516 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 2. 1892. 



A SCOUT IN IDAHO. 



It was sorne time in August, 1877, after the Nez Perce 

 war, that I made a little scout in Idaho. The Indians 

 had left the country, that is the hostiles or the great 

 majority of them had, and they had taken General 

 Howard after them. The stage had not begun running 

 between Lewiston and Mount Idaho since the outbreak, 

 and it was often rumored that signal fires had been seen 

 between Cottonwood Butte and the Salmon River. There 

 was a number of women and children who wanted to go 

 to Lewiston, and among theui was one whose husband 

 had been killed on Salmon River. 



One day the captain of the company of Mount Idaho 

 volunteers and Mr. L. P. Brown wanted to know what I 

 thought about the stage going across the mountain. I 

 told them I thought there was no danger, but to make it 

 safe it would be better to send a party as an escort down 

 as far as the old Mason place. Then next day they could 

 go over on to the breaks of Salmon River and see if there 

 was any Indian sign near where the signal fires had been 

 seen. They wanted to know if I would take ten men and 

 make the trip. I said that I would go, and they urged 

 me to get everything ready and make an early start in 

 the morning. 



Next morning early, the stage drove up to the hotel 

 porch and four women and six children got aboard, and 

 we pulled out for Lewiston. With my ten men I fol- 

 lowed along behind, until we passed Cottonwood, where 

 we stopped long enough to water the stage team and 

 our saddle horses. When we started again I sent two 

 men on ahead, with orders to keep about half a mile 

 ahead of the stage, and then sent four more, who were 

 to keep half-way between the first two and the stage. 

 When we began to pass the graves of those who had been 

 killed with Lieut. Rains, the women began to grow 

 nervous, and would ask me every few minutes if I 

 thought it was safe to proceed. I assured them that 

 there was not a hostile Indian within one hundred 

 miles of us. When we reached the rocks where the 

 soldiers had taken refuge and had stood the Indians off 

 until their ammunition had been exhausted, some of the 

 party wanted to turn back. I told them we were safe, 

 and as I had been over the road on horseback a number 

 of times since the fighting I considered it safe or I should 

 not have started. Our progress was quite slow going up 

 the mountain, but once on top we made good time until 

 we came to a small branch one mile west of Willow 

 Creek. Here we halted, fed our teams and had our 

 dinners, and as we had not seen any Indians, or signs of 

 any, the party were much better pleased. In an hour 

 and a half we hitched up and went down near the old 

 Mason Ranch. I concluded we were perfectly safe, and 

 with the consent of the women, we left them and struck 

 across the country to the breaks on Salmon River. My 

 advice to the boys was not to shoot at anything bat an 

 Indian. We had not gone far, when I saw a fine red 

 buck, and on showing it to Ben Morris he wanted to 

 shoot at it. 



"Oh, no," I said," we must not fire a gun until after 

 we get on to the breaks of Salmon River, but if there is 

 no Indian sign on the Maloney Creek, or the Pittsburgh 

 Landing trails, we will shoot deer, grouse or anything 

 we want to." We saw quite a number of deer running, 

 and a great many grouse, and we passed through an im- 

 mense huckleberry patch. Here we halted for about 

 fifteen minutes. 



After we started again, we were soon at the trail which 

 runs along on the breaks of Salmon, but saw no signs of 

 Indians; that is, fresh signs. We camped at a spring in 

 a small meadow, and after going into camp I, with an- 

 other man, went down on to some breaks, where we 

 could have a view of the country, and seeing nothing we 

 considered we were just as safe here as if we had been 

 home. 



When I got back to camp I told the boys to shoot all 

 they wanted to, that I was going out to see if I could kill 

 some game for supper and breakfast. Two of them took 

 camp kettles and went back after huckleberries. I went 

 down below camp but a short distance, when I started up 

 a nice flock of grouse a little over half-grown. I was 

 shooting them with my revolver, and had shot nine times 

 and killed seven, when old Peter Bsamer came down 

 from camp and said he knew I was shooting my revol- 

 ver, so he thought he would bring a gunny sack along, 

 as it would be better to carry them in than to carry them 

 by the legs. "All right, Peter," I said, "We will gather 

 them up in a minute. There sits one up in that tamar- 

 ack near the top: you try it with your Ballard." 



"All right," said, he, and raised his gun when I said, 

 "Head, or no meat." He quietly lowered his gun and 

 said, "I cannot hit his head, and neither can you." 



