446 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 20, 1889. 



the bill with his official hieroglyphic: and the angular, 

 hungry-looking mossyback in the wayback districts 

 straightway broke his old rifle in disgust and gave his 

 better half the barrel for a fire poker. (Mern. : I'm going 

 to buy myself another gun soon.) 



It is hard to understand why such a law should be 

 necessary in a country where game is more abundant 

 than in any other portion of the Union. When, in an 

 "off year" for most crops, nearly a hundred deer can be 

 killed in a circle hardly four miles in diameter — and 

 niost of these by four still-hunters poorly armed and 

 little versed in hunting; when such a score as this is 

 made within five miles of an old established railroad and 

 in one of the most populous counties in the State, why 

 should such strenuous efforts be made to prevent the 

 farmers from getting value received for the sweet 

 potatoes and peas destroyed by the deer during the 

 months when they may not be molested? Possibly the 

 framers of the bill knew what they were about. 



As it stands, an impenetrable fence is built between the 

 average Arkansas gunner and the Arkansas deer; for 

 most of our local nimrods must combine pleasure and 

 profit in their sports, and the majority of those able to 

 enjoy a week in the woods without detriment to their 

 business interests, are confronted by another new-fangled, 

 progressive idea which makes it a misdemeanor for the 

 resident of one county to "camp-hunt"' in another. So to 

 condense the matter in a nutshell, one must adopt the 

 words of a late correspondence in the Little Rock Gazette, 

 which asserts that the only party who can hereafter 

 devastate our forests is the wealthy'aniateur "able to hire 

 some particular friend, in the best range, to invite him to 

 spend a few days as his honored guest." 



Give us less legislation and more protection — and to 

 the Arkansas sportsmen as well as the swamp deer. 



S. D. Barnes. 



CAMPS ON THE LITTLE SOUTH. 



IN a letter to Forest and Stream some time ago J pro- 

 mised some camp notes from our hunting trip to the 

 Barnes Camp country on the Little South, or South Fork 

 of the Cache La Poudrie River, a beautiful stream that 

 heads high up on the Snowy Range aud comes dashing 

 down the mountains through beautiful forks and grand 

 canons to the fine agricultural valley of the Poudrie and 

 empties into the South Platte River below the city of 

 Greeley. The Little South is a fine stream for trout in the 

 summer, but go down to deeper water for winter quar- 

 ters. 



Old Grey has come with me and here we are on Nov. 

 22 in camp all snug and nice after a two and a half days' 

 hard pull up the mountains. Three times did we have to 

 unload and carry our oats and bedding up the steep 

 places in the road in order to make our load light enough 

 so our horses could get up with the wagon and grub. 

 Our camp is in a beautiful basin near the top of Barnes 

 Mountain; we have pitched our tent in a grove of young 

 aspens with piety of dry wood at our tent door. Some. 

 30yds. distant an ice cold spring sends its waters dancing 

 down the mountain side, and" all around the camp is 

 abundant grass for our tired horses, the snow having 

 melted off the south slopes and in the basins. 



It being late when we got our camp all in shape we 

 made but a short trip from camp. I saw a fine flock of 

 about a dozen of willow grouse, but did not shoot any 

 of them for there was plenty of deer signs about, and I 

 never allow myself to shoot at small game when hunting 

 for deer. On my return, when near camp and just as 

 the shades of evening were creeping through the pines, I 

 jumped a fine blacktail doe, but the timber being so thick 

 I missed. 



Old Grey came in empty-handed. Supper over I clean 

 and oil my Marlin .40-60 and hang in its place ready for 

 its deadly work to-morrow, and as I write my camp 

 notes old Grey has the camp stove red hot and is clean- 

 ing his doublebarrel muzzleloader, an old arm with the 

 hammers on the side, shooting about a .32 ball and very 

 accurate. Old Grey is a Virginian, seventy -one years 

 old. 



Nov. 23. — Up before day this morning, and at daylight 

 I find that my horses have "hit the road" for home. 

