198 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 81, 1887, 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stre<vm Pub. Co. 



A RECORD OF FAILURES-II. 



THE weather was gradually getting colder, so that 

 sleeping out without tent or other shelter was not 

 very pleasant, hut I was often surprised to find what a 

 very low temperature indeed may be actually enjoyed 

 when one is engaged in some active pursuit. Jim and I 

 had been out hunting one day, and, for the first time, I 

 had had my ears slightly frozen, as I wore no cap. At 

 night I was reading an 'account of Hall's arctic explora- 

 tion, in which is given a harrowing description of the 

 men's suffering from the extreme cold, the thermometer 

 indicating 59° of frost. When I began to think over the 

 narrative I could not help wondering a little, for it 

 seemed to me that we in Manitoba have often experi- 

 enced much colder weather and never imagined that we 

 we were enduring arctic hardships. All day I had been 

 out on the hills in a gale of wind, often with my mits 

 off, though careful not to touch the rifle barrel with my 

 bare hands. I knew it was far below zero, so I asked of 

 one who had been to town, "What was the temperature 

 to-day?" and was told 30° below zero, at the highest. 

 This was 62° of frost, a gale of wind, no arctic clothing, 

 nothing on my head but a handkerchief oyer my ears, 

 and yet I had no idea that I was suffering so severely. 

 Verily I believe that many arctic explorers set out with 

 the predetermination to suffer teiribly from the frost and 

 are afterward very unwilling to believe that their pur- 

 pose has in any way been frustrated. 



It may be necessary to explain that I was capless by 

 choice. I cannot hunt with my head covered. A cap 

 muffles both eyes and ears beyond the possibility of use 

 and always makes the top of my head unpleasantly hot, 

 even at 20° below zero. Yet when the winter closes in it 

 is necessary to have some protec- 

 tion for the ears, and so experi- 

 ence at length taught me to wear 

 the simple red scarf of the In- 

 dians, and I was well pleased to 

 find how completely it answered 

 the ends of its existence. It saved 

 my ears from freezing, kept my 

 head cool and allowed the free 

 use of my senses; and it on one 

 occasion, I believe, saved my own 

 life, as will afterward be seen, 

 and on another kept me from 

 shooting an Indian, for I had covered him in a thicket 

 taking him for a deer, and was about to fire when I 

 caught a glimpse of the scarlet badge, and possibly saved 

 myself from life-long regret. 



In many particulars 1 was thus led to believe that the 

 Indian has wild life "down fine" and that many of his 

 practices are the outcome of then- experience. Thus, as 

 already mentioned, his foot in walking is set straight. I 

 found that by setting my foot straight my stride was in- 

 creased, while also in deep snow it enabled one to return 

 exactly on one's old 

 track. So also in camp- 

 ing. I have tried all 

 modes, tents and no 

 tents, straw camps and 

 willow camps, big fires 

 and little fires, and have 

 at last come right down 

 to the simple blanket 

 around a few poles be- 

 hind, and a small, neat 

 fire in front, just as the Indian does tbe whole year round. 



Next day I set out alone once more to look for venison, 

 and tramped all day in a new direction, but found noth- 

 ing to vary the monotony of the deerless scene. True, I 

 could at any time make a change by killing small game, 

 for this is very emphatically a rabbit year, and a chicken 

 year as well. The rabbits (Lepus americanus) exist in 

 hundreds and thousands: every willow bed is swarming 

 with them, and every other tussock you kick gives birth 

 to a snow white bunny. Their footprints are in myriads 

 all over, and are one of the chief chmculties in the way 

 of tracking deer in the shallow snow. There is no sport 

 in killing them, for here we may apply the philosoph- 

 er's adage in full force, "thar aint no fun in a steady 

 streke of luck." I tried in various ways to enjoy hare 

 hunting. First I took the rifle and killed one, two^ three, 

 four, five, one after the other. No. 6 proved to be a fox, 

 and with a diabolical perversity characteristic of my guns 

 whenever anything worth shooting turns up, the red- 

 haired gentleman, though at short range, skipped lightly 

 away unhurt. ■ Next I tried coursing. I would take three 

 dogs that could usually catch a fox, into a bluff on the 

 prairie, beat out the rabbits and let the dogs start after 

 one that chanced to make across the open. It's a grand 

 thing to take the conceit out of a dog. All three would 

 give chase, but gracious, there was nothing for them to 

 chase but a white streak. I never yet knew of either dog 

 or fox catching a rabbit in a fair race. I tried shooting 

 with a bow, but the bunnies simply laughed at my arch- 

 ery and could give me short-range shots in derision. 