As I had a Remington target rifle with globe and peep 

 sights, I thought I could take its head off, and I said that 

 I thought I could, and that if he would go and get it if I 

 killed it I would try. 



I raised my rifle and banged away, and out came the 

 grouse, and as the hill was very steep it went fluttering 

 down a long way with old Peter in hot pursuit. He 

 finally caught it and when he came back he said with a 

 smile, "You came pretty near missing it; you just 

 touched the top of its head." When I had gathered up 

 the other seven we went back to camp where we cleaned 

 our grouse and soon had them on the fire stewing for 

 supper. 



The boys had come in with their kettles filled with ber- 

 ries and I had taken my horse down about 200yds. to a 

 small hole in the branch to water him. As I turned to 

 go back I saw two red bucks trotting quartering toward 

 our camp. I let my horse walk along a short distance 

 until I had got behind the hill , then I chirped to him and 

 went running into camp. Every fellow jumped for his 

 gun and wanted to know what I had seen. I told them 

 two bucks, and that they could get a shot by running up 

 on the small ridge back of camp. Peter Beamer, Ben 

 Morris, Theo. S warts and Jack Rainey started for the 

 deer. 'As they left I advised them only to kill one of 

 them. They got up just in time, and they opened fire on 

 the deer and kept it up till they had killed both of them, 

 and in a few minutes they came dragging them into 

 camp. As soon as they came within speaking distance 

 old Peter spoke up and said, "Lieutenant, you must not 

 get mad. The boys killed 'em. I tried to keen them from 

 it but they won't mind me like they do you/' 



We dressed the deer and hung them up, and they were 

 fine. We soon had our supper and then sharpened a 

 splint about six feet long and dug a hole and built our 

 fire over it. J ust before we went to bed we put the deer 

 heads in, put some grass over them, then heaped on the 

 coals and hot ashes and built a rousing log fire on top. 

 We took our blankets and some of us went over to a 

 small ridge and slept there. We did not think it was any 

 use to put out a guard. 



Next morning at daylight I got up, and, rousing camp, 

 we unearthed our deer heads, and they were thoroughly 

 done to a nice brown, and a better breakfast I do not 

 think ten men ever sat down to in the mountains. 



Soon after breakfast we saddled up and were on our 

 way home. We passed between Cottonwood Butte and 

 Salmon River, and found where the Indians had been 

 camped when they killed Lieutenant Rains and his men 

 and where they had camped the night before they fought 

 the eleven volunteers near Cottonwood July 3d. 



We reached home about 3 o'clock, when our friends 

 were glad to meet us and all in the settlement were more 

 comfortable when we told them we had not seen any 

 Indian signs that had been made since they had left the 

 country a month before. Lew Wilmot. 



REMINISCENT. 



The modest hepatica and fragrant mayflower, har- 

 bingers of springtime and welcome guests, have come 

 and gone, and the catkins on the willow that appear 

 before the snows of winter depart, have long since been 

 succeeded by the frondescence of early summer. The 

 burning sun of June invites to shade and cool retreat 

 whence we may see the heat waves rise from earth and 

 dance and tremble until lost in the higher atmosphere. 

 Not a breath stirs, and it seems as if we are all alone in 

 the world and nature is enjoying a siesta. But no, for 

 right here on our left a colony of ants ply their honest 

 toil, a spider noiselessly spreads his net in the branches 

 overhead, and a katydid breaks in with his sibilant, nasal 

 song. Our companion of many a day in field and covert, 

 tired of panting and lolling, throws himself broadside 

 upon the ground, and let us hope that be, like his master, 

 finds comfort and pleasure in the recollection of distant 

 but not forgotten days of autumn time. 



Ah! we have been there! and in these sweltering days 

 it does one good to recall those other days of comfort 

 and pleasure, days when the cares of business and the 

 perplexities of life were laid aside and forgotten. Our 

 thoughts go back to a day upon the hills and in the runs 

 of the old Bay State that will linger long as a cherished 

 remembrance, not because we shot remarkably well or 

 scored such a large bag of birds, for we never measure 

 our pleasure by the size of our bag. The early drive in 

 the clear, frosty morning air, genial companionship, no 

 friction or mishap, cordial reception at our destination, 

 fine working dogs, reasonable number of birds and fair 

 success in their capture, all contribute to the enjoyment 

 of our outing. 



