432 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Deo, 19, 1889. 



RUNNING DOWN A PENNSYLVANIA ELK. 



In the latter part of the winter of 1854, the last one, or 

 one of the last remaining elk that were left in the wilds 

 of Pennsylvania, was run down and captured alive by 

 three Indians. It was a doe, and was supposed to be 

 three years old. When led out of the woods it was a 

 sorry -looking animal, poor in flesh, with much of the 

 hair and skin worn of its legs by the snow crust, and 

 otherwise badly used. But after being housed and well 

 fed for a few weeks, and when it bad shed the winter 

 coat it became quite a respectable looking elk. Subse- 

 quently it was purchased by my brother and turned in 

 with a small herd of elk which he kept bra park. She 

 soon became as tame as the others, and in the latter 

 part of the following April she dropped a buck fawn. 

 Now, this fawn, as it grew up, was very wild, much 

 more wild than the others, of which there were three or 

 four of nearly the same age, and during the summer and 

 fall he kept out of sight much of the time, which he 

 could easily do, as the park was large and full of woods, 

 thickets and brush. As he grew older his wildness 

 seeraed to increase rather than to diminish. He re- 

 mained in the park through the first winter, also through 

 the next summer, but late in the fall he broke out of the 

 inclosure. 



The park was situated on the western border of a pretty 

 extensive tract of rough and mountainous forest land, so 

 that the elk had a free run and was, in fact, as wild and 

 untamed as his ancestors that roamed over the same 

 ground half a century before. It was seldom that he 

 was seen during that winter, but his tracks were dis- 

 covered occasionally near the park. 



The next summer he was hardly seen at all. It was 

 rumored that he had been shot at by some hunters: if so, 

 it only sharpened his instincts, and he never was wounded 

 by a gun shot. In the fall, after the first snow fell, two 

 or three young hunters offered, or rather craved the 

 privilege of hunting down and shooting that elk for a 

 share of the meat. Accordingly they started, and did find 

 his track, and followed him two days. But he was too 

 sharp for them and they gave it up. I have had some 

 experience with elk: I have studied the nature and habits 

 of the animal both wild and tame, and I have yet to find 

 the creature that I believe to be more keen or sharper- 

 scented than the elk. 



I heard no more rumors of tbis elk until after the mid- 

 dle of January, when it was reported that bis tracks had 

 been discovered on the mountain side, not very far from 

 the par-k. The snow had been Sift, in depth, but had 

 settled to about 2ft. ; a stiff snow but not a very sharp 



crust. Now, a live elk when caught was worth much 

 more than a dead one, so I proposed to my brother 

 that I would put on snowshoes and make an effort to find 

 him, run him down, and tie him up. My brother thought 

 it possible that if the elk were found he might be run 

 down, but the tying up was a matter of doubt. _ 



I started the next morning at early dawn, taking thirty 

 feet, more or less, of strong hemp rope, and after walk- 

 ing three-quarters of a mile across the park I reached 

 the main woods, where I strapped on my snowshoes. I 

 was as much at home on snowshoes as an amateur skater 

 would be on skates, and although I was somewhat past 

 my prime, there was enough of the boy left to prompt 

 me to try the speed and endurance of tbat elk, providing 

 that I could start him in the early morning. I struck 

 out over the mountains, and had the good luck to start 

 him before I had traveled more than a mile. It was yet 

 early, and the chances seemed to be good. I thought 

 from the appearance of the track that he ran the first 

 half-mile pretty quickly, when he turned around, evidently 

 watching to see if he was followed. But I saw no more 

 signs of his turning around again until the end of the 

 race. I noted that his jumps grew shorter after the first 

 mile; and I thought that he spread bis tracks too much 

 for his own benefit. Am elk is an awkward jumper any- 

 how. This one had to jump or to walk, whereas his nat- 

 ural gait is a shambling trot; but he could not do that, 

 the snow was too stiff. 



He led me a long, circuitous route before I saw the first 

 glimpse of his yellow rump; but in the afternoon I saw 

 him often, for he would squat in the snow until I came 

 in sight, and then run again; and he kept on repeating 

 this maneuver until late in the afternoon. Finally, when 

 some twenty rods in the rear, I saw him follow up a 

 small gully or dry brook up to the extreme head. Here 

 was a small basin or depression formed by the water 

 course, and here he turned around, backed up against 

 the bank and would go no further. I walked along near 

 the edge of the gully until I came within three rods of 

 his elkship. There he stood sullen and defiant, and look- 

 ing about as savage as an elk can look. To say that he 

 was mad would hardly express it. I do not believe 

 that I could have driven him out from there if I had at- 

 tempted it. 



