FOREST AND STREAM. 



[March 6, 1890. 



ANTELOPE IN KANSAS. 



QIX yeaxs ago last Thanksgiving eve I camped at Sand 

 O Lake, fifteen miles southwest of Cimarron, at sunset, 

 slept the sleep of the just; and on Thanksgiving day 

 killed by fail' stalking four antelope and packed them 

 into camp by dark. Just as I got my last load in, Tracy 

 came in with four more in our camp wagon. We started 

 for home the next morning, and when I got there I found 

 a brand new girl baby that had come as a Thanksgiving- 

 present. That was the best Thanksgiving day I had ever 

 had and I have seen fort} 7 . 



The next spring, the mad rush of men to take up claims 

 in southwestern Kansas set in, and the small towns along 

 the A. T. & S. F. R. R. were like mining camps so far as 

 business was concerned. The settlers came, the antelope 

 decamped for the south and southwest: and we, the 

 original settlers, made money and were so busy that 

 there was no time for hunting except an occasional day 

 stolen from business, when about all we got was exercise 

 and an appetite. But for the last year the claim holder- 

 has departed almost as rapidly as "he came. Towns of 

 twenty to a hundred houses are almost deserted. Sod 

 houses that were scattered all over the prairie are un- 

 roofed and the walls have tumbled down. The claim 

 holder has hitched up his thin horses and pulled out for 

 Colorado, Missouri or Oklahoma, and where there were 

 fifty or a hundred families in a township of six miles 

 square, in most of them there are now only three or four. 

 But though it is sad to see a country depopulated, we 

 stayers derive some consolation from ' the fact that the 

 antelope are coming in again from the south, not singly 

 but in goodly numbers; and I can once more hear the 

 bark of the coyote from my door in Cimarron, a town 

 that boasted of its 1,500 inhabitants two short years ago. 

 Why did the claim holders leaver Well, the average 160 

 acres in southwest Kansas will not support a family, and 

 they froze out. 



Last week I concluded that I would see if I could not 

 find an antelope near Sand Lake, and I commenced pre- 

 parations for a three clays' camp hunt. My hunting 

 buggy was oiled. Tent, camp-stove and blankets were 

 put in. The .45-90 Winchester and cartridges, the field- 

 glass, the picket ropes and horse feed, and my old catch 

 dog Bob were all bundled in ; and John and I sneaked 

 out of town rather quietly, as I was not certain that I 

 could find or kill anything; and I don't like to advertise a 

 hunt beforehand. Across the Arkansas, over the fiats and 

 we were lost to sight in the sandhills. We drove regard- 

 less of roads through the most likely places for antelope 

 for four or five hours, and just before evening sighted a 

 bunch of twelve on a sidehill shining white in the sun 

 about two miles off. We drove as near as we could out 

 of sight, taking advantage of a low ridge, and then got 

 out, and picketing the horses, made a stalk. I tried my 

 best, but either I am not so good a hunter as I used to be 

 or something happened, for when I peeped over the knoll 

 expecting to see them within 200yds. they were going 

 straightaway on the full run a mile off, heading straight 

 west. It was almost sundown and we went back to the 

 buggy and drove to a deserted claim, where I knew there 

 was a well. The was no well-rope nor bucket, but I 

 drew water with a pail and a picket rope for the horses, 

 and made coffee strong to kill the musty taste of the 

 water for ourselves. We soon had the tent up, the lan- 

 tern lit and a good supper ready. 



I lay awake a long time after we had lain down, for it 

 is a year since I have been out like this, and there is some- 

 thing in the hearts of eome men that makes them like 

 solitude. We were twenty miles from nowhere; we cared 

 for nobody and nobody cared for us; and the coyotes sat 

 around and discoursed sweet music several times for a 

 half-hour or so at a stretch, much to Bob's disgust, who 

 wan ted to go out and tackle them. About daybreak I was 

 awakened by John, who was getting breakfast, and sing- 

 ing an original song. John is a poet and has suffered 

 from land locators. He composed the doggerel to relieve 

 his f eelings, and occasionally warbles it. The song is set 

 of the tune of "A Rambling Rake of Poverty, or the Son 

 to a Gambolier.'' He calls it 



THE SQUATTER'S LAMENT. 



When I got off at Cimarron 



An agent took my hand. 

 He said, "As a land locater 



I am at your command. 



The finest farms in Kansas I 



Lie spread before your view. 

 Come with me in my buggy, 



1 will show them all to you." 



He took me through the sand hills. 



Conveyed me o'er the plain, 

 Until at last he showed me 



That banner timber claim. 



