July 12, 1888.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



crack of a stick would drive a moose forty [mile, and how 

 they was so cumiin' that they'd sneak 'off through the 

 bush like a tomcat. It may he so in some parts where a 

 moose is hunted every day for a month : it may be that 

 they run from a sound, but not always; but I tell you it's 

 agin natur' to think that an animal the size of 'a. dray 

 horse with a yoke on his head can sneak off and make no 

 noise worth speakin' of. Why, every bull T ever skeered 

 made more noise than a freight train crashing through 

 the brush, and their horns just a pouudin' the trees like 

 sledge hammers. It's agin reason to think that a big 

 moose can squeeze through close trees without makin' a 

 noise; I tell you they make a thunderin' noise and no mis- 

 take. I sometimes think if you go sneakin' along, that it 

 skeers 'em more than if you plump right ahead; for a 

 moose makes so much racket himself that he thinks there 

 must be another one a coming. I know these ain't hunt- 

 er's rules, and I know when I am after a bull I make no 

 more noise than I can help; but I've walked right on top 

 of a moose when sticks was so dry that you could hear a 

 chipmunk forty rod." 



This and much more had worthy Hank to say about 

 "our mysterious friends," and I had to admit that on this 

 trip at least his experience proved true, and knocked on 

 the head some of my preconceived notions. This was 

 my first moose hunt, but I mentally sized the moose up 

 as an animal like other animals of his family, wary 

 when much hunted, and more or less careless where it 

 has been unmolested. Such had been my experience 

 with large game in the West, and I had no reason to 

 believe that the moose should prove a single exception. 



After dinner we paddled leisurely up the creek, look- 

 ing for good ground to make camp. The stream is clear 

 and cold, and trout shoot out from under our canoes as 

 we silently glide along. Occasionally a duck skims out 

 from behind some point, and the muskrat flops with so 

 much energy that it fairly makes us jump. 



The afternoon is still and beautiful, and the constant 

 hope of seeing something keeps us tuned up to the high- 

 est pitch. Hank's low voioe sounds to my ears like a 

 muffled drum, and an exclamation of surprise or interest 

 from him at some unusually fresh sign makes the time 

 pass quickly. 



"Them tracks in the mud look uncommonly natural," 

 whispers Hank, "and I almost 'spec' to hear a cow bell 

 tinklin' over there in them spruce." Co v bell indeed; 

 the nearest cow bell is not less than an hundred miles as 

 the crow flies. But his remarks give me a new train of 

 thought that lasts until a nice bit of clear high ground 

 is reached, just right for our little tent. 



The season is long past for catching trout, but who can 

 resist the temptation of a trout fry, especially after such 

 work as wg had been having? Human nature is the 

 same all the world over, and given a hungry man and a 

 stream full of trout, and game laws and constables to 

 enforce thein nowhere about, there can be but one result. 

 Oh. how good they were! and we had come so fast that 

 only one deer had been killed, and the last of him went 

 for some bait to give us our meal. 



A pipe or two, smoked while comfortably seated be- 

 side a small "squaw fire," and Hank's intermittent com- 

 ments on the habits of the game we were after, closed 

 the evening; and as we rolled up in our heavy blankets 

 we had no doubt that success would reward us after our 

 long trip. 