 Lastly I tried spearing them. I flung a muskrat spear 

 several hundred times one afternoon, split innumerable 

 trees, and succeeded in impaling two luckless rabbits. 

 But it was too cruel a mode and I never tried it again. 

 Now I endeavor to take no notice when I see a hare 

 crouched in the grass iust beyond reach of a club and too 

 near for a charge of sn«t. 



But at present it is deer we are after, so we'll let the 

 rabbits alone. 



On the twelfth day of blunders I made a far wider 

 circuit, away into the unknown north. As I was coming 

 homeward I came upon the yesterday's track of four 

 deer. When you can t get a fresh track take the best you 

 can, it freshens at every yard, is a good principle! I 

 followed the stale trail for 40yds. and then found where 

 the deer had lain all night; one very large buck had 

 risen cautiously more than once during the night and 

 then lain down again. After this I followed the track 

 more carefully, but had not gone more than 50yds. 

 further when, to my blank astonishment, there loomed up 

 on the hillside 50yds. ahead, the broad gray flank and 

 antlered head of an immense buck— my old friend I 

 thought. But he had seen me first and bounded the 



moment the ready Winchester was raised. I fired on the 

 jump and loaded and fired again and again, four times in* 

 all. Four deer sprang up but they separated; two went 

 to the east and two to the south. I kept out of sight after 

 the first Bhot, and by running along the hollows kept sight 

 of the deer for some time, but they continued running 

 and soon I had nothing but the tracks, and on these, to 

 my disgust, there was no sign of blood, for I had twice 

 been dead on the big buck and thought him mine already, 

 almost! I followed the two that led me homeward. In 

 time their trail came to a wide shallow valley, a dip in 

 the whole country, in the middle of which was a long 

 willow bed, but I doubted if the deer would stay there as 

 then- course was across, so I sat down on the hill to 

 watch. It was hard work waiting, but I knew the time 

 was well spent; and at length, after what seemed like an 

 horn, I was rewarded by seeing two dark specks leave 

 the willows a mile away, and slowly wander up the side 

 of the hill. At first I did not stir, knowing that they 

 would look for me, but when once they had again disap- 

 peared, I ran toward the place as fast and straight as 

 possible. Before I was across the valley I found the 

 tracks of the other two, they also had counted on the 

 slough as an asylum, and I made a note of it, knowing 

 from the signs that they woidd stay there till called for. 

 When I reached the hillside I went more cautiously, 

 crawling along and from time to time raised my head 

 above the brush to look for the deer. After the third or 

 fourth scrutiny I caught sight of a dim flash of white, 

 and knew its meaning only too well — they had seen me 

 and were already bounding off. I stopped and gave a 

 whistle; up a hill they ran. and while they stood gazing 

 I fired. They bouned over the hill and away. I coursed 

 along the next hollow, knowing how they would run, 

 then after covering about 250yds. I rose up slowly above 

 the scrub to look for my deer, and just at the same 

 moment I saw the great-eared head slowly lifted above 

 the cover looking for me; our eyes met and I fired, but I 

 was 200yds. away and hasty, and — well, I'm tired of say- 

 ing what happened. I followed till dark but saw them 

 no more, though by the tracks they had had at least one 



more good look at me, 

 and to fully explain the 

 unquestionability of the 

 statement I sketch the 

 graven record I had of 

 the occurrence. One 

 track only is sketched. 

 At A we have the deer 

 walking toward C, but 

 being still uneasy it 

 mounts the hill (B), and 

 after that its hasty fligl it 

 shows that it perceived 

 that it had good grounds for making its best time. 



As soon as possible after passing the night at home, 

 Jim and I were on the warpath, and we soon found the 

 tracks in the slough where I had left the deer. I went to 

 one side, Jim went right in on the trail. Presently his 

 keen eye sighted the head of a buck some 40yds. off 

 among the willows; up went his rifle and he was about 

 to fire, but just at that moment in direct line between 

 and beyond the ears, the saw my scarlet ear cloth. Had 

 he fired, hit or miss, my chance of escape was one in a 

 hundred. He lowered his rifle in some trepidation, the 

 deer took alarm and bounded out behind me some 50yds. , 

 but, neither saw nor heard anything of them. This* was 

 the slough whither I had driven the big buck and his 

 three companions. Jim and I drove out the three, but we 

 never saw the monarch again, for the snow had covered 

 his old track, and from what I now know I believe that 

 when I last fired at him I killed him. 



