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FOREST AND STREAM. 



(Nov. 36, 1891. 



A QUAIL SHOOT IN HAPPY VALLEY. 



BY aEOEGE KENNEDY. 



WHEN it was over, and, indeed, while it was in 

 progress, I determined to tell the readers of 

 Forest AND Stream all about it. Not that the results 

 were so extraordinary as to challenge attention, but it 

 was a typical quail shoot in "Old Missouri;" and many 

 an Eastern man may like to know just what that im- 

 plies. 



In the first place, it implies a certain letter saying to 

 me, "Come Friday night and bring me something for my 

 cough, and don't forget Miss Fancy," which last is a little 

 spotted pointer descended from the Guelphs. Friday- 

 evening Fancy and 1 and the cough medicine and a quail 

 gun and a lot of E. C. shells got cff t ie train at the home 

 of the writer of the letter, whose c mgh entitles him to 

 be spoken of in these pages as the Invalid. The next 

 morning we drove six miles to a farmhouse on the edge 

 of the woods at the top of the hill bounding Happy Val- 

 ley on the north, where we put up the horse, and where 

 the Invalid coughed and was given something to quiet 

 him. 



With our pockets full of shells and fried chickens and 

 cigars and things we strode down into the valley and into 

 a cornfield, wherein was a patch of ragweed, and where- 

 in Fancy cautiously but firmly proceeded until taken with 

 an attack of ice cream, i e., frozen sweetness. Then the 

 Invalid and I tramped in ahead of her, and whirr! wrrrr! 

 away they went; that is, all but two, for I caught one in 

 my match box, and the Invalid killed another with a 

 whiff of cough medicine. Now, we intended to follow 

 up that covey, but when we started after it Fancy speed- 

 ily drew up on and pointed a brand new one of about 

 thirty souls, and apparently four wings to the soul. We 

 fired three barrels at them and a whiil of the Invalid's 

 breath and never got a feather. They pitched down in 

 the edge of the corn, and after counting noses they sat 

 down and leaned back against the stalks and went to 

 laughing at certain peculiarities of my appearance chat 

 I cannot be held responsible for and that are never men- 

 tioned even by my own family when I am near. Even 

 while Fancy crouched down to her point I heard a white 

 bellied infidel ortyx or a white-bellied orOdel sintax— I 

 disremember his name, as we say in Missouri — say some- 

 thing about some one being so cross-eyed he had to walk 

 cross-legged. And just then he saw me and started off 

 with his ribald crew through the interlaced cornstalks. I 

 kept my gaze riveted on a wart on a dead tree off to one 

 side, and after that, whenever any of his survivors saw 

 me looking at a knot on a log they broke straight for the 

 knot, which probably accounts for the awful time I had 

 finding a quail, hereinafter mentioned, and which 

 accounts for the further fact that this is the only quail 

 shoot I ever told about or heard anybody else tell about 

 where I didn't take out twenty-seven shells and bring in 

 twenty-six birds, the shells counted by a justice of the 

 peace and the birds by a notary public. And in this con- 

 nection I would say that while we had two hundred and 

 ten shells with us, it has been thought best to say noth- 

 ing about the birds we missed, but simply to say that in 

 such and such a flock were certain individual members 

 with a permit from the mayor to shoot up a dark alley, 

 which they shot. 



