Sept. 9, 1893.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



207 



Mexican women. The women rose to a sitting posture as 

 we came in and coolly rolled and lighted cigarettes. 



Hastily explaining our situation we told the man of the 

 house that we wanted a team to talve us to Santa Fe. In 

 the course of an hour an old wagon was produced with a 

 span of miserable ill-conditioned ponies attached, and in 

 this vehicle we were jerked and jolted into Santa Fe in 

 the small hours of the morning, where we were pleased 

 to learn that our illustrious driver had arrived at 6 o'clock 

 the preceding evening. F, T. W. 



WITH THE DUCKS IN WARNER VALLEY. 



Fort Bidwell, Cal.— In the faU of 1892 I had had but 

 five days vacation in as many years. A friend had fre- 

 quently urged my wife to visit h'er in Warner Valley, 

 Oregon, and to bring me with her. On Oct. 12 I threw 

 my pen into the waste basket, left the store in charge of 

 ray most indulgent partner, and set out for Warner. We 

 started in the morning at about 9 o'clock. We were both 

 80 anxious to go that the cold north wind and cloudy sky 

 had no terrors for us. My wife, baby, myself, gun, two 

 valises and 200 cartridges made ■ quita a load for a single 

 two- wheeled vehicle. 



Our friends declared we would be "almost dead" before 

 we had driven over thirty-two miles, but my wife had 

 often ridden twenty-five miles after stock over the moun- 

 tains, and I was always considered to be prettj' tough 

 while a vaquero,'so we made the trip over the hills pretty 

 comfortably, arriving at the Sessions ranch at 3 o'clock in 

 the afternoon. Warner Valley is about fifty mUes long 

 and from four to six miles wide. It is surrounded for the 

 most part by high nm rocks. About fourteen or fifteen 

 mUes from the south end is a low line of hills and butts 

 running east and west, dividing the valley into North and 

 South Warner. The Sessions ranch is 'upon a hillside 

 which slopes into the valley, and from the house can be 

 seen a perfect network of lakes and sloughs. 



The afternoon I spent in prospecting the ranch, but I 

 was sorely tempted to try my luck by the white patches 

 of snow geese, about half a mile from the house. That 

 night we were awakened by a knock upon our bedroom 

 door and were informed by Mr. Sessions that the dog had 

 treed a goose. Wonderingly I put on my clothes, slipped 

 two cartridges into my gun, some more into my pocket 

 and followed my host out to the garden, from which 

 proceeded the sound of the dog's bark, and what Charlie 

 Sessions declared was an unmistakable goose smell. The 

 dog in his zeal chased the game through the fence, in 

 following jumped over the fence, on to it, and for the 

 succeeding twenty-foxir hours was placed in durance vile. 

 I shot the goose by the aid of a lantern, but never before 

 was aware that geese had bushy tails, nor that they were 

 sometimes black, striped with white, as Charlie stoutly 

 declared they often were. 



In the morning we rose at 7 o'clock, and the remark 

 was made that I deserved to go home empty-handed for 

 my laziness in not having gone to the lakes before day- 

 light. My host excused me by saying that our goose hunt 

 during the night had probably made me sleepy. 



Fortune favored me, however, by sending a heavy west 

 wind, accompanied by occasional snow squalls. 



Arriving at the first water on the meadow about 9 

 o'clock, I bagged two mallards as they arose from the 

 nearest pond. 



I intended going direct to a round lake fringed with 

 tules, which I had seen from the house; but I was delayed 

 on the way by shooting at the ducks as they rose from the 

 shallow pond in my course. They were very tame, and it 

 is a fact that in one instance when 1 had killed two out of 

 three as they rose, the third one returned seeking its com- 

 panions, and I was compelled to touch it with my foot to 

 make it fly. 



