4 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[July 28, 1887. 



mm mid gfw/. 



Address all mmmunicatinm to the Forest and Stream Pub. Co. 



IN THE CHEROKEE STR1P.-VI. 



ON rettu-iiing to camp in the evening after killing the 

 buck, I found that the boys had not been idle. 

 They had killed another wildcat, a perfect monster, and 

 the largest I ever saw. He looked huge as he lay on the 

 porch, and very beautiful, even in the grimness of death. 

 He was lying very naturally, with his broad spotted legs 

 stretched out and his bearded face looking sleepy with its 

 half shut eyes. 



I have a great passion for furs, and in my various wan- 

 derings have, picked up a collection which is by no means 

 a bad one ; indeed, the boys have been disrespectful 

 enough to call me the "Great American skin hunter," be- 

 cause I consider it wrong to let even a rattlesnake skin go 

 to waste. By virtue of my title, therefore, I sat down by 

 the cat and began to measure him, and admire his lovely 

 coat, the finest I ever saw, and equal to a majority of the 

 lynx fur sold by the f timers. From nose to tip of tail he 

 measured a trifle over four feet, and the skin when taken 

 off was forty -two inches wide from one fore paw to the 

 other. "We had no means of weighing him, but he must 

 have scaled forty or fifty pounds. 



The dogs came trotting up as I sat by the cat, and I 

 noticed they looked as if they had been struck by a com- 

 bination buzz-sa w. The blue pup had an ear pretty near 

 off; old Mike Avas deeply cut in the face, and Terry's nose 

 was a sad spectacle. Evidently there had been war. 

 Then I noticed that the cat had been shot twice ; and 

 knowing this to be a very unusual thing on a limit 

 with three hounds, I went in and learned about the 

 battle. 



It seems that Mr. Allison had got lonesome after dinner, 

 and so he and Red took the foxhounds and a few of the 

 best greyhounds and started down to the swamps which 

 line the little creek known as the Wildcat. A trail was 

 struck within a mile from camp, and only a short run 

 made until the cat was bayed in the reeds. He was sul- 

 len and evidently "on his muscle," and did not seem to 

 care for a run. He paid no attentiomto the horsemen 

 and not very much to the dogs. "When the latter closed 

 in on him he made a short, sharp fight, then broke away 

 and sprang up a leaning tree. One of the shepherd dogs 

 —-who always managed to be along when there was a 

 hunt — crawled up the trunk of the tree after him for 

 ■ twenty or thirty feet, then fell off and nearly killed him- 

 self in the fall. Seeing the size of the cat, and not want- 

 ing his dogs to be torn up just at the time they were 

 wanted for deer hunting, Mr. Allison determined to shoot 

 it, and fired at it with a Winchester carbine. The ball 

 passed through the base of the cat's ear and scored the 

 top of his shoulder a trifle. Out he bounced among the 

 dogs, and the 3-ells of the latter at once announced that 

 he was using them pretty roughly. The dogs managed 

 to keep him strung out, so he could, not rip with his hind 

 legs— a thing which these greyhounds understand per- 

 fectly from having fought together so often — but the cat 

 kept his teeth and forepaws going, and was gathering dog 

 meat at every wipe. Mr. Allison — always an excitable 

 man in a fight— rushed hi and placed the carbine over the 

 cat's head, firing down without any particular aim and 

 at the risk of killing a dog. The ball carried off the tip 

 end of the cat's chin, but he only smiled sarcastic like and 

 went on with the previous question. Before the third 

 shot could be fired he had left his record on three veteran 

 fighters. The last shot struck him in the brain, and this 

 being too much odds against Mm he gave up. It was 

 almost impossible to get the body away from the hounds, 

 so infuriated were they over their own hurts. 



The utility of the foxhounds now began to be very ap- 

 parent; indeed, we were dependent upon them for much 

 of the sport we had upon the trip. Personally, I like fox- 

 hounds. Greyhounds are good, but you have to help 

 them, and watch over them, and take care of them. 

 Nothing is ever the matter with a foxhound. You put 

 him on the ground, and he finds his own trail, and needs 

 no looking after when lie has found it. The brilliant, 

 showy burst of the greyhound is talent ; the continuous, 

 tireless, invincible patience of the foxhound is absolute 

 genius. The father of Buck, one of our foxhounds, 

 chased a deer for forty-eight hours, and bayed him forty 

 miles from where he started. A farmer heard the dog 

 baying for the greater part of the night, and in the morn- 

 ing shot the deer, and brought the dog home to Mr. Alli- 

 son, at Hutchinson. 



