June 80, 1893.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



611 



"SPORT" IN FRANCE.-III. 



Among the European quadrupeds that I should like to 

 see naturalized in America is the little roebuck. It is a 

 very small deer and has, so far as my observations go, 

 much the habits of a hare. It lies in a form all day, and 

 will permit one to pass close, to it without stirring. 

 When put up it goes off with rapid low zizzagging 

 flight, not bounding off high and birdlike, as do most of 

 its relatives. When pursued it baffles the dogs by doubl- 

 ing, retracing its steps, and other foxy tricks, but not by 

 taking to the water. Thus the ordinary methods of 

 hounding pursued in America would not succeed very 

 well with this species, so that it might maintain itself in 

 some of our Eastern wildernesses. I first made the 

 acquaintance of this little deer in the great forest of — 

 well, never mind. I was on a 

 sketching expedition, and I put 

 up at a small inn in the little 

 village of — it doesn't matter, 

 just on the edge of the forest. 

 My daily work kept me all day 

 in' the woods, and I found that 

 there were plenty of deer and 

 other large game there. Ere 

 long I had the opportunity of 

 proving that cervine nature is 

 much the same in Europe as in 

 America, for I discovered a pair 

 of red deer, a buck and a doe, 

 away out on an open plain feed- 

 ing, and although a French com- 

 panion said it was quite impos- 

 sible to get any nearer than we 

 were I thought I would try. I 

 was 400yds. from them, in the 

 edge of the woods, yet by run- 

 ning straight toward them when- 

 ever I saw both their heads 

 down feeding, I got rapidly 

 nearer, although there was no 

 cover whatever. Of course the 

 moment I saw one of their heads 

 raised I froze into a statue and 

 waited till both were down 

 again. In this way I managed 

 to come within 60yds. of them 

 without having been detected, 

 as I had their wind, when a dog 

 ran across the plain half a mile 

 away. The deer were not 

 alarmed, but it made them 

 watchful, and never after that 

 were both their heads down at 

 the same time. Meanwhile I 

 was keeping my position like a 

 Muybridge photograph, one foot 

 just raised to step, head ad- 

 vanced: it seemed easy enough 

 at first, but soon became pain- 

 ful, and at length finding that 

 there was no prospect of a fur- 

 ther stalk, I abandoned all cau- 

 tion and walked toward them. 

 Instantly they flung out their 

 white shirt-tails to the wind, and 

 taking wing they flew over the 

 landscape in long undulations, 

 like a woodpecker's flight, and 

 disappeared in the woods. 



The large room of the little 

 inn was a regular resort for a 

 number of the villagers, especi- 

 ally two or three cronies of the 

 host. At first they looked 

 askance at the stranger and 

 kept to themselves, but they 

 became more at ease and loqua- 

 cious on realizing that I was 

 only a harmless artist in no way 

 connected with game guardians, 

 though, as already seen, much 

 interested in game. It did not 

 take very long to find out that 

 they were all poachers, and I, 

 Mr. Editor, must confess that 

 though when at home a rabid 

 upholder of the game laws, I am 

 at heart a bit of a poacher my- 

 self, and soon found myself on 

 brotherly terms with these 

 French peasants. Once the ice 

 was broken it became our usual 

 habit to spend the evenings in 

 swapping yarns of the chase, 

 and thereby I got what I wanted, 

 viz., an insight into the French 

 idea of sport. One of the com- 

 pany was a dude sportsman 

 from Paris, bran new breech- 

 loader, cartridge belt, cork hel- 

 met, pointer, leggings, and hunt- 

 ing knife. His daily round was along the hedgerows 

 outside of the forest, where he potted a few sparrows, 

 thrushes, and on rare occasions a rabbit. When I asked 

 why he did not go into the forest. I learned that it was 

 most rigidly preserved, and the fine for illegal shooting 

 therein was very heavy, with the possibility of imprison- 

 ment. 



