426 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Dec. 22, 1887. 



LONGBILLS AND LONGTAILS. 



" "VT7HAT time does Tom generally come for his mail ? 



V T "Oh. any time after 8 or 9 o'clock." I look up 

 at the clock in the little country grocery, and it points to 

 7:30, and as I do so the door opens and Tom's smiling 

 face appears, none the less welcome for being earlier 

 than I had expected. "We take our seats in the buck- 

 board, and turn the horse's head toward Tom's ranch, 

 about two miles distant. The road lies across one of the 

 most productive of the reclaimed islands bordering on 

 the San Joaquin River, and we ride through immense 

 fields of strawberry and blackberry vines, and asparagus 

 beds reaching almost to the horizon. The time is so 

 pleasantly taken up with plans for the day's sport that 

 the ranch is reached almost before I am aware of it. A 

 comfortable two-story house is almost bidden by weeping 

 willows, flanked by immense barns and surrounded by 

 lofty piles of baled straw, making the place look as if 

 fortified against an enemy's approach. At the door we 

 are met with kindly greetings by Tom's wife and little 

 daughter Mamie, and we step in and rest for a few 

 moments, after which we go out and inspect the live 

 stock, of which there is an unusual variety — of cows I 

 would not pretend to say how many, only that a steam 

 engine runs morning and evening to drive the machinery 

 that automatically separates the cream from the milk, 

 and which is of itself a curiosity well worth seeing. 



Coming next to the fowl yard, we find an immense 

 flock of tame geese and ducks, and another curiosity is 

 that there are always several wild geese in the flock, and 

 they come and go at pleasure. At present there are four, 

 and they do not seem frightened, although we approach 

 pretty close to them, probably because no one ever dis- 

 turbs them. Next come the dogs, seven in all, I believe, 

 and in fact they all came some time ago, on our first 

 arrival, to renew our acquaintance. One of them, an- 

 swering to the name of Lemons, is a little fellow of the 

 wooly species. He is a full-blooded "Poland rnopsey," so 

 called, I think, because in some countries . people stick 

 them on the end of a pole and use them to wash windows 

 with, A few weeks ago, early one morning, Tom and I 

 had been having fine sport shooting at passing flocks of 

 teal, half a mile above here, and all the ducks we dropped 

 fell in a fine patch of alfalfa. Lemons and the shepherd 

 dog had followed us, to make up for the absence of 

 Duke, the favorite red setter, who had got penned up in 

 the barn between two herds of cows and could not get 

 out. I had brought down four teal, but could only find 

 three. Searching about in the deep alfalfa, I at length 

 came across Lemons digging furiously at a hole in the 

 ground, with the shepherd dog standing beside him, as if 

 superintending the job. Suspecting something, I ran my 

 hand down into the hole, and scraping away the dirt 

 found the missing teal, where poor Lemons had been try- 

 ing to dig him out. Not the least interesting of the ani- 

 mals is little Mamie's pet beaver, that climbs up into her 

 lap, and shows fear only when the dogs approach too 

 closely. 



But we must go and get ready for the snipe hunt, which 

 we have planned for the afternoon. Tom goes off to the 

 armory to load shells, I drag my loft, canoe from the 

 place where it has been carefully housed during my ab- 

 sence, and launch it in the river that flows only a few 

 rods from the house. The rest of the party come along, 

 and soon we all embark. Thoughtful and kind-hearted 

 Mrs. Tunstead, our hostess, comes down to the river to 

 see us off and brings for us a bag of nice apples and pears 

 and a package of lunch, little imagining that by so doing- 

 she is getting her name into print. Now we push off. I 

 am alone in my boat, but the other carries Tom, Henry, 

 his nephew, and Gerard, a neighbor, besides Duke, the 

 led setter. "Tom," I remark, in an ordinary tone of 

 voice, "your boat is too heavily loaded to pull easily, 

 better let Duke come in with me." Now, Duke is so 

 nearly human that he always likes to go in the fastest 

 boat, and only waiting to hear the change proposed, he 

 plunges overboard, swims to the side of my boat and I 

 drag him aboard, and he lies down, wet and dripping but 

 happy. This river, generally so smooth, is a splendid 

 place for exercising the double paddle; this morning a 

 stiff north wind dead ahead holds us back somewhat, but 

 it will be a splendid wind for us on the snipe marsh. 