The second and choked barrel of my gun was fired at 

 the flock as they flashed into view across the corn-row 

 out in the open, and after picking up the remains of the 

 insulting remark above mentioned. Fancy went out there 

 and picked up one of those personages who make it pos- 

 sible to slander innocent young men by listening to the 

 slanderer; and close beside him lay a second cousin of his 

 wife's, a victim to evil associations. The rest of them 

 went down in a little gully and organized into a parlia- 

 mentary body, and began making speeches about the un- 

 sportsmanlike way I had of shooting — aiming at Dan and 

 killing Beersheba,so to speak; and just as Fancy stiffened 

 out, a couple of them tried to get the floor at the same time, 

 and, with a blood-curdling glance at Alpha, I pulled my 

 gun around in the other direction and knocked Omaha 

 across on the bluffs. The Invalid made a neat double on 

 Alpha and another one with his gun, and missed the 

 chairman with his cough medicine, but hit the dog, who 

 fell in her tracks. She recovered by the time our guns 

 were reloaded, and almost immediately the committee on 

 ways and means started to find a way out of the gully 

 (and right here let me remark that this was the first com- 

 mittee of like name I have ever known to trouble itself 

 about anything but the means). The one I shot at to the 

 right went around the bend with his hand pressed against 

 the seat of his pants in an attitude indicative of pain, and 

 a few minutes later Fancy casually picked him up in the ' 

 edge of the corn. The one to the left pitched headlong 

 into the blackness of death, the kind of a shot that is 

 sportsmanlike and humane, and the only kind the In- 

 valid need ever make if he would only put away his gun 

 and use that .45 caliber cough-medicine breath of his ex- 

 clusively. 



And this brings me to the truly humiliating episode 

 above alluded to. While the Invalid was polishing oft' 

 one of the few remaining ribalds, the very last one we 

 saw started oft" down the gully, and at the crack of my 

 gun a veritable cloud of feathers remained in view, and 

 upon taking Fancy to the spot she disdainfully sniffed at 

 the feathers and was for hurrying off toward the corn- 

 field we came from. After repeated commands to her to 

 fetch that dead bird, and repeated refusals. I hereby state 

 with sorrow that my superior human intelligence led me 

 to the conclusion that here was a case of palpable canine 

 insurrection calling for extreme measures, and I whipped 

 my brave little pointer with an air of virtuous righteous- 

 ness that now makes me feel so contemptible that I would 

 not tell it, save in the hope it wdl be a lesson to the owner 

 of some other good dog. For, when we proceeded a 

 hundred yards down the gully Fancy suddenly appeared 

 at the top of the bank, having jumped up on a log, and 

 for a brief instant she stood there outlined against the 

 sky, looking perhaxjs for me, but I rather imagined at 

 me, with the dead quail in her mouth. 



The Invalid said, "If I owned that dog I would die 

 happy and so would she, for I would never whip her 

 again if we both lived a hundred years." 



Do you know, fellow son of a gun, that the nicest part 

 of a quail shoot in Happy Valley is the humorous atti- 

 tude of your dog? Talk about the presiding elder at a 



camp meeting! Why, he's nowhere. You might think 

 he was full of business until you saw Fancy or another 

 of her ilk. These dogs of ours do certainly teach men a 

 lesson in the absolute enthusiasm with which they do 

 their work. They are so dead in earnest that you can't 

 help looking at them and laughing; and the next moment 

 you suddenly cease to smile, for there comes a sense of 

 your human inferiority in this respect. I believe that 

 only a few men in every largo community possess the 

 quality of intensity that all our dogs display. They are 

 only careful when in the immediate presence of its neces- 

 sity; and at other times they throw themselves bodily 

 and spiritually at the duty in hand. 



Once the dog drew across a piece of stubble to a bushy 

 fence, jumped on the fence with her tiptoes and landed 

 on the ground on her very belly, pointing in her tracks. 



Another time I was on top of a gully and some scat- 

 tered birds flew to the Invalid, who was below me, one 

 of which he shot. Fancy went down there, and in a 

 moment I heard a cry, "Here! What do you mean steal- 

 ing my bird? Give it to me, sir." And then up in the 

 open hurried Miss Fancy, and as she came trotting along 

 with the bird, which she proudly thought she had secured 

 for the Kennedy family, she quickly slowed up to a walk, 

 a step more and she stopped in a dreamy, forgetful man- 

 ner, and then she was pointing with the dead bird of the 

 Invalid in her mouth. I swear it is the sight of a man's 

 life! In a second, and by the time I had called the In- 

 valid to see it, her lower jaw seemed to drop slightly, 

 because of her having passed quickly from the conscious- 

 ness of the stolen bird to the wrapt and absorbing influ- 

 ence of the live one in the briers, and the dead bird fell 

 unheeded to the ground. 