And then he traded with me, 



And me located pat 

 Some forty miles from water, 



On the dreary Wild Horse Flat. 



He took away my money. 



Likewise my watch and chain, 

 And all that he has left me 



Is this doggone homestead claim. 



It's two hundred feet to water, 



It's two hundred miles to wood, 

 I've a cracker box to sit on, 



And musty pork for food. 



Now, boys, when you come out here. 



Take this advice from me, 

 Just bring your shotgun with you, 



And watch agents carefully; 



Or else they'll grab your money. 



And locate you down pat. 

 Beside me in my solitude 



On the dreary Wild Horse Flat. 



I often sit on my cracker box, 



And warble at my song, 

 But I think thn land locater 



Has treated me quite wrong. 

 So think of me with sorr jw 



A3 I eat my sour dough bread. 

 To hold down a claim in Kansas 



Is worse than being dead. 



The monotonous grinding of the coffee mill and John's 

 song at last restored me to full consciousness, and I got 



up with a grunt and proceeded to feed the horses, after a 

 very slight dip in the musty well water. We sat down 

 to eat breakfast. I was sitting with my back to the door, 

 John with his face to it. Suddenly he stopped eating 

 and said, "Look!" I looked out, and on the brow of the 

 hill, about a quarter of a mile east, were fourteen.as fine 

 antelope as I ever saw, headed by an enormous buck, so 

 big he really looked vicious. They disappeared over the 

 ridge, and it was the work of a moment to drop tin coffee 

 cups and grab guns. John said, "We don't have to hunt 

 'em, they come to us." We started on a trot after them. 

 Just before we got to the top of the ridge we dropped 

 and crawled about 100yds., peeped over, and there they 

 were, the nearest not more than 100yds. from us, feeding 

 quietly. I could not get a good shot at the old buck as 

 he was feeding straight away, at about 200yds. ; but there 

 was a two-year-old which presented me a nice mark at 

 about 125yds. We both took good aim, John said 

 "Ready?" I, "Yes," he, "Fire!" and the two guns made 

 One report. I saw my buck wilt and then fired twice at 

 the old buck as he ran over the next ridge, but did not 

 touch him; twice more at the bunch; and one dropped 

 out and the rest disappeared. I then ran for my buck 

 and found I had forgotten my cartridge .belt and knife, 

 so I bled him with a small pocket knife. 



John had bled his, a large doe, and we ran for camp, 

 not stopping to disembowel the game, hitched up the 

 horses, chucked Bob into the buggy, and started for my 

 wounded one, We saw him, after we got about a mile 

 from camp, traveling slowly in the direction we last saw 

 the herd. He did not see us till we got within bOOyds. 

 of him and then I let Bob jump out of the buggy; and of 

 all the races I ever saw that was the best. There was a 

 good deal of vim left in the antelope The dog is eleven 

 years old and badly bunged up by wolf and coyote 

 fights, and it was nip and tuck for a race of two miles, 

 the horses on a dead run and both of us yelling to en- 

 courage old Bob. Finally Bob got there and grabbed the 

 antelope by the hindleg, threw him, and in a second had 

 him by the back of the neck. By the time I was out of 

 the buggy to help the dog he had it dead, and almost 

 smiled as I came to him. The antelope had been shot 

 through the paunch. John says he hit him, I think I 

 did ; but as I can't prove it we call it a draw and drive 

 slowly to camp, picking up our other two as we go. 



It was now about 10 o'clock and we had only begun 

 breakfast when the antelope caused the stampede, so we 

 cooked breakfast over again, and then debated whether 

 to hunt more or go home. We had enough meat, the 

 water was poor and Bob was too slow for a catch dog, so 

 we went home with the antelopes' heads ostentatiously 

 hanging out over the tailboard. 



As we drove up Main street half a dozen stopped us, 

 and almost all remarked: "I wish I had known you were 

 going, I would have gone with you. " The meat is all eaten 

 up and I am going after some more to-morrow. 



W. J. D. 



Cimarron, Kansas. 



KENTUCKY QUAIL NETTING. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I noticed a piece in Fokest and Stream Jan. 30 headed 

 "Kentucky Fish and Game Club." I am no member, but 

 mean to be when I get the conditions and requirments of 

 membership, and wish you would send them to me. I 

 have a matter or two that should be laid before the law 

 committee of that club. The netting of quail in some of 

 the mountain counties of Kentucky is followed by a good 

 number of the residents, and if continued it will surely 

 lead to the extermination of that favorite bird. 