Whoever says that a drizzling rain is a pleasant thing, 

 just to make the contrast more pleasant, is a person for 

 whom I have but little respect. A drizzling rain meant 

 wet clothes, wet canoes, wet gun, wet everything, and 

 we got it. The morning broke about the same time as 

 Hank's snore, and in fact the two were so closely associ- 

 ated in my mind that if I heard the break in the snore 

 before I could see the first glimmer of light, I knew it 

 was time to roll out. It was the kind of morning that 

 does not prompt a man to cheerful converse, nor does it 

 lead Kita to the stream with any idea of cleanliness, in 

 truth there was water enough on us without going to the 

 creek for more, and not being greedy we resolved on the 

 eighth ballot to leave the stream severely alone. After 

 breakfast the sky began to look more cheerful, and several 

 breaks in the clouds were greeted with joy. We decided 

 to separate. Hank to go up the creek and I down, to meet 

 again for supper. For about two miles I paddled with 

 rifle in easy reach, the muskrats performed in their usual 

 way, an occasional beaver dam was passed and a fox 

 scurried along with what looked suspiciously like a rat 

 in his mouth. I also passed a few sleepy -looking spruce 

 grouse, whose heads offered most tempting shots, and 

 visions of a potpie very nearly overcame my caution. 

 For a long space nothing but alder bushes lined the shore, 

 but some holes at the water's edge and a few broken 

 branches clearly showed where some moose had crossed. 

 At last a marshy opening came in sight, and Great Scott! 

 what is this? A runway "all tore to blazes," as Hank says, 

 and tracks so fresh that I fancied I could see the slough 

 grass springing back into place. 



In a minute I was on the bank, and in another the 

 canoe safely landed and I on the war path. For about 

 twenty rods or so the trail led through the long grass, and 

 then turning somewhat went up a high bank into and 

 through a clump of pines and spruce. I could almost 

 smell moose, so fresh were some of the tracks. From the 

 further side of the pines a most desolute scene appeared; 

 for at least a quarter of a mile directly in front of me 

 and a mile or more to the right, nothing was visible but 

 charred stumps, fallen trees, and about a year's growth 

 of "browse." The runway was now explained. Some 

 Indian or trapper, intentionally or otherwise, had set fire 

 to the brush and the fire had spread as described. Tender 

 shoots growing from the unburnt roots of trees had made 

 a splendid feeding ground, and had tempted the moose 

 to remain. But how could they get through, over or 

 under this mass of fallen timber? It was as if some giant 

 hand had rooted up the whole forest and let it drop like 

 a bunch of jaekstraws. The runway now branched off 

 in several directions, but all disappeared in the burnt 

 land. Here, right in front of me, was an immense pine 

 tree, charred and black, which had fallen and lay on top 

 of innumerable small spruce trees, making an almost im- 

 pregnable fence, six feet high ; and beyond this all was 

 the same. Can a moo3e fly? Are his legs made of steel 

 springs? Does he run along from trunk to trunk like a 

 squirrel? These questions and many more presented 

 themselves to my bewildered mind as to how they "did 

 it." Ugh! I shall have to sit up half the night darning 

 those holes in my trousers; these burnt spruce branches 

 are as sharp as needles and crack like pistols. I should 



like to hear a bull moose creep quietly away in this 

 jumble. What to do next is the question. 



Were there any moose in the burnt patch at this time 

 of day? Probably not; and if there were it would take 

 mc all day even to cross it. After much thinking I de- 

 cided to play Indian and wait and watch, Just beyond 

 me was a pine stub about 10ft. high; this stub I finally 

 reached, not, however, without several bruises, much 

 climbing and perspiration. Hank would have made the 

 air blue with "cuss words," and I am afraid that on this 

 occasion a slight azure tint was added to the atmosphere. 

 Here I was, nicely seated on the stump with the autumn 

 sun pouring down again, and not a breath of wind. The 

 very day to hear all the various sounds of the surround- 

 ing forest. It is not an easy thing to play Indian and sit. 

 There is always some place just a little beyond that looks 

 better; there is an intense longing just to take a little 

 turn through some tempting-looking spot; and were it 

 not for these holes in my lower coverings, and sundry 

 bruises on my legs just as reminders, no doubt I should 

 have taken just a "little turn." But what more could be 

 asked for? a superb day, no wind and all nature calm 

 and restful. My favorites, the chickadees and migratory 

 birds of many kinds, chipmunks and squirrels, all seemed 

 to enjoy life, and the woodpecker, pounding for his morn- 

 ing meal, could be heard, it seemed to me, for miles. 