It was evening, and we found we had shot sjxty-flve 

 quail, and we were well content to go home. 



BASS FISHING IN THE GUADALUPE. 



''I^HE great Sanatarium of the Continent is southwest 

 JL Texas. Forty miles from the historic and unique 

 city of San Antonio with its Alamo, and Missions, and 

 Mexican plaza, are the Guadalupe Mountains, through 

 which flows the river of that name gurgling, leaping and 

 frolicking like a rivulet, until it settles down into a calm, 

 majestic river of the plains and placidly pours its waters 

 into the Gulf. 



These mountains, as they are called, although they are 

 really only hills, are 1,600ft. above the ocean, and the 

 temperature in sximmer is from twelve to fifteen degrees 

 lower than in San Antonio. The air is dry and absolutely 

 pure, without a suspicion of malaria. There is a tradition 

 in the neighborhood that a nomadic physician once settled 

 in Waring, a station on the Arkansas Pass Railroad, which 

 runs through the mountains, and built him an office, but 

 after six months without a patient he left in disgust. As 

 a resort for persons afflicted with throat or lung disease 

 it is unequalled. Deer, turkeys, quail and squirrel can 

 be found everywhere. The valleys are very fertile and 

 produce large crops of corn, cotton, oats and wheat, while 

 the mountains afford fine grazing, and are covered with 

 live oak, pecan, andpostoak trees. Water pure and sweet 

 is abundant. 



We caught our minnows near the ranch house in Syster 

 Creek, a tributary of the Guadalupe River, and after a 

 five-miles ride reached the mouth of Cypress Creek, where 

 we proposed to fish. It was an ideal spot for the fisher- 

 man, and we hurriedly jointed otir rods,' and adjusted 

 reels and lines for the sport. 



The side of the river on which we stood was level, with 

 thick weeds and undergrowth on the banks, except in one 

 place where an open, gravelly beach sloped to a clear 

 pool, at the foot of which the water dashed ov^r a cas- 

 cade as beautiful and romantic as the falls of Minnehaha. 

 On the opposite side of the river rose a wall of rock several 

 hundred feet high with miniature caves and pinnacles 

 jutting from the face, and evergreens holding a precarious 

 footing in the clefts and rifts. It was a wild scene, sel- 

 dom visited by man; one of those nooks yet left, where 

 the crash and roar of civilization cannot be heard. 



What interested us for the time, however, far more 

 than the scenery, was the sight of bass, some of them 

 quite large, floating lazily in the pool, and utterly indiff- 

 erent to our presence. It was evident that they had not 

 seen enough of our predatory race to be apprehensive 

 of danger. My friend, Mr. J. M. George of San Antonio 

 made the first cast, and immediately hooked a large- 

 mouthed black bass weighing a pound or perhaps a quarter 

 more, which he landed without ceremony. 



General Russ of San Antonio, an experienced and ener- 

 getic sportsman, had instinctively sought the place where 

 the little waterfall promised a congenial home for bass, 

 and in a few moments had caught quite a string, but none 

 of large size. 



Your correspondent, after catching a few small fish, 

 wandered up the stream and soon found deep water in a 

 long pool with lilies and other aquatic plants dotting the 

 surface. My tried and reliable split bamboo rod had been 

 left in Missouri, for I had not expected to use it on the 

 trip, and I had borrowed a showy jointed cane from Gen. 

 Russ, which was fair to look upon, but as deceitful and 

 uncertain as some other objects of alluring appearance 

 well known to all of us in our youth. After making one 

 or two casts with a large chub for bait, the objective point 

 being an eddy below a rock, the exact spot was reached, 

 and with the rush of a great bass he was hooked and 

 fighting for life. 