I spent ten days in the month of December, 1889, in 

 Laurel and Clay counties, hunting quail. As for Clay 

 county, I am not prepared to say whether or not netting 

 is followed, but there is an abundance of quail there. 

 An average shot can bag from 20 to 40 or 60 per day, with 

 good dogs. Laurel county is ©verrun with netters. Dur- 

 ing my stay in the county, while hunting I would natur- 

 ally inquire for the best quail country, and would hear 

 from all sides, "Well, there were several bevies around 

 here, but Jim — or John — caught them all the last rain." 



The past warm and rainy season was favorable for net- 

 ting, as a warm, rainy, drizzling day is preferred for the 

 business. I went to one man's house in Laurel county, 

 and he came in at noon with, I suspect, 150 quail. He 

 caught them so fast with his nets that he hadn't time to 

 count them. Result of one-half day's netting. I offered 

 him ten cents apiece to turn some of them out and let 

 me shoot at them, but he refused by saying, "I can ship 

 them and beat that price all to pieces." Ask that man if 

 he likes to hunt and he will tell you "No indeed, but it's 

 such an easy way to make $15 or $25 on rainy days when 

 the boys want a little fun." Yes, fun, not sport; but the 

 love of the almighty dollar is what induced him to go out 

 and the only pleasure he enjoyed was the anticipation 

 of his returns when he shipped* the result of his clay's 

 labor. When the quail are all gone that class will get 

 into other paying business. 



And you, dear lover of the field, stir up and go to work. 

 The "golden era" of your happy life is fast passing away, 

 and our game will soon be gone; yes, gone for ever, and 

 what will be left for the sportsman? Shooting at flying 

 clay is not field sport. What's to be done with our fine 

 pointers and setters when we fall back on clay-pigeons 

 altogether? 



So far as I know those parties may have been violating 

 the law. I saw not less than one hundred quail traps on 

 the trip. The residents informed me that they often trap 

 the whole bevy. The law is violated in various ways. 

 For instance, you go to Laurel county and get the confi- 

 dence of some good resident, and bring up the subject of 

 shooting quail in the summer time, when you can hear 

 Bob White whistling from the top rail of a fence, and if 

 you will yarn to him some things you have done in that 

 line, nine of every ten will tell you how many he shot 

 last summer with his rifle or pistol. A nice time for 

 slaughtering parents. In fact, the people out there don't 

 seem to know there is a game law, and I doubt if. with 

 the exception of a few about London, a man can be found 

 that knows when the season opens or closes. The Ken- 

 tucky Fish and Game Club is the "right thing in the right 

 place," and when it gets under full sway the market 

 hunter won't have such a hankering after a little fun on 

 a rainy day. 



There is another noble game bird that is already well- 

 nigh exterminated, that was formerly abundant in parts 

 of Kentucky. I do not know its scientific name, but it 

 is known as pheasant in its range. A, few years past I 



was fishing on Laurel Fork of Rockcastle River. Jacksonl 

 county, Kentucky, in May, I believe, and I saw a number! 

 of persons hunting them and was told thev are killed.! 

 all seasons of the year. They are hunted with any kind! 

 of dog, and when flushed by a dog take to the nearest! 

 tree, where all of them can be bagged, as they will not! 

 fly frftn the report of a gun. Such game is truly worth! 

 protecting. 



None of the above is written through any malice to-| 

 ward any of the followers of these methods* but because; 

 I feel a deep interest in the protection of our game, and 1 

 especially our small game, for as everybody knows there 

 are parts of Kentucky that would be dead as regards 

 game if it were not for the small remnant of quail that 

 has been spared on account of the present fragile Jaws. 

 The mountain counties of Kentucky can boast of their, 

 numbers of quail; and if anybody wants a pleasant out-, 

 ing and any amount of mountain air, water and quail, 

 let him go to Laurel or Clay county and he will be sur- 

 prised to find how clever and whole-souled the people 

 are; and his board bills will not exceed 25 cents a. day. 



The Blue Grass region has woll nigh quit making any 

 pretensions as to game. We have plenty of cottontails', 

 foxes and corn bread. Long ago, when the good old' 

 farmers drove their hogs on foot to South Carolina, a 

 good portion of the Blue Grass region of Kentucky was 

 a rich maple and oak forest; and in those good old 

 "honest days" she stood at the head of the list on game. 

 It was here that Daniel Boone struggled with the blood- 

 thirsty red man to obtain his choicest hunting ground. 

 By and by old Dan became the happy possessor of that 

 beautiful country a,nd his fellow creatures flocked to the 

 "great hunting grounds of Kentucky." 