 After quite a long pull we arrive at the island, which is 

 our destination, run up into a little cove, haul up oiu- 

 boats, and make ready for tramping the marsh. But first 

 we sit down on a pile of hay and dispose of the lunch, 

 which, hi my case at least, goes to the right spot. Tom 

 is first out into the marsh, a shot is heard, and he holds 

 up the first English snipe. Now we are all interested and 

 impatient to get at them. Little Duke is running frantic- 

 ally about wagging his tail as though he would' break it 

 off. "What a curious manner of expression the wag of a 

 dog's tail is, but it is genuine all the same. Cold-hearted 

 man will look you in the face and "smile, and murder 

 while he smiles," but who ever heard of any one being 

 bitten by a dog that was wagging his tail ? 



Now we trudge across the marsh for a half mile, but 

 no sign of any more birds. We go on a little further and 

 a shout from Tom ahead hurries us up. "Come on, boys, 

 we are just in time." "We look down and see not what; I 

 had almost expected, a large lot of snipe already killed 

 and tied up in bunches ready to carry away, but instead 

 a steer, inired down in the soft black mud. Here is an 

 interesting job for a party out purely for pleasure. This 

 poor aminal has no doubt been lying here for days, is 

 nearly famished, and he bites ravenously at the willow 

 branches that we hold down to him. We cannot go away 

 and leave him to die. Tom goes back to the landing and 

 returns presently with the painter from my canoe and an 

 armful of hay. Girard, Henry and I have in the mean- 

 time foimd a long, heavy plank, and with much labor we 

 now succeed in getting the end of it under the animal's 

 belly, and by prying over the bank we raise his body 

 almost clear of the mud. Having well filled up under and 

 around his forequarters with willow brash cut near by, 

 we all seized hold of his tail and prepare for a grand' 

 united effort. [Right here perhaps some reader will say, 

 "Oh come, never mind the steer, let's go and hunt." 

 Have patience, my dear sir. If this muddy tail does not 

 pull out we will be with the snipe in fifteen minutes.] 

 Perhaps Tom detects a shade of impatience on my face, 

 for he says, "Keep up your courage, Andy, the birds are 

 getting fatter all the time." Now then. All together, 

 and we drag the poor creature out of the black mud upon 

 a comparatively dry bed of willow branches, where we 

 leave him for the present greedily devouring the hay. 



Starting on again we travel a long distance without 

 success j but at length the ground becomes wetter and 

 soon the snipe begin to jump up with their peculiar little 

 remark of liensk. I miss several birds at first, perhaps 

 through fear of hitting my companions, who are rather 

 too near, but at length I bring one of the little fellows to 

 grass, quite a distance away. Marking the spot carefully, 

 I walk up and find him. How handsome he is, lying 

 stretched out with his wings extended, his fan-tail 

 spread out and every feather so bright and fresh. 

 Altogether too handsome to be carelessly poked into a 

 dirty hunting-coat pocket, so I take a fine wire about 4in. 

 long (I always carry a supply) and doubling it in the 

 middle twist it around the bird's leg close to the foot. 

 Another twist of the ends and I have a loop through 

 which a cord is passed, which may be slung round my 

 shoulder or tied at my side as is most convenient. Snipe 

 carried in this manner will look clean and fresh at the 

 end of the day's sport and will not have that gummy 

 draggled appearance which they present when dumped 

 out of the hunting coat or game bag, and a bunch of a 

 couple of dozen will be something almost to be proud of. 