Twelve o'clock, my luncheon gone to the last crumb, 

 and still playing Indian. Not that I expected to see any- 

 thing at this time, but still anticipation is a great pleasure, 

 at least half of actuality. One o'clock, two o'clock, three 

 o'clock, four. Oh, great thunder! what was that? Who 

 is shooting off cannons ? Is Hank over there popping at 

 something or has a tree fallen? There it goes again, not 

 so loud, and there to the right is another cannon report. 

 Remembering all the noise 1 made trying to reach my 

 stub, it finally dawned on me that nothing smaller than 

 a moose could crack such timbers. 



How my legs shake, and now there is another sound, 

 it's like a man chopping wood in the distance. Hank 

 said a bull made just such a noise. For about half an 

 hour now the sounds greeted my ear, and the sun was 

 getting low. Was I not to be rewarded by at least a 

 sight of one of those moose I had come so far to see? Yes, 

 one is certainly coming; the sounds are more regular and 

 not so loud; the going must be better. What is that- 

 moving? Yes, it is a moose, black and shiny; I can only 

 see a little of its back, but it is moving slowly along, and 

 coming my way. I am sure my knee-pans will drop off. 

 The idea, and I an old hunter. ' How Hank would laugh. 

 Presently a sight was unfolded that I never expected to 

 see this side of the happy hunting grounds. Following 

 the first moose was a second, both cows, and a little to 

 the left and further away a bull. They came slowly, 

 browsing and nibbling the brush, stopping now and 

 again, flapping their long ears, and looking altogether so 

 lazy and cow-like that my legs recovered their com- 

 posure. It was evident that if they advanced as they 

 were now headed the cows would pass me within a few 

 yards, and the bull in rifle shot. How I patted myself, 

 and praised my pluck for sitting still and not allowing 

 my restless Yankee blood to get the better of me. Now 

 the cows are so near that every line and muscle can be 

 fairly seen. With what interest I watch them can be 

 imagined. The bull is not near enough yet, so I can 

 study the cows. How are they to get over that log? 

 Why, they are stepping over; but there is one that wfll 

 puzzle them; not a bit; with a light bound first one and 

 then the other are over. 



Sticks that would have crippled a horse were either 

 broken or pushed aside with the greatest ease. Their 

 facility for getting along, however, was principally due 

 to the length of their legs, which, though I knew it, 

 seemed astonishing. And now for the bull. What a glo- 

 rious fellow he is; blacker than the cows and larger. 

 He must be a hundred rods away, and yet he looks like 

 an elephant. Who can describe my feelings as this truly 

 lord of the forest quartered nearer to my dear old pine 

 stub? He is now within good rifle shot and not moving 

 a muscle. Does it not seem a pity to shoot such a 

 creature? Close as the cows are to me they are unsus- 

 picious, and all three are standing lazily as if to catch 

 the last warm rays of the setting sun. My nerves are 

 steady, and the mark is large, and as my rifle booms out, 

 sending echo after echo over the surrounding country, I 

 can distinctly see a shudder pass over the noble animal. 

 Two more shots follow in close succession, and then, as 

 if still unhurt, he walks a few steps ahead. Is it possible 

 that he is not hit? A stumble and crash give the answer 

 to my scarcely formed thought, followed by two or three 

 loud grunts, and all is quiet. But the cows, what are 

 they doing all this time? Are they panic-stricken and 

 rushing headlong? Not at all; they are as unconcerned 

 as a man after a square meal. To be sure they are look- 

 ing around and trying to smell something, but evidently 

 I am not discovered. Why don't they see nie? they are 

 but twenty yards away. It must be that they are unac- 

 customed to look for danger in trees. I wave my arms. 

 Ah! they see me and take a few steps. They have now 

 made up their minds that something is wrong, and are 

 Swinging along with an easy trot that would make Maud 

 S. hide her head with shame. Right over the tangled 

 mass of fallen timbers they trot as if it were smooth as a 

 ball ground, and in a few moments their shiny coats 

 leave my excited gaze. 