"And how do you account for all these?" said I, indi- 

 cating the red deer antlers that hung about the wall. 



"Oh," said my host, with a wink, "it is all right when 

 the deer come out of the forest on our crops. Then we 

 are free to shoot, and if one escapes wounded we are free 

 to follow into the forest with a dog, but not with a gun." 



Then in a further conversation I learned of a plan they 

 have for getting hares and other small denizens of the 

 woods that come out on the fields at nights to feed. By 

 pre-arrangement a dozen peasants sally forth stealthily 

 about 3 in the morning, each carries a "bundle of sharp- 

 ened sticks, and on the end of each stick is a little white 

 flag. One of these is planted every 5 or 6ft. along the 

 edge of the woods, so that any creature already out 

 feedmg is afraid to approach this line of fluttering 

 white, as the dawn breaks and is found to hide in the 

 hedgerows and small covers, where the sportsmen find it 

 n the morning, 



T listened to various tales of exploits in the capture of 

 small game with the flag barrier, and of large game ou 

 rare occasions by lying out all night in the turnips, till I 

 was thoroughly aroused. Satan entered into my heart, 

 and — well, as I aaid before, I am a poacher at bottom and 

 I am weak — my paleolithic instincts lie very near the 

 surface, and at length, referring to the right of killing 

 deer on the fields I said, "Bat why don't you decoy them 

 out of the woods, at this season it should be easy?" 



But they had never heard of such a thing, and were 

 quite incredulous, so much so that when I volunteered 

 to go out and try, neither my host nor any of his poach- 

 ing friends were willing to accompany me. However, 

 the hostess, a buxom dame in the prime of life, an- 

 nounced her intention of seeing whatever sport might 

 turn up, Her example influenced another young woman, 



"IS THIS GOOD TO EAT?" 

 From a Photograph by Mr. C. E. H. Bret.sfohd. 

 (Forest and Stream Amateur Photography Competition. — No, 1.) 



whereupon the dude sportsman volunteered as escort, 

 and of course I was accompanied by my own friend 

 Christy, who had been with me on the prairies of Mani- 

 toba. We sallied forth about 10 o'clock at night, and 

 at once realized that unfortunately there was no moon. 

 My armament consisted of the pointed pike of my 

 sketching umbrella and a long glass lamp chimney bor- 

 rowed from the hostess. Of course they were very 

 curious to know the purpose of the chimney, however, I, 

 with a well known human weakness for making a 

 mystery of trifles, did not tell them, but when at length 

 well into the forest, I put it to my lips and poured through 

 it a perfectly blood-curdling roar, beginning in a low 

 bellow, rising into a scream, as the end of the extempor- 

 ized horn described an elegant figure 8 in air, breaking 

 the voice in the waist of the 8 and rumbling away into a 

 prolonged guttural growl as the horn described the last 

 curve upward to a finish. It was charming. I knew I 

 had hit it all right— and after a little while, from away 

 off on a dark hillside, came a rolling answer to my chal- 

 lenge that was nearly as artistic as my own. 



This was a little victory for me already, and my 

 friends chuckled over the success. After waiting then 

 for the proper interval prescribed by cervine etiquette, I 

 bellowed again in a manner worthy of ten-point antlers, 



There could be no mistake about it. I was in for a fight, 

 for the answering roars came rapidly nearer and nearer, 

 and there was a vicious twang in them now that was 

 suggestive of a duel to the finish. In the meantime my 

 French friends, discoursing in low tones, related sundry 

 incidents of how such and such were maimed for life or 

 had met their death at the horns of a stag, at this very 

 season and close to this very place. Their uncanny tales, 

 together with the blackness of the moonless night and 

 the horrid effect of that roaring voice, only 290yds. away 

 now, began to make us feel rather nervous, for we were 

 quite unarmed, and there can be no doubt that a stag at 

 tuis season and in the night, is not to be trifled with. 