"That's all very fine," some Eastern sportsman will 

 say, "just show me where I can get two dozen English 

 snipe and I will hang them in any way you recommend." 

 My friend, this land of corn, wine and oil is only six 

 days' railroad journey from New York. Owing to 

 sharp competition the fare is now reasonably low, and 

 there are plenty of marshes within easy reach of San 

 Francisco, where good bags of snipe can be made, if the 

 hunter is a fair shot and does not mind mud or hard 

 work. 



"Come along, Andy," shouts Tom from far ahead, "we 

 will ha,ve to fine you." But I find that I am doing very 

 well where I am, and very soon my little bird on the string- 

 lias many for company. The snipe, popping up in twos 

 and threes before my friends, do not seem inclined to 

 leave the marsh, and after circling around for a moment, 

 drop down again, often within gunshot of where I am 

 standing, so I only travel slowly a short distance back and 

 forward. One little wet place in the center of the marsh 

 "pans out" particularly rich, and I go around and over it 

 eight times, each time putting up birds from ground that 

 I thought I had hunted thoroughly. 



Presently Tom and the young man come back over the 

 marsh. Tom looks tired and used up. No wonder, for 

 he has been carrying about a fearful load, of which he 

 thus delivers himself : "Andy, why would this be a terri- 

 bly severe place for a poor man?" "Give it up." "Be- 

 cause he would have so many long-bills presented to him," 

 and he marches off, relieved and happy. I soon recover 

 from the effect of this, and after looking carefully, to see 

 whether my gun is all shaken to pieces or not, I resume 

 the sport. A snipe jumps up, and with my right barrel I 

 drop him, quite a distance away, and as I notice, in exact 

 range of that tall bunch of grass. While I am looking 

 and marking it carefully, another flies along and goes 

 down at the report of my left barrel, in range of 

 that round-topped tree, away off on the horizon. I 

 must have both of those birds. I drop my handkerchief 

 at my feet, go straight away to the bunch of grass, and 

 retrieve my first bird, come back to my handkerchief, 

 take a line for the round-topped tree, and pick up my 

 second. 



The stm is getting low in the horizon now, and. soon I 

 hear a shout in the distance, "Come on, Andy, we are 

 going home." "Why don't you stay and hunt?"' " We 

 will if you will show us anything to shoot." I do not go 

 immediately, being loth to leave such fascinating sport, 

 but work on toward home, sometimes coming "back a 

 little way, all the time having excellent shooting; but 

 presently remembering that we have a mile of heavy 

 walking besides two miles of paddling, I hurry up and 

 rejoin my companions, who look rather fagged out, 

 and we plod on our homeward way, passing the steer, still 

 munching his hay, and looking as if he would go through 

 the night comfortably. Then on again through the deep- 

 ening shadows to the landing, where we throw ourselves 

 upon the hay, and rest a moment and count our birds. 

 The others have fifty-eight, my bunch is thirty-seven. 

 "Just one short of eight dozen," says Tom, "let's go back 

 and get the other snipe." But I notice that his' motion 

 does not meet a very vigorous second, and we take once 

 more to the boats. Poor Duke is pretty well tired and 

 flattens himself out on the floor of my canoe. 



The paddle back is so easy that it is only a resting spell 

 after the tramp of the day. Nearing the wharf a loud 

 mascuhne "Hoo! hoo," from Tom, is echoed by a feminine 

 one from the house, and we are soon seated discussing a 

 good dinner, with appetites born of good digestion and 

 sharpened by healthful exercise. Andy. 



San Francisco, Nov. 28. 



AUTUMN IN THE "GAME PRESERVE." 