To crawl down my stump, and work my way to the 

 dead moose is the next thing in order, and my agility in 

 overcoming obstacles, and jumping from tree to tree 

 would have made even Mr. Crowly of zoological fame 

 envious. What a magnificent animal is this with' his 

 glossy black hide and tawny points. He was larger than 

 I had thought, and looking back at my pine, I realized 

 that the distance was greater than I had supposed. His 

 head was certainly worth working for, and how Hank 

 would laugh and grin. I had determined with him that 

 should his assistance be needed that I would discharge 

 my rifle in a certain way, and if possible he was to come. 

 This I did. The long shadows were strong arguments 

 against loitering in the work cut out for me, so baring- 

 my arms to the elbow I cleaned and bled the moose, and 

 had begun to skin him, when a low whoop from Hank 

 on the creek announced his arrival. Talk about skin- 

 ning; never in my life had I tackled such a skin, except 

 on a bull buffalo. Every inch had literally to be cut 

 away, and around the neck the skin was so thick that 

 we could hardly manage it. Even the sharp spruce 

 branches could make no impression on such a hide. It 

 was quite dark when we completed our work, and shoul- 



dering, for the present, a piece of meat, it was with the 

 greatest difficulty that we reached the water. 



What a cheerful and pleasant camp we had that night! 

 Hank told me how he heard a moose calling, how he 

 tried to creep up to it and failed owing to the thickness 

 of the cover, and then how he made a horn of birch bark, 

 and unsuccessfully tried to bring one to him. It was lata 

 that night before we thought of turning in, for all the 

 events of the day had to be discussed, and Hank, with 

 h5s generous mind, was more pleased than if ha had him- 

 self killed the bull. R, 



Bupk 4LO, N. Y. 



A CHASE IN MISSOURI. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I coincide with Mr. J. W, Schultz in his statement in 

 Forest and Stream, Vol. XXX., No. 21, that "panthers 

 never climb trees, and lay in wait to pounce on game or 

 children," also that "young cubs do climb to a certain ex- 

 tent in play," but I am not quite certain that adult pan- 

 thers do not also enter trees for their own amusement. 

 In 1886, while still-hunting for deer in Wisconsin, I 

 killed a panther in a tree (a very small female), but as I 

 did not find any marks of the claws on the trunk, I am 

 inclined to believe she entered it by jumping, the branch 

 on which I discovered her being only about 12ft. from 

 the ground. In the summer of 1887 a cub was captured 

 with a lariat, in a sycamore on the Yellowstone River, by 

 a friend of mine; as I am net in possession of all particu- 

 lars, I cannot state under what circumstances; the 

 animal I think is still a captive on his ranch. 



In the fall of 1887 I, with a companion, hunted in the 

 foothills of the Ozark Mountains, in southeastern Mis- 

 souri. On the 27th of October we halted in a secluded 

 place, in the so-called " Irish Wilderness," on big bend 

 of Current River, and having unsaddled our bronchos 

 and pack animals, we at once started to build camp, and 

 make things comfortable in general. Being out of meat 

 we concluded to replenish our larder by securing a veni- 

 son with the hounds in the morning. I, being more 

 familiar with the lay of the country than my pard, by an 

 unanimous vote of one, was placed in charge of the pack, 

 (as " Master of Hounds," as my pard jokingly remarked) 

 consisting of Charley, a large, very fast and powerful 

 animal, who could boast of being a descendant of a grey- 

 hound on paternal, and a bulldog on maternal side; 

 Bletith, Don, Gin and Flora, good, long-winded hounds, 

 equally familiar with the cunning tricks of the fox and 

 coon, the ferocious charge of the silver-tipped grizzly, or 

 the swift chase of the fleet-footed deer, and last, but not 

 least, my faithful turkey and squirrel dog All, a mon- 

 grel, representing (as his name indicates) a compound 

 mixture of nearly every known species of the genus dog. 

 but certainly possessing vastly more of the good canine 

 qualities than the faults of his numerous anosstors. 