A fine foxhound came do-wn from the north on the 

 2 1 range last fall, following a chase which began no 

 one knows where. He stopped by a dead carcass to get 

 Bomething to eat, and was so weak he could go no fur- 

 ther, but lay by the carcass six days, allowing no one to 

 come near him. At last Jack beguiled him into follow- 

 ing him toward the camp, and succeeded in getting a rope 

 about his neck ; but on the way home a deer sprang up 

 not far ahead, and the dog broke" away and went after it, 

 rope and all, and when last heard of was away down on 



the T5 range, and as Jack says, "a be lerin' like all , 



an' headin' straight lor New Orleans." 



In the dense reedy swamps of that rough country any 

 number of the smaller furred animals find a home, and 

 we could always strike a trail of some sort any time we 

 chose to go out. "We did not especially care to kill rac- 

 coons, but they were so numerous as to be almost a nuis- 

 ance, for when we just got comfortably settled on an 

 otter or wildcat trail, hi would come some fresh coon 

 trail or other, and Drum would switch off on to that, and 

 Buck would follow Drum. I remember one dark night 

 we started a wildcat out of the lower swamp, and ran it 

 for a long time among the dry sandhills. We were on 

 foot, but we had a grand chase, the dogs sometimes so 

 far away we could barely hear them, and then again 

 sweeping back on a double so close to us that we could 

 see them. The dogs finally led down to the thick grass 

 along the edge of the river, and there went at fault. We 

 concluded that they had gotten upon an otter trail, and 

 that the otter had taken to the river. The old dog Buck 

 seemed to think so, for he swam across and began to hunt 

 on the opposite bank; and sure enough he soon opened, 

 and in less than a minute began to bay! 



Alas! A certain unmistakable odor informed us what 

 the quarry was. In a few moments we could see it com- 

 ing out upon the thin crust of ice, plainly visible by the 



light of the moon, then just beginning to rise. To Ricker 

 was given the honor of slaying the skunk; and taking a 

 good hold on his much-prized three-barrel, he lay in wait 

 x n the grass, and when the creature got within forty 

 yards or so, laid it low with a double charge of duck shot. 

 But he didn't lay the perfume low. Oh, no! 



Just as Ricker immortalized himself by killing the 

 skunk, there arose right at our feet the noise of a mighty 

 battle among the greyhounds, and a big splash announced 

 that the fight was transferred to the water. That inde- 

 fatigable little Drum had been running one stretch of the 

 trail, about 100yds. long, for nearly half an hour. He 

 would go back to the start, spit on his hands, open his 

 mouth and then come booming up the path right by us, 

 head and tail both up, a yellow, yelling demon in the 

 night, with mouth open wide enough to take in a cheese 

 box. When he got to the end of the trail he would turn 

 around, go back and do it over again. As this seemed to 

 amuse him we didn't disturb him, but attended to the 

 skunk hunt. It now transpired that Drum had had some 

 purpose as well as some method in his madness. It was 

 a coon which he had been trailing, and this coon had 

 taken to the water, unfortunately for himself, crawling 

 out just at that spot on the bank where the greyhounds 

 were standing. "When they sprang upon him the whole 

 mass rolled over into the water together, and a more 

 animated scene than that moonlight fight in the Cimar- 

 ron River I never beheld. Part of the time the dogs were 

 swimming and part of the time wading, and the racket 

 11 iey made, blended with the squalling of the coon, added 

 a wild excitement to the occasion. A coon fights well, 

 especially in the water. He is more tenacious of life 

 than the wildcat, and his teeth are no wise to be despised. 

 Against six fighting greyhounds, however, a coon has 

 little chance, and the fight was soon over. Thus ended a 

 hunt wliich was rather a medley. We had started a wild- 

 cat, switched off on an otter, as we thought, and ended 

 by killing a skunk and a coon. 



The days passed very swiftly and very pleasantly at 

 the camp; the boys treated us most royally. We found 

 that visitors were not unknown at the ranch. At one 

 time ten men sat down to dinner. Two of these were 

 horse thieves, who were passing on through bound for 

 Arkansas. They claimed to be railroaders, but appear- 

 ances were mightily against them. They got their dinner 

 all the same. One day a freight train pulled in with 

 goods for one of the lower camps, and shortly after that 

 Jack came back with the wagon from a trip to the South- 

 west Camp, over in the broken black-jack country, bring- 

 ing with Mm a doe, a very large buck and one wild tur- 

 key, besides some fresh beef — the latter bemg more ap- 

 preciated by the ranchmen than any kind of game. Jack 

 reported considerable numbers of turkeys, but said they 

 were wild and scattered, the extensive fires having broken 

 up their old feeding grounds. As the chance for getting 

 any turkeys seemed to be poor, and as the cold weather 

 had beyond doubt made the bears all hole up, we con- 

 cluded not to take the thhty-mile drive over into the 

 canons south of the river. Before the fires this was really 

 the best game country m that region, though difficult to 

 hunt in. Last year, over near the Southwest Camp, Mr. 