I unstrapped my snowshoes and sat down in the snow 

 for a few minutes' rest. My success had depended wholly 

 on a forced gait, which had been kept up for nearly ten 

 hours, without stopping or slacking up in the least, and 

 I believe that I was as nearly fagged out as the elk. He 

 had led me a long, circuitous route, besides many smaller 

 circuits, and had run to earth not far distant from the 



place where he started in the morning. The abrupt bank 

 which curved around the upper side of the nook, into 

 which he had backed, was some 6ft. high, including 2ft, 

 of snow; and I noticed, some saplings which were stand- 

 ing on either side, a circumstance which proved an im- 

 portant factor in the capture of that elk. 



I uncoiled the rope, made a strong noose at each end 

 and cut it in two; and near the edge and on one side of 

 the basin, I tramped a slightly broken path on a curve 

 with the bank until I made the end of a half circle of 

 perhaps 20ft., the elk pacing around and keeping a wicked 

 looking eye on me all the time. I moved near the edge, 

 and he came up as far as the bank would admit, looking 

 furious and curbing his neck just enough to throw his 

 horns forward, when 1 dropped a coil of rope over one 

 horn and took a hitch around a sapling, leaving him 

 some slack rope. He did not mind the rope at all, but 

 kept curbing and watching my motions; and in less time 

 than it takes to tell it I had a noose over the other horn. 

 I walked back on the path a few steps; and the elk moved 

 along; and as soon as he straightened the slack of the 

 first rope, I made a quick move and tied up to another 

 sapling, which stood at the other end of the path. When 

 he found that he was caught (as he did almost before I 

 had taken the last hitch), he cut a sorry figure for a few 

 moments. But he could do nothing, and soon ceased his 

 struggles. He was securely tied with the two ropes, their 

 ends being fastened at points nearly opposite and some- 

 what higher than his head ; and I concluded that he was 

 safe for the night. 



I now felt the need of another short rest, but the late- 

 ness of the hour would not admit of such a luxury. I 

 had started out, of necessity, thinly clad, and had kept 

 warmed up to white heat through the day; and now, the 

 night being cold and stormy, it began to dawn on my 

 mind that if I was to get out of the woods that night I 

 must make the effort pretty soon. So I put on my snow- 

 shoes again and pushed out. I succeeded in getting out, 

 or rather getting in; but I was — well, I was played out. 



The next morning some less than a half dozen men 

 went in to lead that elk out of the woods. But there was 

 one who did not go, I had had enough of elk hunting, 

 had a surfeit in fact, and was quite williug that any one 

 else should hunt elk who wanted to. They found him, 

 where I had left him, and brought him in. He was not 

 poor in flesh, was of fair size for the age, and carried a 

 very pretty pair of horns. He was put in a stable and 

 kept until some time in May, when he and two or three 

 others which were taken out of the park were shipped to 

 some foreign port. Antler. 

 Grand View, Tennessee. 



tl L -V 



3 S hit. J-u f K 



FROM A LETTER WRITTEN BY HELEN KELLER. 



HELEN KELLER AND HER MASTIFF. 



READERS of St. Nicholas will not have forgotten the 

 account given in the last September number of the 

 little blind mute Helen Keller. Born in 1880, she was at 

 the age of eighteen months afflicted with total deprivation 

 of sight and hearing, and as a consequence, of speech. The 

 relation of how, when she was in her sixth year, her little 

 mind was released from its dark prison, and how by the 

 patient , ingenious and in many respects remarkable instruc- 

 tion of her teacher, Miss Annie M. Sullivan, of the Boston 

 Jb-erkms Institute for the Blind, she was taught to appre- 

 »™ ??B res f ideas °y use of the , to ueh alphabet; and 

 how eagerly and with what marvellous rapidity she ac- 

 quired knowledge; all this is a most pathetic story, and 

 yet full of brightness and cheer and courage and hope,' One 

 of the child's strongly marked traits is that of exceeding 

 tenderness toward animal life. Here is an extract from her 

 diary, given m St. Nicholas, which appears to have been 

 written when Helen had first learned of fish-in^: 



