492 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Juke 30, 188?. 



DUCKS AND DEER. 



IN OCTOBER last year, wishing for a respite from busi- 

 ness cares, I called in to my aid Mr. W. E. Towne, an 

 artist of Chicago, who had been spending the summer 

 with me; and we set out for a trip to the woods. Leav- 

 ing the train at Section 19 of the Chicago & Northwestern 

 Eailway, a wagon was engaged and a five-mile ride 

 across the hills and swamps brought us to the home of 

 our friend Davis, where we were duly welcomed. Plac- 

 ing our boat and traps on a jumper, a half mile out 

 brought us to Cold Brook; our boat was launched, every- 

 thing placed aboard, and we turned her bow down stream 

 with a good-by to Davis. Cold Brook is heavily fringed 

 with tag alders, balsams and cedar for the first two miles. 

 Although the trees nearly interlock for the first mile, the 

 water was deep and the stream all clear, having been 

 cleared out some years ago by lumbermen for running 

 logs. After the first mile ducks began to rise. Getting 

 my gun in shape, I soon had use for it. Turning a sharp 

 bend in the creek five woodducks rose; one fell to our 

 first barrel, to the second shot none. Shooting then com- 

 menced in earnest, and on arriving at Moses Island we 

 counted heads and found we had 14 ducks, 9 woodducks 

 and 5 mallards, and 6 rail. Our tent was pitched and 

 then as Towne suggested, "I think we had better be get- 

 ting something to eat, for our four-inile run makes me 

 wolfish." The kettle was scon simmering and the aroma 

 of ducks pervaded the air. After what seemed a weary 

 waiting our supper was ready, and as we leisurely dis- 

 posed of it, the chances of the morrow were discussed. 

 By the time our meal was finished the sun was setting. 



Moses Island is between the creek and the thorough- 

 fare that connects the chain of three lakes — Haywood's, 

 Mud and North Lake. The three lakes are seven miles 

 long, and Haywood's and Mud lakes empty through the 

 thoroughfare into North Lake; then the outlet is the Big 

 Cedar River, thence Green Bay. As we cared for no 

 more duck shooting, we sat and smoked and marked in- 

 numerable flocks of ducks flying up the thoroughfare. 

 Soon our thoughts turned to deer. The island is a favor- 

 ite haunt for them, and the whole surface of the ground 

 is literally cut up with their tracks. The island for years 

 has been their crossing grounds, and is directly on the 

 runway that crosses the marsh. Towne having never shot 

 nor seen a deer, was anxious for a shot. Telling him I 

 would give him a chance in the morning, we turned in. 



At 3 o'clock Towne woke me up, asking if it was not 

 time for breakfast. I told him to keep still and let me 

 sleep; but in the end I rose, dressed and went outside the 

 tent. Towne already had the coffee pot sizzling on the 

 fire. I started for the creek to wash. Stepping upon a 

 log that I oould see by dim light of the fire, I stepped out 

 a few feet, and the next thing I knew I was plunged into 

 the creek in about six feet of ice-cold water. Towne hol- 

 lered and wanted to know what I had caught, if a whale. 

 As soon as I could get my breath I called him to help me 

 out, as the bank was a straight drop off. He soon pulled 

 me out with the help of a paddle, casually remarking that 

 it was rather late in the se son to jig for suckers. A 

 change of clothes and some hot coffee, and I felt none the 

 worse for my sudden immersion. 



A red tinge showed in the east, and telling Towne to 

 get the rifle and come along, I took him to the east side 

 of the island and showed him a blind about 20ft. high 

 between two cedars; I climbed up and showed him which 

 way to watch, then came down and passed him up his 

 gun. From his blind he could overlook several hundred 

 acres of dry marsh land, across the thoroughfare as well 

 as the whole slough. Telling him to keep close watch I 

 left him, going to the boat and dropped down stream. 

