed them at close 

 range in the edge of thick brush, cut off the top of a bush 

 with the first barrel, and found the gun had not been 

 opened far enough to cock the second, so no bird was hurt, 



It seems odd that a bird that ordinarily never goes to 

 brush, except to perch on high trees in winter, should 

 make its permanent home in a place so different in every 

 way from its old prairie country. It has probably taken 

 refuge here when driven from its natural domain by the 

 encroachments of the farmer and many hunters, and find- 

 ing these log-entangled choppings more secure, has taken 

 up its permanent abode in them. It is a wise move on the 

 part of the bird, for few men would care to hunt them in 

 such forbidding cover. It is to be hoped that these safer 

 retreats will keep some of the birds alive until our grand- 

 children can at least see a few of them. 



The next day I reached my favorite town, Marshfield, 

 and Charley Foster said that Jim Kerr had gone away, 

 which made me a bit lonesome; but the next morning 

 being one of glorious October's very finest I spent the fore- 

 noon in the woods, bagging five squirrels and three par_ 



tridges. Arriving at the hotel, Foster asked if I had met 

 Jim. I told him no. "He was not gone, after all," said 

 Foster, "and when I told him you had gone to the woods, 

 he took his gun and started out, hoping to find you." 

 But Jim did not find me, and the train coming before he 

 returned, I did not get to see him. 



At Oshkosh my business trip was ended , so I hied me 

 to Berlin, twenty miles west, to see Ed Hathaway, who 

 keeps the Berlin House, one of the most comfortable 

 hotels to be found anywhere, and Berlin is a very pleas- 

 ant town on the Fox River, in whose waters are bass and 

 pickerel. There are marshes along its shores that afford 

 fine snipe shooting, and sometimes there are many ducks 

 too; while there are a few chickens on the prairie and 

 partridges and .squirrels in the woods, the rabbits are too 

 numerous to mention. Ed gave me a hearty welcome, 

 but put on a long face when snipe were mentioned. He 

 said the marshes were dried up and the shooting would 

 not be good until there were heavy rains. "Are there 

 no snipe at all?" I asked. 



"Of course there are a few," Ed replied. "I suppose 

 we could find fifteen or twenty in the little flat, and per- 

 haps twice as many on the lower marsh, but not enough 

 to be worth going after." 



Then I knew the snipe shooting was good enough to 

 satisfy a reasonable man, for Ed is always taking the 

 gloomiest views of game matters, and if he admits that 

 there are any at all, that is enough. 

 ^ I stayed at Berlin just a week, and was out for snipe 

 five times, averaging four hours each trip, and was on no 

 ground more than thirty-five minutes' walk from the 

 hotel. I used 200 shells in all. Ed says if a man could 

 use 200 shells in a day he would consider it fair shooting, 

 such as there would be if it rained enough to get the 

 ground in proper condition, and that the shooting would 

 be good every day from Oct. 1 until frost seals the marshes 

 for the winter, about Nov. 10 to 20. 



One day Ed and I drove eight miles west from town to 

 get some partridges, and to me it proved a day of rare 

 enjoyment. Imagine a vast stretch of level land. It is 

 prairie, well filled with "islands" and "peninsulas" of 

 small oak trees, thickly filled in with undergrowth of 

 hazel and other low-growing bushes, making in most 

 places very dense cover. Every portion of the prairie 

 ground has been mowed, and the short aftergrowth is as 

 short and fine as a well-kept lawn. Long, narrow tongues 

 of woods run out into the prairie, and exquisite glades of 

 prairie wind and curve among the "islands" of woods. 

 Many of these glades, not over 30 to 50yda. wide, run into 

 the woods for half a mile, then either stop abruptly or 

 connect with a larger body of prairie, Everwhere, at 

 every turn, some new feature of beauty opens before the 

 eye. There is no blending of prairie and woods where they 

 meet. Right where the velvet turf of the prairie ceases, 

 there begins the dense woodland growth— a solid wall of 

 it. Now paint the oak leaves every hue, from deepest 

 green to glowing scarlet, and light the picture with the 

 mellow Indian summer and -let the stillness of a Sunday 

 morning rest upon it. See right here, what a place for 

 an autumn camp in this horseshoe nook of prairie of just 

 one-half an acre— sheltered on three sides by the nearby 

 woods and 500 acres of perfect lawn in front. Dry wood 

 near at hand, spring water in the brook at the right. One 

 taller tree than all its fellows is just the one from which 

 to float Old Glory, and two miles due north is a high 

 wooded hill, the only one in all the region; a sure guide 

 to the camp, situated in so intricate a maze that it would 

 be hard to find it without some guiding mark. Miles of 

 partridge cover on every side, and there are some chickens 

 too. 



In all my wide wanderings I have not found another 

 such spot so perfectly adapted to my tastes for camping 

 and lazy rambles through woods and brush and prairie. 



As we were returning from this trip some chickens flew 

 nearly over us and Ed shot one, which went down in a 

 field some distance away. 



Some "No hunting" boards were nailed to the fence, 

 which we had no sooner crossed than two unwashed 

 Polanders came rushing from the house and across the 

 field toward us, shouting a lot of unintelligible jargon. 

 When they came up to us one of them shouted, "Py — , gant 

 you not see dem bleck bords by de fences?" "I'm not 

 looking for blackbirds," said Ed, "we are after chickens." 

 Then both these specimens of foreign-born American citi- 

 zens broke loose entirely and raved all round us, but we 

 could understand nothing except occasional references to 

 "dem bleck bords by de fences." After they had run out 

 of breath and expletives, Ed again mildly explained that 

 we did not want blackbirds, but chickens, that we were 

 looking for one we had crippled and were going to have 

 it if we had to take the field home with us and run it 

 through the pulp mill, and they might just as well go back 

 to their potato digging. Then came more "bleck bord" 

 talk. At last Ed comprehended that the "bleck bords" 

 were the "No hunting" signs, and told them we didn't 

 want the signs and they might take them down whenever 

 they liked. Just then the dead chicken was found and 

 we departed, followed by more naughty words from the 

 pair of unwashed. 



Now these wanderings, like all other good things, have 

 come to an end in fact, but the rested mind and recreated 

 body are still in evidence that they were good, and some 

 winter nights when the howling winds and flying snow 

 compel an indoor life for awhile, memory will array 

 them all before me, for she has photographs of every face 

 and woods and every bird, and these are photographs in 

 colors — the green of summer and the yellow and scarlet 

 of autumn; and they have motion too — the shadows of 

 flying clouds, the waving of trees, the rippling of water, 

 the swift flight of the partridge and the nimble running 

 of gray and black squirrels over the treetops. And these 

 photos have voice too; they will make the faces of my 

 friends speak to me; the sound of partridge wings, the 

 barking of squirrels, the whispering of the wind, will all 

 be heard. O. H. Hampton. 



Pennsylvania Seasons. 



Mount ville , Pa., Oct. 21.— Editor Forest and Stream: 

 A squirrel hunter showed me the other day a large gray 

 squirrel he had just killed that was evidently suckling 

 young ones, as its teats were full of milk and showed 

 signs of having been recently sucked. Our opinion here 

 is that the game law ought to make the open season on 

 squirrels, rabbits and quail in Pennsylvania from Nov. 1 to 

 Dec. 15. We find tnat pot-hunters go for squirrels and 

 kill anything else they see. Tell. 