Mr. C. A. Parker and the writer had planned for a day 

 out during the full moon of October, and with the en- 

 thusiasm of school boys we awaited the arrival of the 

 day. We arranged for an early start as our destination was 

 a dozen miles distant, and we have a decided preference 

 for the early morning hours in the covert. The writer 

 turns in early and dreams of birds, birds, birds. Arous- 

 ing from a sound sleep we think it daylight, and hastily 

 arising find it only 2 o'clock. We return to bed but not 

 to sleep. At 5 o'clock we are measuring off distance on 

 the road. The morning air is keen, clear and bracing, 

 and we spank along at a good -pa.ee, well bundled up and 

 comfortable. We soon arrive at our destination and find 

 our old stamping ground posted. We are about to drive 

 along to other haunts, when Mr. Blank came out of his 

 house and accosted us with a cheery "Good morning, gen- 

 tlemen, good morning." 



"Good morning, Mr. Blank. We drove out for a day's 

 shooting, but we see you have your place posted." 



"Yes, but drive your team right into the barn and shoot 

 all you want to. I have posted my place because of a 

 few pot-hunters who in years past have been here day 

 after day, and you'd think to see and hear them that they 

 owned the place. They never thought it worth while to 

 ask permission, and they've killed lots of birds here and 

 have never had decency enough to offer me a pair or even 

 as much as to thank me. Then I've been annoyed by a 

 good deal of Sunday shooting, and I won't have it. But 

 you fellows are just as welcome as ever to come here and 

 shoot." 



"Thank you, Mr. Blank; we certainly appreciate your 

 kindness and will endeavor not to abuse it." 



"That's all right; I've never had occasion to regret your 

 coming." 



Before the conversation was ended the team was cared 

 for and two eager gunners were ready for the fray. Our 

 steps were turned toward a small brook below the house, 

 flanked on either side by a narrow alder run, with a few 

 scrub pines and apple trees, and elevated land on either 

 side. 



Parker's William Tell (5224), that rare good dog, ac- 

 companied us, and he was as anxious and joyous as his 

 owner and companion for.the sport of the day. Paren- 

 thetically, I may say that Tell descended from genera- 

 tions of noble ancestry and that his unsurpassed per- 

 formances in the field were his by honest inheritance. 

 Nor were his good qualities limited to the field, as his 

 winnings on the bench at New York, Boston, Providence, 

 New Haven and other places bear ample testimony. 

 Nat. 1884. Ob. 1891. 



"Doc, you keep along on the edge of the hill a little 

 ahead and above the alders, and I will go in with Tell. 

 It is so thick in there I don't think I can shoot; and if 

 old Mr. Grouse boils up I want you to knock him over." 

 "All right, Charley, I'll do the best I can." 

 We move quietly along some little distance, when I 

 am informed that there are birds there, as Tell is making 

 game. 



"Look out, Doc, Tell has a point!" 

 No need to caution Tell to steady him, as he was as 

 staunch as a rock and was never known to flush a bird 

 through his own faixlt. 



Whirr-rr-rr-bang! — bang! — rr-rr-rr. As he rose Charley 

 got a snap shot in close cover, and he "boiled out," so I 

 thought at least, out of gun shot from me, but I did my 

 best to stop him. Certain it was the wary grouse escaped 

 us both unscathed. 

 "Charley, come up here! I haye nailed him down up 



there in that undergrowth by the stone wall on the other 

 side of the road, and we ought to get him now! 



"Well, Doc, I'll go up around to the other side of him 

 and turn him back down the run. If he goes up over the 

 hill it will be good day to him. So you get in between 

 him and the run and you will get a good open shot." 



We are soon in position and Tell again points him under 

 a snarly grape vine, which, with sumac and pine, made 

 a cover so dense that Charley could not see him when he 

 arose. But down the hill he came by me flying low and 

 much like a flash of greased lightning. I threw in ahead 

 and pulled with "the finger of instinct and eye of faith," 

 and had the pleasure of seeing feathers drifting down the 

 hillside as a result. 



"Did you get him, Doc?" 



"He is our bird, Charley, I think. At least I have 

 some of his plumage as a souvenir. But didn't he go, 

 though?" 



Tell is soon on the scent and trails him down to the 

 water's edge, but finds no bird. We join him in the 

 search and look the ground over carefully and thoroughly, 

 but without success. 