I have caught many large fish and game ones, but never 

 did I feel one that proved himself of royal blood more 

 distinctly than this Monarch of the Guadalupe. With 

 nerves strung and blood tingling I watched every point 

 in the fight and was confident of victory, but in trying to 

 prevent the fish from reaching some roots and brush I 

 was forced to give him the butt of the rod, when the 

 treacherous joint next to the tip snapped, and the prize 

 escaped. It is useless to dwell upon the disgusting mem- 

 ory, or to spend time conjecturing what the fish weighed. 

 He is gone, thanks to that gaudy cheat of a rod, and if I 

 have any wish to express on the subject now, it is that 

 I could hook and play for a few moments the fellow who 

 made the rod. 



We had brought with us from the ranch the necessary 

 cooking utensils, and our colored driver, Ike, than whom 

 abetter outdoor cook, or more worthy man does not live, 

 soon had ready a dinner of fried fish fresh from ice-cold 

 water, with bread, butter and strong coffee, which "would 

 have put an appetite in the jaws of death." 



My rod was past mending, but after dinner I wandered 



again up the river, and near some water lilies hooked a 

 three-pounder which I landed after a hard fight with one 

 joint of the rod gone. Altogether we caught thirty' bass, 

 and as the la«t rays of the sun kissed the tree tops in tlie 

 valley, started for the ranch. 



There is nothing startling or picturesque in our day's 

 experience, but I cannot resist contributing the simple, 

 uneventful story. Every true fisherman will appreciate 

 my motive. 



I have no quarrel with those who enjoy deep sea fishing 

 or the slaughter of the Lakes with the tug and strain of 

 the line, and the soggy weight of the victim; de gusUbus 

 non est disputandum, but for myself, I would not ex- 

 change one day on the banks of a clear, cool river with 

 an occasional strike, for all the deep sea fishing since the 

 whale swallowed Jonah. G. G, Vest. 



Washington. 



A TRANS-CONTINENTAL RUN-I. 