 While hunting for their tracks near camp I start two 

 deer not more "than 300yds. from our camp; most too far 

 off for a good shot. Taking my horses' tracks I follow 

 them to the road below camp, and after a hard tramp of 

 about ten miles find them at the gate of a cattle ranch 

 we had to pass through on our way in on my return. 

 When within 500yds. of camp two deer skip across the 

 road just ahead of me, but do not stop for my Marlin. 

 Arriving at camp at 1 o'clock I find old Grey at work 

 cleaning grouse to fry for supper. The inner man being 

 satisfied I shoulder my Marlin for a short hunt over north 

 of camp to get the lay of the country. In less than a 

 half mile of camp I jump three deer out of a gulch of 

 dead pines and get a running shot, but no venison for 

 camp yet. I take their tracks and follow slowly, and as 

 I pass over a rocky ridge and down around the moun- 

 tain side, sparsely covered with dead timber, I see a deer 

 standing and looking at me up on the side of the moun- 

 tain. Knowing it will stand there but a moment I make 

 a quick shot. Up the mountain side goes my deer, and at 

 the crack of my gun another deer springs to its feet and 

 goes plunging down the mountain a little quartering to 

 me. I throw my gun on to it and fire three shots in 

 rapid succession, the third shot breaking its neck. Pacing 

 down to where it lay I found it was just 135 paces. Then 

 I go to look for the one I shot at first. Where it stood I 

 find plenty of blood; following the trail about 50yds. up 

 the hill I find it dead, shot through. Dressing and hang- 

 ing up the game I hurry to camp for a pack horse and 

 have them both hanging in an aspen tree by the tent 

 before dark. They were both buck fawns; Old Grey got 

 more grouse, so there is no prospect of a meat famine "in 

 camp soon. The evening passes off pleasantly, listening 

 to old Grey's stories of wild turkey shooting away down 

 in old Virginia. 



Nov. 24.— Had a big tramp to-day and saw no deer. 

 Saw a beautiful white enowshoe rabbit and a white 

 weasel, but did not shoot them. Old Grey got three 

 grouse. 



Nov. 25, Sunday— Thought I would take a ride to-day 

 up toward the timber line on the west side of Little South, 

 where I camped six years ago. Found about six inches 

 of snow, but saw no game sign except a fresh Hon track, 

 and I had not lost any lions. Returned to camp about 2 

 P. M. Old Grey was in camp cleaning grouse and a | 



snowshpe rabbit. About 3 P. M. I take my gun and go 

 over the green ridge south of camp. While going down 

 the south side I see a nice sleek fawn in 6ome dead tim- 

 ber, which I kill with the first shot; and then see another 

 bound away down the gulch. My dead deer proves to be 

 another buck fawn. I see the other deer walking slowly 

 about among the dead timber a little below, apparently 

 waiting for the other. I fire and wound it; left a strong 

 traii of blood: but there being no snow over here, and it 

 now most dark, I dress my dead deer and return to camp, 

 intending to return early in the morning and follow my 

 wounded deer. A lady passed our camp this evening on 

 horseback, carrying a Ballard rifle, the wife of Mr. 

 Barnes, who has a cattle ranch about three miles from our 

 camp over on the Little South; she had killed two deer 

 this fall: she had been helping Mr. Barnes take out a 

 bunch of cattle and was on her return home, where she 

 expected to remain by herself until his return, some three 

 days later. She was a typical Western woman; a lady with 

 plenty of grit. 