 At the mouth of the Noi"th Lake I pushed into the rice 

 and waited. There were very few ducks stirring, and 

 the sun began to creep up high before a flight came my 

 way. At length a flock of teal came with a rush. Hold- 

 ing well ahead of them I pulled first one trigger then the 

 other. Both shots brought me one solitary teal. Then a 

 big black one came, but fortune favored me, and the first 

 barrel laid him lew. I counted five gray ones coming; 

 anxiously I watched them; when almost in range the 

 leader swerved to the left; but the last one came nearer 

 and was soon lying on his back. Just then I heard the 

 crack of the big 75-grain Winchester where Towne was 

 watching, half a mile above; and the reports continued 

 until it sounded like a skirmish line. I counted seven 

 shots, then with an interval of perhaps five minutes three 

 more shots in quick succession. Then commenced some 

 indescribable yelling that would have done credit to a 

 Comanche Indian. I pushed my boat out in the stream, 

 picked up my ducks and started up stream. 



As soon as the foot of the island was reached I saw Tom 

 wildly gesticulating and pointing up the thoroughfare. 

 As soon as his excitement would allow he told me that 

 while looking across the marsh by a bunch of willows he 

 saw something move and soon three deer came in sight, 

 walking toward the thoroughfare, which was where he 

 was posted, only a few rods wide. Towne waited for them 

 until they came to the edge of the water, when, as he ex- 

 pressed himself, he "just turned the old thing loose on 

 them." At the second shot one dropped, one jumped into 

 the water, coming straight for him and the other turned 

 and ran straightaway. Towne ' turned the old thing 

 loose" again on the one in the water. He fired two shots 

 at it before it got to the island; it landed a few rods below 

 the blind. While Towne was putting cartridges into the 

 magazine it stepped into the brush. As soon as he could 



fet down he followed after it and saw it lying down, but 

 ef ore he could shoot it it bounded away a few rods into 

 the grass and was soon out of sight. Towne soon routed 

 him, when he opened on Mm again, firing three more 

 shots, and at the last shot he went down and Towne had 

 his prize. He dragged him to the blind and commenced 

 shouting for me. When he had finished his story I 

 pushed across he thoroughfare and we soon found the 

 other, a fine yearling buck, shot through the spine just 

 back of the shoulder. Towne could hardly keep in the 

 boat while we returned to the blind after the other one. 

 That, like the first, pioved to be a yearling, but a doe. 

 Putting her in the boat I told Towne to paddle while I 

 looked over the last deer. I found four balls had hit, 

 three striking well back toward the flank and one close 

 to the shoulder. I told Towne that he wasted his last 

 three shots, as four of the five shots fired at her while 

 swimming had hit her and would certainly have killed 

 her. Towne is a splendid rifle shot, but had never seen 

 a deer before and I think his luck something wonderful 

 on kflling two out of three deer. Many an older hand 



could not have done better. At last our tent was reached 

 and the deer taken ashore. Towne produced his sketching 

 material and was soon engaged in sketching them. After 

 he was through I told him one thing was lacking in the 

 picture, that was himself as I saw him when I came to 

 the foot of the island. After dressing the deer and dis- 

 cussing them, dinner time came. 



Towne was anxious to go home and take his deer to 

 Chicago with him. Nothing else would do; so the tent 

 was struck and a 4-mile paddle up the creek began. Three 

 more ducks were killed on the way up. We got to the 

 landing at 3:30. Friend Davis was soon aware of our ar- 

 rival, and came down with his jumper. A good night's 

 rest refreshed us, and the next morning we were on our 

 way to Sec. 19, and at 11 :30 we were once more at Meno- 

 minee. Towne packed his baggage and at 6:30 P. M. took 

 the train for Chicago, while I returned to my work feel- 

 ing years younger by my three days outing. S. E. B. 

 Menominee, Michigan. 



VERY WILD TURKEYS. 