Upon arriving at the Eound Lake, I saw upon the water 

 scores of mallards and teal, while others constantly sailed 

 in over my head with the wind, seeking shelter from the 

 passing squall and driving snow. Four of these were shot 

 out of a possible six, as they flew over me. I then started 

 to try and wade to them. While walking up to my thighs 

 in water, my forward foot came in contact with a snag; 

 and I plunged forward full length into the lake, gun and 

 all. Recovering myself by pushing with the gun on the 

 muddy bottom, I waded boldly into the middle of the 

 lake, up to my waist in water. As the storm thickened, 

 the ducks continued to come in, and paid no attention to 

 me. I soon became chilled through, and picking ui> my 

 twenty ducks struck out for the house. 



On the afternoon of the same day I passed the lake in 

 which I had taken my morning bath, and going farther 

 north shot several ducks as they flew over, going from 

 one to the other of the two largest lakes, the sm-faces of 

 which were literally covered with them. During the 

 three days we stayed at the Sessions ranch I shot many 

 ducks, and saw more than I had ever seen before. 



On the third day I killed two snow geese as the flock 

 arose, and upon pacing the distance found it to be 105 

 steps. My gun is a 9Albs. 10-gauge, and was loaded with 

 No. 6 shot. Pretty strong shooting, I thought it. 



On the fourth day of our stay in Warner we regi-et- 

 fuUy packed our vaUses, and struck out for North Wai-ner 

 to visit friends whom we had promised to visit at our 

 earliest opportunity. I say regretfully, because we had 

 had a most pleasant visit and had been informed that 

 there were not many ducks in North Warner. 



The scenery on the way was grand, and it has been 

 described in Forest and Stream by my friend Mr. A. C. 

 Lowell. 



We drove over the twenty miles of road from the 

 Session ranch north to Honey Creek, by twelve o'clock, 

 and were warmly welcomed. After dinner Mr. Toiming- 

 sen (who had never shot a dtick) and myself rode horse- 

 back to the lake two nules east of the ranch, and not 

 expecting to see much game took only twenty cartridges. 

 Tying our horses back from the shore, we walked to the 

 lake and lay down in the tules by a cave, from w^hich the 

 noise of our walking through the tides had frightened 

 several ducks. 



The sun was shining and the lake, upon whose surface 

 the mountains two or three mUes distant was reflected, 

 made a pretty picture. While we were conversing in a 

 low tone, a small flock came in; and as they put out their 

 feet to fight I got one, scoring a miss with the left barrel. 



We stayed about an hour, the ducks coming over fre- 

 quently; and although I expended my twenty cartridges 

 we took home only eleven ducks, having missed many 

 easy shots. My friend retrieved the ducks, swimming his 

 horse into the water to pick them up, and as he was 



reaching for the last one the old horse, having gotten 

 beyond his depth and bein^ tired of that sort of thing, 

 turned quickly and threw his rider on one side, wetting 

 him to the waist. 



On the following day, my two friends having work to 

 do, I started out alone on the same horse I had used the 

 day before; and as he stood fire well I felt that I would 

 not be left afoot. Going straight to the lake I got only 

 one mallard drake during the entire morning. At the 

 dischai'ge of the gun a large flock of Canada geese arose 

 from the marsh before me, and as they flew leisurely 

 away said Ah-unh. 



Having noticed that aU the ducks we had seen the day 

 before were traveling north, I struck out in that du-ec- 

 tion. At the road going east to the Alexander and 

 Wilson ranch, I fell in with Mi-. Alexander, who told 

 me to go northwest to the old slough and shoot ducks 

 until I was tired. I accordingly rode straight toward 

 the Hue of low buttes that marked the course of the 

 slough tlirough the sage-brush desert, up to the first 

 butte, tied my horse to a large sage-brush and walked 

 to the top overlooking the water. The summer having 

 been a long, dry one, the slough had partly dried up, 

 leaving a string of ponds from iOOyds. to 250yds. apart. 

 I had struck the first one and upon its surface not 50yds. 

 from me were hundreds of mallards, teal, widgeon, etc. 

 As they arose with a roar, a double discharge brought 

 down four. 