EIFLE and trap, rod and net have done so much during 

 > the past decade in thinning game and depopulating 

 streams that it is impossible to longer rely upon the state- 

 ments of railway guides or upon the bold-typed adver- 

 tisements of summer hotels. Experience, or. if he has 

 not had time to acquire that, the word of some reliable 

 hunter, trapper or cowboy, must be the sportsman's com- 

 pass through the little territory that yet preserves the 

 characteristics of the American frontier. The southern 

 portion of the "Game Preserve" extends from the Wind 

 River and Big Horn ranges southward to the line of the 

 Union Pacific, or more correctly to the Bitter Creek 

 country. In general terms the region may be described 

 as a vast section having an elevation of abont 7,500ft., (he 

 altitude, being somewhat lower at its southern boundary 

 and higher as the mountains are approached. Several 

 isolated peaks raise themselves above the tableland, and 

 deep canyons furroAv its surface. Few streams and 

 springs are found and most of these are alkaline. 



A ride of a few miles in any direction will show what 

 the prospects are for a successful hunt. Buffalo heads 

 and elks' antlers are to be found on either hand, but it is 

 antelope signs for which we are looking. We are twenty 

 miles northeast of Point of Rocks, U. P. R. R. , traveling 

 in a northwesterly direction toward the Wind River 

 Mountains. Steamboat Buttes are on our left, and Sweet- 

 water is on our right. Hour after hour we have been 

 going over ridges and into canons, but the summit is 

 close by; a few more steps and we shall be on the great 

 plain. Stop! There on the crest, standing out against 

 the cold blue sky, is the game we are after. It takes but 

 an instant to dismount and fire. The bunch jumps back 



out of view, and we press on, hoping to find at least one 

 victim. But fate is against us, at least at this stage of 

 the game. The scene before us is, notwithstanding our 

 ill-fortune, sufficient to inspire fresh ardor. To our left, 

 and less than a mile distant, the plain is one moving 

 mass of antelope. Even where the eye can no longer 

 trace the form of the animal, the white tails appear 

 thicker than sage brush. We have found our game, not 

 in tens and hundreds, but literally in thousands. In the 

 meantime the bunch that first drew our fire has stopped. 

 Should the leader once turn around his curiosity will 

 enable us to retrieve our former miscalculation, Om- 

 horses are brought to a standstill and we sit motionless 

 as statues, awaiting developments. First one and then 

 another of the nimble-footed herd turns and looks at the 

 intruders. Step by step they draw nearer, and then com- 

 mences the movement we have been expecting. The 

 leader strikes a sheep-like jump, and under his guidance 

 the bunch circles the spot where we stand. Our sights 

 are elevated to the 300yds. notch, and again we tiy our 

 luck. This time a yearling doe falls. Five minutes 

 suffice to dress the carcass and pack it on the saddle. 



Now for the main herd. Our pace has to be very slow, 

 for we are in full view and cannot afford to excite their 

 suspicion. They see us long before we are in range and 

 make tracks northward. No! not all. A small band 

 turns toward the southeast, evidently with the intention 

 of watching us from an adjacent knoll. We have but 

 one course left. We must put the knoll between ourselves 

 and the antelope and crawl up on them. The bridles are 

 thrown over the horses' heads, and half-creeping, half- 

 runniug, we race with our unseen game. But such cau- 

 tion was not long necessary. Instead of ascending the 

 knoll the antelopes made then- customary circle and were 

 within 100yds. of our rifles before a sharp crack brought 

 them to a realizing sense of then - danger. Five shots in 

 all were fired, and we dressed four fat antelope within 

 half a mile of the place. It is surprising how far and 

 fast these little creatures can go with a hole through 

 them that would render many a larger animal absolutely 

 helpless. Five antelope would afford many a meal at 

 camp, and further pursuit being out of the' question we 

 retraced our steps, and two hours later we were enjoyiug 

 antelope steak, coffee and slapjacks. 



The antelope is too often a victim to his own inquisi- 

 tiveness. Wary he may be, but his habit of circling a 

 stranger will sooner or later bring him within range. 