But alas! The once cherished gam'e and the stately 

 forests are gone forever, and fine short-horned cattle and 

 the fastest trotters in the world graze over the same rich 

 soil that once supported large herds of deer and a good 

 number of bear and other wild animals. The country is 

 still dotted with old sugar camps, which are perhaps "the 

 only heritage of the once happy times that used to be 

 prized by our great grandfathers, when they shouldered 

 their old flint-lock muskets and enjoyed the sport and 

 pleasant pastimes that you and I love. 



" Unmolested roved the hunters, 

 Built the birch canoe for sailing. 

 Caught the fish in lake and river, 

 Shot the deer and trapped the beaver; 

 Unmolested worked the women, 

 Made their sugar from the maple. 

 Gathered wild rice in the meadows. 

 Dressed the skins of doer and hpaver. 

 And the wedding guests assembled, 

 Clad in all their richest raiment, 

 Robes of fur and belts of wampum. 

 Splendid with their paint and plumage, 

 Beautiful with bead* ;md tassels. 

 First they ate the sturgeon, Nahma, 

 And the pike, the Maskenozha, 

 Caught and cooked by old Nokomis; 

 Then on pamican they feasted, 

 Pemican and buffalo marrow. 

 Haunch of deer and hump of bison, 

 Yellow cakes of the Mondamin, 

 And the wild rice Of the river." 



W. L, Y. 



Richmond, Ky., Feb. 8. 



QUAIL SHOOTING IN NORTH CAROLINA 1 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I read a letter in this week's issue on "Quail Shooting; 

 in North Carolina," in which the writer perverts facts in 

 a great degree. 



In the fall of 1888 I wrote you to post me where I could 

 find a few weeks' good shooting on quail or any other 

 game. You answered that Tarboro. North Carolina, was 

 an excellent place with any quantity of little brown 

 beauties to be had for the Bhooting. I went there, and 1 

 found that that town contained a little army of sports- 

 men very fond of gunning, each and every one of them i 

 being the possessor of from one to three fine pointers 

 or setters, well broken and nearly all retrievers. Several i 

 of them volunteered very kindly, to pilot my friend 

 George and myself to the best grounds in that immediate 

 neighborhood; but our first afternoon was spent with 

 only two coveys found and four birds and one rabbit 

 killed— rather discouraging to start with. 



The next day a gentleman from Boston led us to be- 

 lieve he could find half a dozen coveys within half a mile 

 of town; but in this case we also met with a disappoint- 

 ment, as our dogs only pointed one broken bevy of six 

 birds on the edge of a very thick wood of tall pines, from 

 which we dropped two birds, that were handsomely re- ' 

 trieved by a pointer bitch (within a week of casting her 

 puppies), and after about six hours tramping through 

 stubbles, grass, briers and low brush, we gave it up in 

 disgust. 



i i The same evening we took a train on the Tarboro & 

 Hamilton R. R. for Hamilton, distant twenty-one miles, 

 which we reached in seven hours — a high old road I must 

 say. On the next morning two gentlemen of the vil- 

 lage, Dr. Clarke and Druggist Robinson, both splendid 

 shots, took their two red Irish setters and a Gordon to a 

 place about a mile off, where we enjoyed some splendid 

 sport, as the birds were quite numerous, with extraordi- 

 narily large coveys, from which we bagged over fifty head 

 in less than three hours. 



I read in a Western paper last August that a party 

 about one and one-half miles from Lincolnton, N. C, 

 owned a plantation of 700 acres actually alive with quail, 

 rabbits, gray foxes, possum and coon (plenty of black 

 coons), some wild turkeys and an occasional deer; but as 

 a Pennsylvania gentleman, who was pulled by the same 

 string, expressed it, the only deer was Mrs. Alice herself. 

 However, when we reached there the 700 acres dwindled 

 to 400 and there could not be found there three bevies on 

 the whole domain, so we were compelled to hunt else- 

 where. About three miles in an easterly direction lay a , 

 farm belonging to Mr. W, H. Coleman. We called upon 

 him and he gave us carte blanche on every acre he pos- 

 sessed. While we were having a good time on Mr. Cole- 

 man's ground he (Coleman) and Mr, P. D. Hinson, of 

 Lincolnton, who came down with us, met with Coleman's 

 next neighbor, Louis Sherral, and obtained leave for us 

 to hunt his grounds. On the following day we went 

 there. We had not been more than half an hour oa 

 Sherral's grounds when he approached and ordered, 