 Allison saw a great plenty of bear sign, and his greyhounds 

 killed one bear — stringing him out in great shape. Even 

 had the bears been running we should not have dared to 

 take the foxhounds over in that country, as the "beef 

 cattle" were all held on that part of the range, and the 

 unknown demoniac notes of the foxhounds might have 

 filled the tender bosom of the Texas steer with alarm. In 

 a stampede a wire fence is no good, and once through the 

 wire fence on the south side of the range, the cattle woidd 

 have been among the Cheyennes and Arapahoes, who 

 know not aught of cattle leases, but do know how to skm 

 and eat an ox. 



Ricker and I shot ducks, along the spring branches, and 

 increased our stores of sketches and photographs, and once 

 in a while went out after deer still-hunting, thorougMy 

 exploring the country for ten miles about, and nearly 

 always seeing deer, but not getting another shot at them. 

 Mr. Allison and Red went out one morning on the flats 

 with the greyhounds, and had a course, but caught no 

 deer. Mike lamed himself so much worse that he was 

 laid up from further deer chasmg, and Jim did not im- 



5 rove his sore ankle, and besides tore a toe nail loose, 

 erry's nose had assumed wonderful proportions, from 

 the effects of the wildcat's claws. Still, we did not really 

 need any more game than we got. There was not, in- 

 deed, a single "blank day" on the whole trip. If the 

 greyhounds failed, we could always take the foxhounds 

 and kill a coon ; and what with greyhounds, foxhounds 

 and rifles, we added meat of some sort to the game rack 

 every day. 



One morning, Mr. Allison, Ricker and I started down 

 the river to the lower swamp to kill a wildcat. We 

 crossed the fresh trail of four big gray wolves. The stride 

 (walking) of the largest was nearly tMee feet, and his 

 footprint as large as that of a horse. We never allowed 

 the foxhounds to follow the trail of a gray wolf, fearing 

 that the chase might lead clear out of the country. Mr. 

 Allison said that he should not like Ms greyhounds to 

 attack one, for fear of their bemg badly cut up. I fear if 

 I had had the management of the hounds that morning 

 we would have followed that wolf trail if they went 

 clear to British America. It's a long lane that has no 

 turn. 



Well, we were afraid to start after the wolves ; but we 

 soon had a fine largo wildcat trail, and ran it to into a 

 vast sea of rushes and grass known as the "dry swamp." 

 We sat our horses about the edge for over an hour, and 

 still the foxhounds could not come up with their game, 

 though from their angry roaring we knew they were often 

 close upon it. At last the chase confined itself to a little 

 neck of swamp, not more than a hundred yards or so 

 wide. We pushed our horses out into a little open place, 

 and passed the word to shoot on sight, determmed not to 

 let the animal get back into the mam swamp. It was a 

 query of some interest in my mind how far my horse 

 would rim before we could lasso him, if I ever did shoot 

 from his back. He was slightly "bronco," and afraid of 

 the sight of a gun. Still, I resolved to try the experi- 

 ment. 



As we sat on our horses, the dogs were rumiing almost 

 under us; but though they often came witMn five yards 

 of us they were entirely hid by the heavy gro wth of flags. 

 The greyhounds, it should be understood, kept with the 

 horses, but they evinced the liveliest interest in the chase 

 and stood with ears straight up waning till the proper note 

 in the foxhounds' increasing challenge should tell them it 



was time to be in. The staghound pushed in among the 

 reeds and nosed about a good deal, but whenever he got 

 too close to the chase he broke cover and came bouncing 

 out. He was a horrible coward, not a very good one of 

 his sort, I take it. 



Half a dozen times the foxhounds stopped then- game, 

 and at their changed note the greyhounds half a dozen 

 times sprang in; but always the creature got away. At 

 last, however, the enraged roar of the foxhounds right 

 at our feet told us that they had "got a stand." In went 

 the greyhounds, old Mike jumping clear over the tops of 

 the flags. And then great double handsful of noise be- 

 gan to come up through the reeds. Old Mike's voice was 

 recognized in loud complaint. The valiant staghound 

 ran off about 40yds. and lay down. He hadn't lost any 

 Bengal tiger. And judging from the size of the noise it 

 couldn't be anything less than a royal Bengal tiger that 

 had the dogs in there. 



Mr. Allison went plum crazy, and shouting out to me 

 to "hold his horse," he jumped off and tried to force Ms 

 way in to save a few pieces of his dogs. Ricker also dis- 

 mounted, and came running up with gore in his eye. The 

 two horses both ran off as fast as they could. I tried to 

 crowd my horse mto the rushes where I could see the 

 sausage factory at veork, but the horse had no curiosity 

 in that line, and forthwith treated me to a pyrotechnic 

 display of "bucking" just at the wrong time^ and then 

 ran away for a hundred yards or so before I could stop 

 him and make him face the music. The scene, altogether, 

 was not without animation. 