ONE beautiful day in April, 1886, we left the little 

 steamer at Pleasant Bluff. Choctaw Nation, on the 

 Arkansas, below the mouth of the Canadian River. My 

 friend, Mr. B., who has been merchandizing at that point 

 several years, had kindly invited me to stop and take a 

 hunt with him. As I did not have my gun with me, my 

 friends fitted me out with an old muzzleloader, the owner 

 of which declared it to be the best in the Territory. Of 

 that I had my doubts, but as beggars cannot always be 

 choosers, I concluded to try and believe him until I had 

 tested it. Mr. B. presented me with a box of caps and 

 two bottles. One I filled with powder the other with 

 shot, all of which, along with some paper for w T adding, I 

 put in an empty shot sack; and after fastening a cord to 

 the corners of the sack, I called it a shot pouch, and put 

 it over my shoulders as such. When we had gotten our 

 salt and pepper, two boxes" of sardines and about two 

 pounds of crackers, and strapped our slickers to the hind 

 part of the saddles, we mounted our horses and started, 

 going west, to the right of Peter Scrabbles (as the cow- 

 boys call a pyramid of stones that they have built up on 

 one of the highest points of hill on that part of the prairie 

 as a landmark). Then we crossed Brier Creek, which we 

 could trace several miles in its meanderings to the Arkan- 

 sas by the narrow skirt of timber along its banks. It was 

 a beautiful scene, the undulating prairie covered with 

 grass and flowers, stretching far away to the wooded 

 hills, and the herds of cattle and horses dotting the sur- 

 face as far to the south and west as the eye could reach. 



Now we came to the edge of the prairie, and upon the 

 side of the lull and in the edge of the timber is the second 

 and last house on our route, and as we forgot one of our 

 lariat ropes, Mr. B. rode up to the porch (there was no yard 

 fence) and asked the woman of the house for one. But 

 there is too much cussedness about an Indian for one to 

 speak English unless he or she wants something. When 

 he spoke Choctaw to her. she said that she had no rope. 

 Then we thought, like the man that Noah refused to 

 take into the Ark off of the chunk, come to think of it we 

 " didn't want their assistance noway, as we didn't expect 

 this thing to last very long nohow". When we got over 

 the first hill after leaving the house, the trails divided, 

 one going east to the mouth of the Canadian River, the 

 other took Greeley's advice to the young man. We chose 

 the center one. On top of the next and higher hill we are 

 on the divide between Brier Creek and the Canadian River. 

 Here our trail runs out into numerous cow paths and 

 finally vanishes entirely, so we start down a point of ridge 

 leading toward the bottom. Mr. B. leads the way, and 

 after going a short distance concludes that he is wrong ; 

 we turn back and take the next right hand ridge and go 

 a short distance; and then he thinks the next right hand 

 is the one. We cut across the head of the hollow, go down 

 that ridge to the point, and find out that it is not the right 

 one, but we conclude it must lead down into the gulch and 

 follow it down to the valley. We find it very steep and 

 rough traveling and have to be careful that the horses 

 don't slip and fall on to us. Getting to the bottom at 

 last and no harm done, we mount and come to the 

 spring and the old camping ground; pull off the saddles 

 and hang them on a 1 mb of a tree, and put blankets and 

 lunch on top, for we see some hog sign near by, we don't 

 know whether of wild or tame ones, but know our things 

 will be safest in a safe place. Then after hobbling one of 

 the horses and lariating the other out, we shoulder our 

 guns and start in opposite directions on a tour of inspec- 

 tion, B. going east and I going west. B. didn't see any 

 game nor any fresh sign , I saw one squirrel and some tur- 

 key sign, but neither of us killed any game for breakfast 

 or supper. 



Lunch over I started a fire, not because it was cold, but 

 just because a fire is to camp what a mother is to a home. 