NOV. 26. — This has been a red-letter day for us. Early 

 this morning we went over the mountain and took f he 

 trail of the wounded deer. It was with great difficulty 

 that we were able to follow it over the bare ground and 

 rocks; but in a short distance we jumped it up out of a 

 lot of down timber away up on the mountain side. I 

 fired three shots at long ' range, but failed to get a ball 

 into the right spot to stop it. The trail soon led me over 

 into a thick belt of dead timber with three inches of 

 snow; here I could follow very easily, and soon dis- 

 covered that I had broken the deer's right hindleg well 

 up in the thigh. After following over a mile, and being 

 very cautious, I crept on to it and shot it through the 

 heart. At almost the same instant I heard two shots 

 fired at a short distance to my right, which proved to be 

 by Old Grey: he had shot a fine two-point buck, a dead 

 match to the one I had just killed. He had seen the buck 

 coming before I shot, and snapped a cap at him, which 

 sent the deer bounding off iu my direction, when the re- 

 port of my gun turned him back again. He then came 

 just right for the old man to get a shot at — not more than 

 35yds.— with the other barrel; this Grey always kept 

 loaded light for grouse, but being so close he broke the 

 shoulder-. 



Hanging up our deer we again parted company. I had 

 not gone more than 300yds. when I jumped a band of 

 five or six just around a point on a mountain side. I 

 fired a wing shot and wounded one, which I followed 

 until most dark, but had to give it up. I don't think it 

 was wounded very bad. Old Grey saw several more deer, 

 but did not get a shot. He is as happy to-night as. a 

 schoolboy with a pair of new skates, and says he is good 

 for a big day's hunt to-morrow. Have now hunted four 

 and a half days, and we have five fine young deer, all 

 bucks. 



It looks stormy to-night; have doubled the blankets on 

 our horses; got in a big pile of wood, and tied the tent 

 down tight; old Grey has it hot; and I jot down my notes 

 while he sits on the spring seat in front of the stove and 

 tells about that possum he and the darky "caught up a 

 ,'simmon tree down in ole Virginia." 



Nov. 27.— Looking out of the tent at the first peep of 

 day we discover that it has snowed about an inch, just 

 enough for a good tracking snow. We are again off for 

 the hills and pine woods; a fine mist is still falling and a 

 thick fog hides the high mountain tops above us. Old 

 Grey strikes a fresh track near camp and follows it, but 

 fails to get his deer, and comes into camp at 3 P. M. with 

 a nice fat rabbit. I went over the mountain and found 

 the fresh trail of three deer. After some distance thev 

 were joined by two more, and passed through the timber 

 where we killed the two bucks yesterday, passing within 

 a rod of each deer. I followed very cautiously now as 

 the tracks were getting quite fresh. Going up the side 

 of a high mountain thickly covered with green pine and 

 spruce, I see something away up ahead of me that looks 

 like deer hair; can just see it between two trees not more 

 than a foot apart, but cannot tell which end the head is 

 on. As the smoke clears away my deer is gone and all is 

 quiet. I stand still a little while and then move cau- 

 tiously up. Pretty soon I hear a loud thumping and 

 breaking of brash, and directly I see four deer cross the 

 head of a gulch some hundred yards up above me. Go- 

 ing on up I find my deer lying on its back down in a 

 small gulch, about two rods from where it was standing 

 when I shot. This was rather an odd shot; the deer, a 

 very fat yearling doe, must have been standing with 

 her head doubled back biting her right hindleg, for my 

 bullet passed through that leg about lOin. above the hock, 

 through her ear and then through her neck, killing her 

 almost instantly. Dressing her I drag her down over the 

 snow to the big gulch below and hang her up. 



The air has now become thick with fog, and I think 

 best to make for camp. To be certain of making no 

 blunder in getting to camp, I take my back track until 

 near where I killed the fawn on Sunday evening. I turn 

 off here to take a look at it and find the magpies are at 

 work on it, so I take it on my shoulder and carry it some 

 200yds. up the mountain in the direction of camp, think- 

 ing I will now look out a good jack trail from the deer to 

 camp. In dodging some thick timber and a ridge of 

 rocks I get too high up, and in the fog I pass over the top 

 of the mountain, and instead of going to my left down 

 through the thick green pines to our camp, I keep bearing 

 to my right and am going directly away from camp, when 

 hearing a noise above me, there I see old Grey coming 

 down. I stop until he gets down to me, when he wants 

 to know, "Where are you going?" "To camp, of course." 