We are somewhat winded by the cha9e up and down 

 the hillside and bo sit down while Tell continues the 

 search. He travels up and down along the brook chal- 

 lenging every nook and cranny, starts back where the 

 bird struck the earth and works the ground over and 

 over again. Half an hour is spent in the search, for we 

 would rather miss several clean than fail to secure a dead 

 or wounded bird. Skirting the brook downward to an 

 unusual distance Tell strikes scent on a flat stone in the 

 middle of the stream, which at this point is quite wide 

 and shallow, and is soon on the other side where he 

 again takes up the scent and trails along the brook some 

 distance and comes to a staunch point at some gnarly 

 roots of a partially overturned tree. We look in vain to 

 see anything of the bird, but reaching in under the roots 

 as far as he could Charley grasps and withdraws from 

 his hiding place a very large ccck grouse with one wing 

 shot off. We agreed that we had never seen more per- 

 sistent or better work retrieving done by any dog, as the 

 cunning of the bird had doubtless prompted him to run 

 in and across the water to break the scent. We resumed 

 our work down the run and did not proceed far before 

 another bird broke cover out of shot nor stopped in his 

 flight until after passing out of sight over the distant 

 hilltop. In due time 



"Mark!" Bang! and Charley's gun does the deed of 

 death before the bird showed himself above the alder 

 tops. We are soon at the lower end of the run and I take 

 my position upon a little cleared knoll around which the 

 brook makes a bend at nearly a right angle to its former 

 course. We usually found a covey of birds at its foot, 

 scattered among the blackberries and scrub growth which 

 when flushed flew directly over the hillock to the dense 

 woods beyond. 



"Now, 'Doc, don't get rattled. If there are any birds in 

 there you know Tell can be depended on. I won't send 

 over but one at a time." 



Charley and Tell strike out and surround the spot and 

 soon "Point ! Look out ! " 



Whir-rr-rr — bang ! bang ! right into my face and past 

 me without touching a feather. 



"Are you ready ? Look out ! " Bang, and a clean kill as 

 he went quartering away on my lpf t. 



"Another point ! mark ! " and Charley's gun stopped 

 another in his flight before he got well under way. 

 "Tell ha9 another point ! mark ! " 



W/wH-rr-rr right in line for the muzzle of my gun and 

 killed clean at easy range. Another bird took wing on 

 Charley's left which went quartering away out of gun- 

 shot, and no ammunition was wasted on him. 



"Well, that is good sport, Doc. How many did vou 

 get?" 



"Two." 



"Well, two out of three shots is not bad." 



We gather up the birds and return to the barn for lunch 

 with five nice plump birds. We are invited into the 

 house, but prefer to sit in the warm sunshine. A pump- 

 kin pie and a pitcher of milk were sent out to us, and they 

 served to round out a hearty lunch. We put one of Uncle 

 Sam's promises to pay on the plate when it was returned 

 to the house. Being somewhat fatigued from the unusual 

 exercise of the forenoon, we took a short rest and then 

 started for the run above the house, and worked over con- 

 siderable territory without getting a point. We arrived 

 at a well-known marshy place that was densely over- 

 grown with grapevines and which seldom failed to hold 

 birds. 



"Now, Doc, you go around and get into that old wood 

 road and I will work this the best I can. You know a 

 fellow can't get a shot in such a jungle." 



"All right, Charley, give me five minutes to get my 

 position, then come right through." 



I have not long to wait before the thunder of pinions 

 apprises me to be on the alert. Instantly I see a bird com- 

 ing directly toward me and another making off at nearly 

 a right angle. Bang, bang; and when Charley appeared 

 he inquired: 



"How many were there?" 



"Two." 



"Which way did they go?" 



"Come here and I will show you." 



"Here is one," said I, pointing to my foot, "and the 

 other is over by that little sluice where it runs under the 

 road." 



"Both?" 



"For certain." 



"Bravo! but that is good." 



"Charley, that makes a pretty good bag, and as we are 

 somewhat tired and the afternoon is on the wane, what 

 do you say to going over to the white birches and trying 

 for woodcock?" 



"It's a go," said Charley, and we lose no time in reach- 

 ing our favorite flight woodcock ground. We did not go 

 75yds. beyond the stone wall before Tell pointed, and 

 Charley walking in flushes a fine bird which he grasses 

 neatly with a single gun. We work along some little 

 distance, Tell challenging frequently but finding no birds 

 until nearing a little opening, where he points near a 

 tussock grown over with a brushy undergrowth. Both 

 have good positions, and when he is flushed two guns at 

 the same instant roar out their message of death, and 

 another plump bird is deposited in our game bag. 



The sun had kissed the topmost hills and we were 

 warned to retrace our steps, and making a detour in the 

 direction of our team we had just climbed over a stone 