 I commenced gathering up some wood. Mr. B. thought 

 there was no need of it, but before morning concluded 

 that I had good ideas about camping out. It had been 

 thundering all the evening, but we intended to get all 

 the sleep we could, so after spreading down our slickers 

 to keep out the damp, and then spreading the blankets 

 on top we turned in. But the thunder kept getting 

 louder, until we concluded that it meant business, so 

 taking up the saddles we had used for pillows, we hung 

 them up again, and rolling up our blankets put them on 

 our shoulders, and guns in hand started for a shelving 

 rock at the foot of a bluff a short distance above camp. 

 It begins to sprinkle a little now, and crossing the creek 

 on stepping stones that we can see only by the flashes of 

 lightning, we get across all right; but the trouble now 

 sets in. When we got up to the bluff we found that we had 

 to hang on to the bushes and jutting points of rock to keep 

 from slipping into the creek, and we reached our house 

 of refuge only to find the floor covered with water. The 

 next best thing was to go back to the fire, put on our 

 slickers and sit on our rolls of blankets to keep them dry. 

 By the time we had piled on an extra supply of fuel to 

 save our fire, and had got settled on our respective rolls 

 of blankets in Turkish style, the storm came up and kept 

 us squatted out there (like two chickens in the rain) until 

 about 2 A. M. Then it cleared off, and the moon came 

 out in all her glory. We took off our slickers, spread 

 them on the ground, put the blankets on top and took all 

 the sleep we could get until about 3:45 A. M. Then we 

 put our things away, changed the horses to where they 

 could get fresh grass, and examined our guns to see if 

 everything was all right. By this time it was getting a 

 little lighter in the east. 



Then we began to listen for gobblers. If there were any 

 turkeys within a mile of us, we thought they will let it be 

 known very soon. Listen. Was that a gobbler ? There 

 it is again. No, that was a dog barking, but so far away 

 that you can hardly hear it even on the still cool morning 

 air. Listen again. There, did you hear that ? that's one 

 undoubtedly, but at least 11 miles away, and 2\ miles by 

 the way we will have to go. But we had better start, for 

 where there is one there are most likely to be more with- 

 in hearing, for they will not leave the hens very far at 

 this season of the year. Now let us cross the hollow to 

 the west and go up on to that point ; then we can follow 

 the ridge right up to the divide, where he is. Now we are 

 nearly to the top. let us stop and listen. Just hear that ; 

 one right across the hollow on that next ridge. Yes, I 

 will go on up the ridge after the first one ; you can try 

 your luck on this one. He must be a large fellow ; just 

 listen to him strutting, how his wings thunder as he struts 

 on a limb of some of those trees over yonder. B. gives a 

 f ew yelps to let his lordship know that there is a lone hen 

 awaiting his call. I start off as B. wishes. After going 

 about i mile I hear another beyond the first one, and find 

 that owing to the direction the ridge turns here I will 

 have to cross a deep hollow to get within calling distance 

 of the either one of them. When I got on top of the next 

 hill I was very close, not only to him but several others, 

 so creeping up as close as I dare go for fear of their seeing 

 me, I give a yelp or two and get an answer immediately 

 from a gobbler and a hen. Then I kno v that my chances 

 of calling him tip are rather slim. I lay low for it was all 

 open oak and hickory woods ; the ground was covered 

 with young grass only Sin. high, and if I should rise up, 

 any game within 300 or 400yds., if on top of the hill, could 

 see me. I call again and get another answer from three 

 or f our hens this time, to ' let this supposed lonely hen 

 know wh^re they were, but they would not move a step 

 in her direction, and now a gobbler appeared on the top 

 of the ridge about 80 or 90yds. away and must have seen 

 me although I didn't think so at the time. He said pat, 

 put, and was gone, flying across the hollowin the direc- 

 tion from which I had come. The others were just over 

 the top of the ridge and in the head of a little hollow and 

 only 75yds. from me (as I found out afterward), but I 

 dare not rise for fear they would see me. They had been 

 having a grand old powwow and walk around for several 

 minutes, then there was a lull in the racket. 