 "Camp haint off thar, it's right down here." "Not much, 

 old man, you can't fool me in these hills if it is foggy. I 

 just came from my fawn over there not over ten minutes 

 ago, and I guess I know where I am a going," and on I 

 started. "Better come with me, for I was down most to 

 camp just a leetle spell ago, was down so I seed the 

 bosses." Thinking perhaps the old man was right and I 

 was wrong, I reluctantly followed him, and it was well 

 for me I did, or I would have pulled up back in the thick 

 timber in a dense fog. As it was we reached camp in a 

 short time. It was now 3 P. M. Going out for my horses, 

 I found them gone again; the one on the picket rope had 

 become untied, and no sooner was she loose than she put 

 for home. She had just weaned her colt. I have had 

 her on three hunting trips up in Wyoming, and she never 

 bothered me before, and I always let her run loose until 

 now. I took a cold lunch in my fist and struck out as 

 fast as I could, for I had but two horns of daylight, and 

 when it did get dark it would be awfully dark. The way 



being for the most part down hill, I went nine miles in 

 one and a half hours, when I arrived at a ranchman's 

 house and found my horses tied up to the fence. I made 

 the acquaintance of Mi-. Hake. His wife, seeing the 

 horses going past, had run out and caught them. I 

 declined a kind invitation to remain over night in the 

 cabin, and arrived at camp at 7 P. M., cold and hungry. 

 But old Grey had things hot for me. Supper over, dishes 

 washed and stored away in the mess box, old Grey fakes 

 his accustomed place on the spring seat in front of the 

 camp stove, aud the day's hunt is all gone over again, 

 winding up with some of his "old Virginia" yarns. 



Nov. 28.— Forty years old to-day. The fog' is still thick, 

 and the pines are beautiful with their white coating of 

 frost, which seems to me a fitting tribute for my fortieth 

 birthday, for ere long the frosts of many winters will 

 whiten the top of my old head. As it was rather a poor 

 day for hunting, we concluded to pack our game into 

 camp. Having but one saddle, we strapped a blanket on 

 to the other horse. By going over Barnes's Mountain on 

 to the Little South, we have a good trail around to where 

 our deer hangs. About three miles from camp some 

 fresh tracks cross the road. I give my horse to Old Grey 

 and go on ahead; at the top of a ridge a fresh track crosses 

 the trail; judging from the size of the track, I take it to 

 be a fawn. Keeping a sharp lookout to my right as I 

 move slowly up the trail, I discover a deer some 70yds. 

 distant standing behind a small green pine. I can only 

 see its hindquarters. Holdiug where I think it shoulders 

 ought to be, I fire, and such a jump and rush and run- 

 ning in a circle as that fawn made; but I knew I had it, 

 so I held my fire, and it soon went down. The ball had 

 hit it in the neck and came out through the right shoul- 

 der. I went over, and as Old Grey came over the ridge 

 I motioned him up to me. We soon had it hanging up on 

 a pine, and went on and got the three deer we had killed 

 the two days previous. We packed the two bucks on the 

 horse with a saddle on, and Old Grey took the doe on 

 before him until we got back to the fawn killed on our 

 way out, when we tied the legs of these together and 

 slung them across the horse with the blanket on, and I 

 took them. And now didn't I have a picnic packing two 

 deer on a blanket over a big rough mountain! But all 

 things have an end. After ma»y stops we arrived in 

 camp. We met Mr. Hake on our way in and he returned 

 to camp with us. After dinner I take a horse and go 

 over the ridge and get the fawn I killed on the 20 h . and 

 to-night we have seven deer hanging in camp, five bucks 

 and two does. I killed one and helped pack in live to- 

 day. How is that for a fortieth birthday party!' 