Having placed inside our belts nearly everything eat- 

 able to be found in camp for supper, and toasted our 

 shins sufficiently long before the council fire, while de- 

 ciding the route of our next morning's hunt, we soon re- 

 tired to our blankets. In the morning, before the first 

 rays of the sun had thrown their golden lustre upon the 

 eastern sky, the camp presented a lively scene, and after 

 a refreshing plunge into the crystal clear water of Cur- 

 rent River, and a scanty breakfast, we quickly saddled 

 our bronchos. According to previous arrangement, my 

 partner started off on a brisk canter toward his stand*, 

 on the crossing at Pine Bluff Hole, while I, followed by 

 our canine friends, trotted off in the opposite direction 

 toward Long Ridge, where I intended to commence the 

 drive. Failing to start any game there beyond a gray 

 squirrel, who, terror-struck at the sight of so many 

 enemies at one time, scampered up in the top of a little 

 sapling, where, with loud barks and yelps, he protested 

 against such an uncalled for disturbance at so early an 

 horn-, I decided to cross Round Swamp, and go clown 

 High Ridge, but before fairly entering the swamp old 

 Bleu th struck a trail, and rushing into the lam-el (rho- 

 dodendron) thicket, at once gave tongue, and immediate- 

 ly Flora joined in, followed by all the rest, and away 

 they went on a full cry, with Charley, as usually the 

 case, well in the lead, toward the river; but presently I 

 heard them turn and go across High Ridge toward the 

 upper part of the bend. I at once concluded to head 

 them off if possible, well knowing that the deer would 

 not attempt to cross the river on account of the high and 

 almost perpendicular bluffs before reaching Jones's Cross- 

 ing, a shallow ford, where deer nearly atways take water 

 when closely pursued by hounds. "Being mounted on 

 my favorite hunting pony, Fanny, a very swift and sure- 

 footed animal, and the woods being comparatively open 

 in that direction I lost no time in getting there, and on 

 arriving at the ford, after about ten minutes' furious 

 galloping over some very rough country, I heard, to my 

 sincere delight, the hounds swiftly approaching. It was 

 but the work of a moment to find a well concealed spot 

 for the pony, and placing myself against the trunk of a 

 large tree I calmly awaited developments. 



Presently the game came in sight. Imagine, however, 

 my astonishment when, instead of a big fat buck, I saw a 

 large yellowish-looking animal, evidently belonging to 

 the feline family, coming over the top 6f the ridge at 

 that long loping gait peculiar to the panther, and which 

 no hunter can mistake when once seen. Until that mo- 

 ment I had always boasted of being buck ague proof, but 

 to do full justice to truth I must confess that I was not 

 far from " hearing my own bones rattle" just then. As 

 yet the panther did not see me, his whole attention being 

 centered on Charley, who, running close at the heels of 

 the panther, would now and then snap his teeth in a 

 very significant way, as if his whole and only ambition 

 in life would be to get a good square hold on that f eUow's 

 terminal appendage. Coming straight toward my stand 

 the panther approached to within thirty steps, when I 

 raised my rifle, and covering the vital spot pulled the 

 trigger, and scored a clean miss. Whether the panther 

 or I at that moment was the most surprised party is a 

 mystery that to this clay remains an undisputed problem, 

 but at the report he suddenly stopped short. In an in- 

 stant Charley closed in with him, and for a moment 

 there was music in the air. It would have been a caution 

 for any would-be intruder to see the way hair, fur and 

 dust was flying about; it strongly reminded me of a Kan- 

 sas cyclone. Meanwhile the other dogs had arrived on 

 the scene of action, and at once pitched in for their share 

 of glory and scratches. Seeing so many odds against him, 

 and undoubtedly believing caution the better part of 

 valor, the panther with one mighty effort shaking off 