March 8, 1888.— We had fish for breakfast. Fish live in deen 

 water. There are many hundreds of iish swimming about in the 

 water. Men catch fish with poles and hooks and lines Thev 

 put a lit tie tiny fish on the hook and throw it in the wafer anri 

 hsh does bite the little fish and sharp hook does srick in hoor 

 hsh s mouth and hurt him much. I am very sad for the poor fish 

 lush did not know that very sharp hook was in tiny fish. Meu 

 most not kill poor fish Men do pull fish out and take them home, 

 and cooks do clean them very nice and frv them, and thev are 

 very good to cat for breakfast. 



TTnwp 1 M?u w ?v, mu8 - + a11 he i' ^tensely," says Miss Florence 

 Howe Hall, the writer of the eketch, "for her sad deprivations, 



we should remember that even these afflictions have their bright 

 side, and while they wrap her from the outer world, as in a dark 

 garment, they also shield her from all uakindness, from all wick- 

 edness. Every one who comes near little Helen is so moved with 

 pity for her infirmities that all treat her with the utmost gentle- 

 ness—she does not know what unkindness is, her teacher tells us, 

 and we may fully believe it. Thus, while she can neither see the 

 trees, nor the flowers, nor tlie bright sunshine, while she cannot 

 hear the birds sing, she knows the best side of every human being 

 and only the hest. She lives in a world of love, and goodness, and 

 gentleness. Were we speaking just now of pitying little Helen? 

 It may be she does not need our pity— perhaps some of us may 

 need hers! You will not he surprised, after what I have said, to 

 hear that our little friend is very kind to animals. When driv- 

 ing in a carriage she will not allow the driver to use a whip be- 

 cause, as she says, 'Poor horses will cry.' She was much distressed 

 one morning upon finding that a certain dog named Pearl had a 

 block of wood fastened to its collar. It was explained to Helen 

 that this was necessary, in order to keep the dog from running 

 away; but still sne was not satisfied, and at every opportunity 

 during the day she would seek out Pearl and carry the block of 

 wood herself that the dog might rest from its burden." 



One of the illustrations in the magazine shows Helen with 

 her pft clog. Seeing this, and being moved by the child's 

 tender love of pets, one of our correspondents, who is well 

 known to the readers of Forest and Stream, but whose 

 modesty forbids our making public his name, sent to the 

 little girl a choice mastiff puppy. In return he received 

 from her a letter, which we take to be in all respects the 

 most valued and cherished of all the returns he has ever 

 received or is likely ever to receive in exchange for a dog. 

 lhis letter he has loaned to the Forest and Stream, and a 

 portion of it, with the text of all of it, is here given. The 



page of the original, written in pencil, which we have had 

 engraved, is given full-size, just as it was written. This is 

 the letter: 



South Boston, Mass., Nov. 20, 1889. 



My Dear Mr. •; 



1 have just received a letter from my mother, telling me 

 that the beautiful mastiff puppy you sent me had reathed 

 Tuscumbia safely. I thank you very much for the nice gift. 

 I am very sorry that I was not at home to welcome her. 

 But my mother and my baby sister will be very kind to her 

 while her mistress is away. I hope she is not lonely and 

 unhappy. I think puppies can feel very homesick as well 

 as little girls. I should like to call her Lioness for your 

 dog. May I? I hope she will be very faithful and brave 

 too. 



I am studying in Boston, with my dear teacher. I learn 

 a great many new and wonderful things. I study about the 

 earth and the animals, and I like arithmetic exceedingly. 

 I learn many new words, too. Exceedingly is one that I 

 learned yesterday. "When f see Lioness I will tell her many 

 things which will surprise her greatly. I think she will 

 laugh when I tell her that she is a vertebrate, a mammal, a 

 quadruped,and I shall be very sorry to tell her that she belongs 

 to the order Carnivora. I study French, too. When I talk 

 French to Lioness I will call her Mun beau chien. Please 

 tell Lion that I will take good care of Lioness. I shall be 

 happy to have a letter from you when you like to write to, 

 me. From vour loving little friend, 



Helen A. Keller. 



P. S. — I am staying at the Inst, for the Blind.— H, A, K. 