We dined, then again took up the trail. Gordon 

 Wright was wish us; he was well known as a good rifle 

 shot at a target and he had frequently hit a 4in. mark at 

 200yds. to show us "how to kill deer," and he never lost 

 an opportunity of teasing us about our wild shooting. It 

 was all in vain we argued that killing a deer and hitting 

 a tree were as different as snaring a buffalo and clubbing 

 an ox; the ridicule continued, so we resolved to give him 

 a show at any price. Jim did the stalking and at length 

 procured a noble chance — a buck and a doe unconsciously 

 feeding at 200yds. distance. Gordon had his pick of the 

 rifles, a rest across a tree, a standing shot, a short range, 

 unlimited time and a broadside view, and he fired and 

 totally missed like a very infant in gunnery, and the un- 

 scathed deer bounded past in full view, as usual with the 

 doe in advance and making by far the best time. 



Just before we came up with them a rather curious in- 

 cident occurred. Jim was trailing, and Gordon and I 

 were in the sleigh at a reasonable distance behind. We 

 supposed that the deer were still far in advance, and as 

 we were not yet warmed up after the dinner, Jim was 

 wearing his big buffalo overcoat, and it so muffled his 

 senses and disguised his person that he nearly walked 

 right into the deer before he saw them, and they were so 

 busy snorting and stamping, and wondering what in 

 thunder was that big wooly brute, that they never 

 thought of flight until less than 30yds. lay between them 

 and their pursuer. Jim had not thought it worth while 

 to carry a rifle for some time, and by the time we had 

 provided a weapon in response to his "For heaven's sake 

 give me a gun," the deer wei'e doing the "jump act." 



All the rest of that day we followed hard. Later on in 

 the afternoon we came to a ravine that the horses could 

 not cross. Jim went on. I remained to tie up, then fol- 

 lowed; but before I overtook him Jim had again sighted 

 the deer; he had one shot at 800yds. and another, and as we 

 afterward learned, a telling shot at 500. He then re- 

 turned and we managed to get the team over the gully and 

 again took up the trail. Much sooner than we had expected 

 we found where the deer had lain down, and there for 

 the first time we saw a dark stain of blood in one of the 

 marks. I need not enter into further details of this days 

 sport beyond mentioning that we followed the track for a 

 long time, but never saw any sign of blood on it. Several 

 times Jim was able to point out to us the pair aB they 

 crossed the hills just ahead, but we could not have sup- 

 posed by their actions that one of them was wounded ; 

 lastly, just about dark we tried a couple of long shots for 

 luck and came home. 



The next day Jim and I took up the track again, and 

 after following three miles from the place of the telling 

 shot we found the doe lying Btark and stiff. The big .55 

 ball had entered her right ham, passed through her 

 bowels and lodged between the ribs of her left side. The 

 fact that this animal could go three miles with a mortal 



wound and never bleed a drop, excepting when she lay 

 down, is something of which I never heard the equal in the 

 annals of hunting. Close by the dead doe were tracks 

 showing that the buck was unwilling to leave his mate. 

 With this knowledge we made a careful stalk and soon 

 found his lordship in a ravine, I had a good chance at 

 60yds. and missed with the rifle, but poured rrrrie buck- 

 shot into his ribs; he bounded, fell, then gathered himself 

 up and ran desperately. We watched him for a mile, 

 then we were compelled to return homeward, but were 

 confident that all we had to do in the morning was come 

 and get deer No. 2. But alas! another snowstorm blasted 

 our hopes, and though we went far and fast and made 

 many a cast, we had to give it up and content ourselves 

 with the doe. 



This was the end of our hunt; like the devil's pig-shear- 

 ing, a ease of great cry and little wool; and yet I must 

 say that I enjoyed it amazingly, far more in fact than if 

 I had killed a deer every day, for we know that the 

 "beauty of hunting is its mighty onsertainty, an' thar 

 ain't no fun in a steddy streke o' luck." And. now, hav- 

 ing whetted our friends' appetite for a more successful 

 foray and demonstrated the entire foolishness of setting 

 out with a rifle, where range, capabilities and sights are 

 wholly new to you, I'll quit and prepare myself for a 

 different result in mv next hunting expedition. 



Ernest E. Thompson. 



Manitoba. 



IN THE POCONO MOUNTAINS— L 



BY A COUNTRY PARSON. 



THERE were only three of us this time, Sam, Jerry 

 and I. Perhaps I should say we were four, reckon- 

 ing the dog, Ponto, as one (and perhaps the best one) of 

 the. party. Ponto was Sam's dog; a beautiful and intelli- 

 gent white setter well broken to the hunting of quail, but 

 so far without any experience with pheasants. What the 

 surnames of my companions may have been need not con- 

 cern the reader, any more than it concerned me, once we 

 had got into the bush and were busy with the buds; for 

 before we had reached the summit of the Pocono Moun- 

 tain, where we were to leave the cars and take the buck- 

 board, I became conscious of a tendency toward drop- 

 ping all superfluous titles and shortening the names of 

 my comrades to terms of purely monosyllabic intimacy. 