The dogs knew perfectly well that they could not fight 

 in that dense tangle, so they began pushing and carrying 

 their prey out toward the open. At last 'they burst out 

 into plain view, and we could see something' black and 

 savage down among them, which they were not killing 

 worth a cent. 



It is not my fault that the animal was not a Bengal 

 tiger. Personally I wish it had been. It might have 

 been a wildcat, for the dogs certainly chased one into that 

 swamp. But the fact is— and I hope I will not be blamed 

 for it— the animal they had caught was nothing but a 

 coon; a great big black coon, nearly as big as a small 

 bear, and a fighter from away, way back. We were dis- 

 gusted — just as disgusted as you are, gentle reader; so you 

 can't complam. 



Mr. Allison knocked the coon on the head with the butt 

 of his whip, and ended the fight. I skinned the coon, and 

 a very fine black pelt I got. When nicely fleshed down, 

 the inner surface of this skin showed innumerable red 

 spots, as if it had been shot with bird shot at 80yds. ; 

 but hardly a tooth had penetrated through the tough 

 Mde and the inch-thick rolling layer of fatty membrane 

 which armored the back of this old timer. It was easy to 

 see why it is a coon is so hard to kill. 



Our forces were now part cavalry and part infantry, 

 and I suggested that it would be appropriate for me to 

 assume command and lead the march toward home. I 

 even offered to go to camp and tell Buck to get supper 

 ready for the infantry. But the boys couldn't see any- 

 thing funny about that, and insisted* that I should go and 

 catch their horses, wMch were feeding about Jialf a mile 

 off. Although this is not always easy in a "pasture" 

 which holds some twenty or thirty square miles, it proved 

 not very difficult in this case, and we were soon all in the 

 saddle again. If Bicker's horse and mine had not been 

 stable mates accustomed to going together, the capture of 

 the horses might have been a much more serious matter. 



As we rode on down the river, we struck a fresh deer 

 trail. The foxhounds diligently ran it just the wrong 

 way. Sandy Jim began to trail it the right way. The 

 staghound pulled out along it at full speed. Terry joined 

 in. In a moment we were riding hard through the sand- 

 MUs, down into the river bottom, following the racing 

 greyhounds with not a deer in sight. We ran half a mile 

 or so at full speed, when the deer jumped about 40yds. 

 ahead of the dogs in the tall grass. We could see it 

 plainly, but the dogs could not, and though we tried our 

 best to lay them on, the deer dodged in and out among 

 the grass and eluded them, finally escaping into the scrub 

 and going clear off. Every once in a while a hound would 

 bounce up over the top of the grass, get a sight and run 

 a line for it, but by that time the deer would have turned 

 again and thrown him off. 



After some difficulty we got the greyhounds together, 

 whipped the foxhounds off the trail — though Drum got 

 away again and was gone for over on hour— and rode on 

 down the river for four or five miles further. We did 

 not start any more game, however, and after Ricker had 

 made a few sketches of the bluffs across the river, which 

 afforded us some fine views from the tops of the higher 

 sandhills, we turned back toward camp, which we reached 

 safely, the skm of the royal Bengal tiger dangling from 

 my saddle. I have smce been offered sixty-five cents for 

 that skin, but I have stubbornly refused to take less than 

 six bits. E. Hough. 



PORCUPINES. 



Editor Forest and Stream : 



Mr. C. F. Richardson asks in your issue of June 7 if 

 any of us have ever seen "white hedgehogs." 



1 might have seen two, I suppose, in the year 1872 or 

 thereabouts, as I very well remember that some of the 

 sons of Mr. John Volk, of Oconto county, Wisconsin, 

 (where I was living at the time) reported to me that they 

 had killed a couple. I did not doubt the statement, and 

 remember telling them that they Avould have done better 

 to capture the creatures, and place them on exhibition. 

 There is no sense in killing porcupines, unless near a 

 farm, where they may do some injury, or snakes either, 

 for that matter, as a rule. 



According to Thoreau, the porcupine is an appropriate 

 "small fruit" of the wilderness. I agree with Mm, and 

 never hurt them if they will not molest my salt provisions 

 or gnaw the handle of my hunting axe. Sometimes I 

 have slain them for food, but not habitually; and I re- 

 member that a child who tasted one and wished to use 

 accurate English pronounced it "rather muscular" m 

 flavor. 



The disposition inherent in the human family to take 

 the life of every creature withm reach, when unprotected 

 by statute, is discouragmg to many of us, and I often 

 think that not the least among the good works of the 

 Forest and Stream, is its persistent discouragement of 

 profitless waste of life, 



I have often wondered that I could never see a bittern 

 upon the shores of the Intermediate, and lately I was 