A minute later I yelped again, and there came back a 

 low answer up the ridge and I saw about a dozen of them 

 in single file going on a slow trot up the ridge. I saw 

 that there was no chance to head them off or call them 

 back, so I crossed the next hollow and went over on to 

 the next hill where the second gobbler had been try ng to 

 burst his throat or make the hens hear him. When I got 

 over there I found I was on one of the short spurs run- 

 ning down from the main divide on which he and another 

 one were. I went as far up the ridge as I dared, then lay 

 down alongside of a fallen tree lying with its roots in the 

 direction of his lordship, and gave a few yelps. They 

 both answered, but neither one wanted to do the fair 

 thing and meet their lady half -way, but finally the nearest 

 one could stand the suspense no longer, and thought 

 better of it, as Mahomet did by the mountain. He made 

 a start and came along down off of the divide, stopping 

 about every 100yds. to strut and gobble. Now he comes 

 within plain view but is not advancing straight toward 

 me, so I give a low call; he hears and responds, then lie 

 comes just as straight as if he could see the supposed hen. 

 Just now from the rear comes the well-known warning of 

 put, put, and I know that there is a lone hen hunting 

 company and she has seen me, but I dare not turn my 

 head to look at her or she would be gone in an instant, 

 and give her lord a gentle hint to be gone also, which 

 hint most likely he would not be slow to take. But here 

 he is within 50yds., and I with my gun ready and finger 

 on trigger wait for bun to step out from behind that 

 little red oak that he persists in keeping behind. Now 

 he steps out between those two small oaks and I begin to 

 add him to the number on my list of big ones as I press 

 the trigger. At the report my fine fellow springs about 

 8ft. straight up and then sails off down the hollow to my 

 right, and I don't know whether I gave him a mortal shot 

 or not, but go to see if any of the shot scattered enough 

 to hit either of the little trees on either side of the range. 

 I found where one No. 1 buckshot had struck a foot above 

 range, showing that the gun had scattered very badly. 

 It is getting late in the morning, my chances for another 

 shot are rather poor, and I am vexed at myseK for not 

 having shot out the old loads and put in smaller shot 

 while in camp; but then that's the way with the old 

 muzzleloaders after a man has been using the others. 

 But there is no use grieving over lost opportunities. I 

 guess that B. has had better luck, for I heard the sharp 

 report of his rifle nearly an hour ago, and there it is 

 again, but a long way off. 



I go up the ridge to the divide, then follow the divide 

 east to where we crossed it going to camp the evening be- 

 fore. As I was walking along very leisurely looking for 

 game, I saw four deer come up out of the head of a hol- 

 low to the left and cross the ridge about 200yds. ahead. 

 But as I never like to shoot at game just for the sake of 

 shooting, I didn't risk a shot at them at that distance. A 

 little further on I saw a turkey flying across one of the 

 hollows to my left. Arriving at our crossing of the eve- 

 ning before, I start down toward camp but cannot And 

 our horses tracks, and conclude that I have not gone far 

 enough, so I cross over to the next hill on the right. 

 Still no tracks. I go down into the next hollow, get a 

 drink, and sit down to rest awhile and guess, if I can, 

 just where I am. Like the Indian I began to think that 

 I was all right, but camp was wofully lost. Finally I 

 have to give it up. Nearly all the hills and hollows on 

 the north side of the divide look just alike. I conclude 

 to follow the hollow down into the main valley, but have 

 not gone far before I find it too rough traveling, and so I 

 turn up into the side of the hill to the right where there 

 are no bushes and only a few rocks. After going about a 

 half mile I come to another small hollow on the right. I 

 start across this, and have just got across the creek when 

 I come up on to a smouldering camp-fire. I notice some 

 turkev feathers and entrails on the ground, and noticed 

 that there had been horses hitched close by; and am 

 thinking it rather strange that I didn't hear their guns, 

 but then that might have been their guns that I had 

 heard and mistook them to be B.'s gun— when noticing 

 some peculiarity in the shape of the partly burned log 

 that the fire had been built against, the thought like a 

 streak of lightning flashed over me that I am at our own 