 Nevertheless I continued to bugle, and now began to in- 

 tersperse a few angry snorts, for I did want to see the 

 beast if possible. Besides, the dude now informed us 

 that he had his revolver with 

 him and this gave us fresh cour- 

 age. -Sol slashed the near shrub- 

 bery with my horns and snorted 

 and dared the other fellow to 

 come on. But he would not 

 leave the shelter of a wood a 

 hundred yards away at the other 

 side of a small plain, although 

 he seemed to be now in a 

 screaming rage, if one might 

 judge by his snorts and roars. 

 At length it occurred to me that 

 he might have our wind, al- 

 though there was scarcely any, 

 so I changed to a different side 

 of the plain and sent another 

 challenge reverberating across 

 the open. It was instantly 

 answered and now we knew he 

 was coming on. We prepared 

 to receive him, but not getting 

 any fresh signs for a minute or 

 two, I snorted, and immediately 

 afterward there was a trampling 

 of heavy feet close to; and out of 

 the darkness not 30ft. ahead 

 came a roar that sent a chill 

 down my back. It was too much 

 for us, we all got badly rattled. 

 One of the women, however, lit 

 a candle that with female fore- 

 thought she had brought, and 

 the dude emptied his revolver 

 rapidly at the place whence came 

 the roar. But the stag was not 

 to be frightened so easily, he 

 moved off a little way, certainly, 

 but not very far, and there re- 

 newed his screaming and bellow- 

 ing. Then he came to the scratch 

 again in evident fury, the tones 

 of his voice saying plainly that 

 he had come there on the dis- 

 tinct understanding that there 

 was to be a fight, and a fight he 

 meant to have. We began to 

 feel very uneasy, when we heard 

 him again coming after our re- 

 treating army, for the revolver 

 was empty now and the night 

 seemed darker than ever. How- 

 ever, our retreat proved more 

 rapid than his advance, and as I 

 bugled no more he soon was left 

 behind, and the only near sound 

 we heard was the clatter of 

 madame's wooden shoes when a 

 stick or stone chanced to lie in 

 her path. 



When at length we regained 

 one of the larger main roads 

 our buxom hostess surprised us 

 no little by suddenly breaking 

 forth into one of the most ribald 

 versions of "John Brown's Body" 

 that I ever heard. She had in- 

 nocently learned it from "an 

 American student who stayed 

 there last summer." However, 

 no one but myself and friend 

 understood a word of it, and her 

 pronunciation was so droll that 

 the song became simply laugh- 



1 able. 



As we entered the village, I, 

 at the suggestion of madame, 

 bugled up the main street and 

 snorted a few times. Next morn- 

 ing we learned that within ten 

 minutes after half the gunners 

 of the place had been out after 

 me with all sorts of arms and 

 ammunition. 



We also learned from the paper 

 of the day after that a man had 

 just been killed and two others mortally wounded by a 

 rutting stag in another well known forest. 



In the evening following I went out again with one 

 companion and a pitch-fork. This time I bugled up two 

 stags and held my place when I got them answering 

 each other. I heard them fighting about 300yds. away 

 but the night was so dark that there was no chance of 

 seeing them. About a week after this there was a good 

 moon, and I went out now in hopes of seeing the 

 creatures, but all in vain my screaming and bellowing 

 in elegantly rounded figures "of 8. I got not a single re- 

 sponse, and had to give it up. The rut was over for the 

 season. Ernest E. Thompson. 



A Wild Turkey's Fate. 



Norms, Tex,— Some of my friends, in hunting last fall, 

 found an immense turkey gobbler that had met his death 

 in a strange and tragic manner. He was found with his 

 head fast in the fork of a live-oak bush, his feet being 

 about a foot from the ground. When found he seemed to 

 have been dead not more than a day or two. My friends 

 supposed that he had jumped up to get an acorn, and in 

 doing so had got caught. It was a violent death, as was 

 evident by the way in which the surrounding brush, also 

 his wings, were torn up — Rio Diablo. 