Nov. 29.— Thanksgiving Day. Cold" and frosty and 

 trees still loaded with their white coating of frost. Old 

 Grey starts out early and I remain in camp to do some 

 camp work. Leaving camp at 10 A. M. I find trail of 

 three, deer, but only follow it a short distance when the 

 track of old Grey comes in on the trail, so I turn off. I 

 see plenty of tracks; several big, old bucks are out on the 

 w T ar path, but I fail to see a deer in all the day's tramp: 

 the fog is too thick and the snow is crusted from the fine 

 mist failing and freezing. We do not care to kill any 

 more deer except one big. buck; would like to get one big 

 fine fellow if we can. There are plenty of them here, but 

 they are smart old fellows. Old Grey did not get his 

 usual grouse to-day, so by bard work (as they are froze 

 hard) I skinned out a leg of venison to-night for camp 

 meat. It is now 9 P. M. , and as I write on a box by the 

 light of a tallow candle, stuck on one corner of the box, 

 old Grey is eating roast venison, and he says that fat 

 venison ribs beats fat coon or 'possum down in ol' Virginia 

 any day. 



Nov. 30 — Clear and frosty, but the sun came up bright 

 and warm, so we thought we would make one more effort 

 for a big buck. We hunted all day and got nothing ex- 

 cept a snowshoe rabbit, which I shot high up on the 

 mountain among the green pines. Saw three beautiful 

 snow-white mountain quail, but did not succeed in get- 

 ting one of them. To-day is the close of the open season 

 for deer in Colorado, and to-night we end our hunt. 



Bekthoud, Col. A. A. K. 



ON THE SAULT STE. MARIE. 



AS this has been one of the most peculiar seasons ever 

 known in the region, I cannot refrain from giving 

 some account of a three weeks' trip on the Sault Ste. 

 Marie River and Munoshkong Bay. I call 1889 a pecu- 

 lior season from its forwardness, opening one month ear- 

 lier than usual, and the scarcity of migratory birds 

 which heretofore have settled and nested in the bay in 

 countless numbers every spring. Munoshkong Bay, 

 about half way between Lake Superior and Lake Huron, 

 is a widening of the Saidt River, about 7 miles deep; 

 around this are several smaller bays, which in the au- 

 tumn are full of tall rushes, covering thousands of acres, 

 with many open places where the lilies grow— a perfect 

 paradise of a wildfowl shooting ground. This is sur- 

 rounded by soft swampy grassland, extending back to 

 the timber, making a perfect home for the muskrats, 

 which until this spring could be found by the hundreds, 

 but were almost totally annihilated during the past win- 

 ter by the ice freezing to the bottom; this caused them 

 to perish in great numbers and their carcasses can now 

 be seen by the score. These facts, coupled with the 

 total failure of geese to alight and only a few small 

 scattering flocks of ducks, go to make up a very peculiar 

 state of affairs in this ancient and famous hunting ground 

 of the Indians, who used to congregate here m early 

 spring for a slaughter of ducks, geese and muskrats. 



My Indian friend, Mr, Ed Shawwauna, with" whom I 

 made a most enjoyable five days' trip last September, has 

 often given me such glowing accounts of the great quan- 

 tities of duck and geese which congregate here in spring- 

 flight, that it has always increased my desire to visit the 

 place, more out of curiosity than a desire to destroy game. 

 Mr. S. having gone with dog and canoe over the ice early 

 in April, to be on hand at the earliest breaking up of the 

 ice, my desire increased each day to join him. The 20th 

 of April found me amid the drifting ice, under sail, in a 

 small boat with camping outfit, making down the river 

 with a spanking breeze. After I had run the gauntlet of 

 the little rapids amid crashing cakes of ice, and laying to 

 in Hay Lake to partake of a cold lunch, a sailboat passed 

 to windward with man and boy, who shouted that they 

 were going to camp at the mouth of Charlotte River if 

 they could get there. I set sail and followed, but fell 

 behind and reached C. River about 5 P. M. ; found Chet 

 Perry and his little brother preparing to camp; was in- 