 I suppose every hunter and fisher experiences this same 

 inability to master long names when calling to his com- 

 panion in the brash in some sudden emergency; as when 

 he has caught a big trout or driven a bird within his com- 

 rade's reach. Under such circumstances to exclaim "Mr. 

 Jackson Robinson, I" — would be ridiculous; for apart 

 from the formality of the procedure, it is to be taken into 

 the account that, in pheasant shooting, at all events, your 

 bird is gone "before you can say Jack Robinson." 



So, then, while we were steaming up the mountain, we 

 abbreviated and curtailed and foreshortened our names 

 until, when we stepped on the platform of the station on 

 the top of the mountain, our party consisted only of Sam, 

 Jerry, me and the dog. 



"Reed, the Englishman," who carries the United States 

 mail through these rugged regions, being on hand with 

 his buckboard, we all mounted, excepting Ponto, who, in 

 the delight of his dog's heart at being free to roam among 

 the bushes, ran alongside or ahead of our vehicle, or be- 

 hind it as t he mood moved him. 



It was a beautiful day. The sun shone out bright and 

 clear, and the north wind blew cool among the rustling 

 oak leaves and the murmuring pines as we rode along. 

 We had calculated on good weather, and our weather 

 predictions were, as the event proved, eminently wise. 

 For full five weeks, that is to say from the middle of 

 September to the. last week in October, no ram had fallen. 

 It was a long dry season, the grass and shrubbery all 

 dying, and the farmers everywhere hauling water, in 

 some instances a distance of miles, for their suffering 

 cattle. It was our belief that it was too dry and too 

 warm for pleasant limiting during this spell, and that it 

 wa3 likely to be followed by a week or so of rain, after 

 which we should probably have clear and cold weather. 

 And it came as we had said. The last week in October it 

 rained. On Sunday, Nov. 1, it cleared, and remained 

 clear until the following Saturday, giving us just one 

 week of fine, frosty, sunshiny, breezy November weather, 

 an almost ideal week for a healthy tranip in the woods. 



We fell to discussing our dog Ponto, on whom so much 

 of our success depended. "He's no pheasant dog," said 

 Sam, "and I don't know how he's going to work. He's 

 good on quail. A better dog never was for quail. But 

 he nor I ever hunted for pheasants, and I don't how it's 

 going to go. See there!" 



Sure enough there Ponto stood by a bush by the road- 

 side a few rods ahead of the buckboard, stiff as a poker. 

 How beautiful he looked! What a remarkable instinct 

 these bird dogs have! But before we had long time to 

 contemplate his actions, wh-i-r-r-r — away went the pheas- 

 ant. Had wc only had our guns in order we might have 

 had a fine shot; but it is rather dangerous riding on a 

 buckboard with a loaded gun, and we had rather miss all 

 the wayside pheasants than meet with some sad accident. 



At Alnianackers, "the half-way house," as it is called, 

 we stopped to water the horse and change the water in 

 our milk can containing a dozen fine largo bass, with 

 which we designed to help stock a certain remote and 

 almost inaccessible lake away up in the mountain, several 

 hundred smaller bass having been lately put in. We had 

 brought these fish all the way from Easton, changing the 

 water at every chief stopping place. "Now, see," said 

 Jerry, "it's a fine lake, and if we can get it well stocked 

 with bass once, we can have some sport there, as it were, 

 between seasons. When the trout season is over, and we 

 can't fish for trout any more, then we can go up to the 

 lake. And in the fall if we get tired of shooting, we can 

 exchange the gun for the rod for a day or so, and that, I 

 think, will be fine." 



In due time we arrived at our destination. With the 

 appetite of woodchoppers we sat down to a beautifully 

 spread table and ate a hearty meal, after which, taking 

 our guns and can of fish, we were driven by our good 

 friend Jake about three miles a way up on the mountain 

 to the lake. "It's a rough road we are going," said Jake, 

 And so it was, verily. • Rocks and stumps and fallen 

 trees and burnt logs — over these and into ruts and over 

 roots we bumped and thumped until we reached the 

 lake. A beautiful sheet of water, truly! Two or three 

 acres in extent, it lies in an unbroken solitude of moun- 

 tain waste, seldom seen by man. I was. the more im*- 