 Every one is familiar with the "red blanket" dodge, but 

 even this seems to me to be unnecessary. Any pot- 

 hunter with plenty of patience can wrap himself in a 

 great coat or saddle blanket, concealing his head carefully 

 and in an hour from the time he is discovered by the 

 herd can empty a Winchester at close range. Antelope 

 are not seen here in summer. Their breeding ground 

 and range is on the southern slope of the Wind River 

 Mountains. The first snows drive him out to the plateau, 

 and as the winter grows more severe he gets closer to the 

 railroad. For the next two months antelope will be 

 found in abundance near Red Desert Station. 



Like the antelope, the elk is a lover of the lofty table- 

 lands and must be sought in similar localities. He is as 

 wary as the antelope and seldom, if ever, is the victim of 

 curiosity. When he runs he means business, and the 

 horse that follows must have better training than can be 

 acquired in a Wyoming cow camp. Elk are becoming 

 very scarce. I know of but one large band between the 

 railroad and the mountains and that is near Bush Ranch, 

 some forty miles from Point of Rocks. The worst of the 

 elk is his liability to become confused when surprised at 

 short range. A herd will huddle up and bunch under 

 such circumstances, seemingly ignorant of what direction 

 to take until all avenues of escape are closed. In this 

 way I have seen a band of eleven exterminated, the cow- 

 boys shooting them for mere wantonness when wanting 

 neither flesh, hide nor horns. Occasionally a few elk 

 will join a bunch of cattle and roam with them, and in 

 not a few instances have allowed themselves to be driven 

 with a herd of steers. 



"Look for the antelope and elk on the hilltops, for deer 

 in the hallows." It takes the novice but a short time to 

 learn the. rule and to recognize and distinguish the tracks 

 and signs of this pathless region. The mule deer alone 

 makes his permanent home on the southern slopes of the 

 great plateau. In the summer sunshine he cools himself 

 beneath an overhanging rock and finds shelter from the 

 wintery wind among the sage brush at the bottom of some 

 deep canon. In spring the doe makes her bed upon the 

 native grasses, and here she gives birth to the spotted 

 fawn. The greatest danger to the deer lies iu his love for 

 one peculiar spot. If startled he may lead the hunter on 

 a wild goose chase over miles of rough country only 

 to bring him back to the starting point. As an 

 example of this I give my ride of yesterday. We had 

 grown tired of antelope steak and craved a change of diet. 

 Two of us started early in the day to scour the surround- 

 ing canons. Tracks were plenty, but no deer. After 

 four horns of hard riding, when we had about given up 

 the search, we plunged into a deep canon with precipi- 

 tous walls and. a grassy bed. Our horses were just 

 descending the bank when from under their very feet 

 sprang one of the noblest bucks that it has been my 

 pleasure to see. Out of the canon he jumped and over 

 the hill he trotted. Our horses refused to stand and be- 

 fore I could draw a bead I raised to 300yds. This just 

 overshot him and now there was nothing to do but follow 

 the trail until it was lost among the rocks. Two miles of 

 this and the chase was given tfp. Suddenly my comrade 

 pulled my rein. There in another canon was our buck. 

 This time wc tided stalking but to no purpose. He was 

 gone and no cleft track showed his path. 



Homeward we turned. The sun was low when we 

 reached the canon where first we found liim, and we cer- 

 tainly had no expectation of meeting him again. Yet 

 there he was high up the ridge in a little gulch. He had 

 not seen us. so after dismounting we crawled to the 

 shelter of a rock not more than 200yds. from his lordship. 

 He was lying down, only the antlers being visible. I 

 thought I could get nearer, but scarcely had I issued from 

 concealment when he made a bound. Our rifles cracked 

 together and he fell prostrate. When we reached him 

 we found a hole through the head and another through 

 the loin; the latter had broken the backbone, so either 

 shot was fatal. His hindquarters, when skinned and 

 dressed as close as Chicago hams, weighed 231bs. 



Last week my comrade was riding the range when he 

 started seven deer from a canon. They ran slowly over 

 a ridge, and as he did not pursue he surmised that they 