FEELING the need of a tonic last spring, instead of 

 buying a bottle of quinine and iron or Virginia 

 bitters, I packed my comb and brush and hied me away 

 westward. Chartering a part of a Northern Pacific train 

 from Chicago, and viewing as much of northern Wiscon- 

 sin and the States to the westward as possible from the 

 car window; calling at St. Paul, sliding across the vast 

 flat of Dakota, gazing upon the farmer as he plowed the 

 sultry globe and obliterated the tenantless buffalo 

 wallow, winding among the buttes and bad lands of 

 Montana, renewing our acquaintance with the ever 

 lovable Rockies, enjoying fleeting visions of peak, cataract 

 and canon, pausing a brief moment at Spokane Falls, 

 rising from her a?hes in beauty and solidity; slipping along 

 down through eastern Washington to the crossing of the 

 famed Columbia at Pasco ("keep your eve on Pasco"), 

 where the fond hopes and disappeared dollars of so many 

 enthusiastic and confiding tenderfeet lie buried in the 

 sand; on through as desolate a section of the State as the 

 engineers could discover, so as not to waste any grazing 

 or agricultural land; passing through Yakima; and follow- 

 ing the beautiful bending of the same named river ; getting 

 our first view of majestic Rainier and Adams, throwing a 

 great big hush over most everything in the Northwest as 

 they gazed in cold contemplation from the vasty solitudes 

 where there are no summer hotels nor invalid matutinal 

 coffee; on through the Sierras via Stampede Pass, down 

 the Green, up the Stuck; and so in due time, and just on 

 time, we rolled into phenomenal Seattle; Seattle tliat, ris- 

 ing from her misfortunes and desolation by the aid of all 

 the insurance money and everything she was able to 

 beg or borrow from the East, now "sits upon her seven 

 (or seventeen) hills, and from her throne of beauty rules 

 the world" (tnde any Seattle paper). Her streets are all 

 up and down. 1 got so tired using traces and breeching 

 that I had to go away. But there are blocks of magnifi- 

 cent buildings there, that would adorn any city on earth 

 (or in the planets, as far as I am aware), and filled with 

 stocks of goods adequate for a city of half a million 

 people, and doing business, when I was there, on a basis 

 of twenty thousand. Since the great fire Seattle has just 

 "stirred her stumps," or at least a few of them, though 

 there are some left yet, a matter of, say, a couple of 

 thousand per acre, in the resident portion. They have 

 blasted out most of them on the business streets. She has 

 steamship lines running to the ends of the earth, and 

 cable and electric cars ditto to the ends of the city. The 

 view from any one of the elevations of the city, of harbor 

 shipping, sound, and snow-clad Olympic Mountains, is 

 calculated to arouse enthusiasm. 



I jumped aboard the Oregon and traveled down tlie 

 Sound. I disembarked at Fairhaven, and wandered 

 round and round, and heard the real estate boomers, and 

 saw the devastation they had wrought among the timber 

 in order that they might sell lots to tenderfeet. It was a 

 sad spectacle. I think they call this the "Pivotal City."' 

 Seattle is the "City of Destiny," Tacoma the "Focal 

 City," and so on. Fairhaven is all hill and hollow, as 

 usual, and has lota for sale away out on the mountains, 

 where the wolves yowl, the tigers roar and the bears pic- 

 nic the year round. She has a monster hotel, while the 

 city is in its swaddling clothes, but kicking vigorously to 

 get out. Electric lights and water works, of course. 

 "Keep your eye on Fairhaven." 



Whatcom is two or three miles north. It was lately 

 married to Sehome, a little hamlet between the other 

 two. Whatcom is considerably larger than Fairhaven. 

 It cuts me to the heart to say it, but I must. The topog- 

 raphy of Whatcom would seem to suggest a better loca- 

 tion for a large town than that of the other place. It 

 grieves me to say this also, for I would further harmony, 

 but not at the expense of veracity. 



But one of the things I started out to say is this: Flow- 

 ing from Lake Whatcom, about three miles from the 

 citj, is Whatcom Creek, and what would a creek be 

 doing away out there if it had no trout in it? I would 

 try it, and I did. It was too early for fly-fishing. I took 

 a piece of beef and cut an alder pole. I had a line and 

 hook fortunately among my impedimenta, and I went up 

 the creek as far as I could well go without ruining all 

 my clothes, for the traveling was exhaustive. I fished a 

 while with beef, and then put on a fly, which I found 

 concealed on my person, and threshed around with that , 

 a while without encouragement. In my rambling I spied 

 a cabin in the middle of a twenty-acre swamp, and I 

 cornered it. The swamp was cleared and dotted with 

 pools of water. I approached. No cheerful wreath of 

 smoke curled from the chimney, no fowls cackled a wel- 

 come, no honest watch dog bayed a protest. An axe 

 stuck in a log. Near the door was an assortment of 

 household goods promiscuous, and quite a collection of 

 soiled garments for washing. Silence and a foreboding 

 of trouble brooded over the scene. I knocked. No reply, 

 no movement. I repeated. There was a slight rustling 

 inside, and presently, slowly, steps approached, the door 

 opened, and there stood a woman holding her infant on 

 one arm, motionless, its head lying on her shoulder. She 

 trembled as she stood with one hand against the door 

 post to steady herself, and apologized for her appearance 

 and delay in responding to my knock; and I felt like a 

 culprit as I apologized in turn. She wearily passed her 

 hand over her forehead, saying she was quite weak from 

 an attack of fever, that the baby was suffering also, and 

 another child on the bed was ill, but some better than 

 yesterday. There were household articles in that one 

 room sufficient to furnish two or three. Her husband 

 had gone to town for some needed articles. They had 

 come from Nebraska, where, she said with a regretJul 