My horse pulled up the sage-brush and ran off to join 

 a bunch of wild horses that had been grazing near by, 

 and were now running from the sound of" my gun. 

 Knowing that it meant a walk of four miles in my hip 

 boots, carrying my gun and what ducks I would kiU, 

 but realizing that such shooting was seldom experienced 

 by any one, I philosophically concluded to enjoy it. 

 The ducks wheeled and wheeled again, flying over me 

 at close range, but their number was onlv two less after 

 six discharges. Not very good shootmg, you think? 

 No, I am not much of a shot. I walked to the next 

 pond, keeping behind the greasewood knolls, and as I 

 gained the top of the ridge there was another roar of 

 wings, as the ducks arose by hundreds. For two hours 

 1 simply loafed around those ponds shooting and watch- 

 ing the ducks fly around me. I shot 25 shots and took 

 home only 15 ducks. If I had had plenty of ammuni- 

 tion and the inclination to do so I could have killed 

 scores of ducks, but I never did enjoy kflling birds sim- 

 ply to let them rot. 



This string of ponds was about ten miles long. There 

 were about thirty ponds from 100 to 200yds. wide and 

 they were only about 2ft. deep. 



The foUoAving day Mr. Tonningsen, my wife and I went 

 horseback to find the horse that had gotten away from 

 me the day before. We rode the entire length of the 

 string of ponds and there were certainly thousands of 

 ducks — many more than I had ever seen, even on Chesa- 

 peake Bay. We rode about twenty miles and upon our 

 retm-n to the ranch were greeted by a fi-iendly neigh from 

 the horse for which we had been hunting. Having become 

 hungry, and not being able to eat with a Spanish bit in 

 his mouth, he had come home. 



We drove the entire distance to Bidwell next day, and 

 on the way through North and South Warner saw 

 thousands of geese and ducks. I have thought of my 

 experience many times since and I believe that I am 

 right when I say that North Warner is the very best 

 place in America to hrmt wildfowl, G. H. A. 



COURSING AN OLD TRAIL. 



Yes, it's great sport, and as we live over again in 

 memory the delightful days we have only to regret that 

 there were not more of them, and that there are so 

 plaguey few of them nowadays. We are apt, at this dis- 

 tance, to forget the hardships and the perils, and remem- 

 ber only the fascinating, exhilarating sport; the noble 

 antlered buck, the fair doe, the wily fox, the toothsome 

 'possum; what cared we for the hours spent knee deep in 

 snow, the toil through pathless wood, for summer's heat 

 or winter's coldV 



Our little party stood together upon a knoll that com- 

 manded a view of a heavy piece of woodland upon one 

 side, a neat farmhouse and outbuildings to the right, 

 while far away to the northward stretched a vast swamp, 

 a grassy marsh bordering its southwesterly edge. The 

 light frost of an October morning lingered upon the fresh 

 fallen leaves, and the scene as it lay stretched before us 

 was an insi)iring one. The blood tingled in the veins and 

 each was impatient to strike the winning pace. 



"We had best drive the swamp first," said Bob, "for 

 just north of the orchard I crossed a fresh trail leading 

 du-ectly into it, and the streakers would have gone away 

 with it if I hadn't flogged them off." 



"What for a trail would it be now?" asked doubting 

 Thomas, the Falstaffian owner of the 20-pound rifle, as 

 he larought it to the ground with a bang, "a striped squir- 

 rel or a field mouse, for I don't believe there's a deer 

 within a mile of this plantation." 



"Just one buck and two does, old Falstaff," replied 

 Bob, "and I want to say to you right here that my hounds 

 don't follow vermin — no, nor pork either." 



"Now, don't get hot under the collar at trifles, Bob," 

 said Falstaff', shaking his fat sides with a jolly laugh; "I 

 didn't mean nothin' personal, you know, and if you say 

 them's deers in the swamp, why let's drive 'em out and 

 butcher 'em by powder 1" 



"I hope you don't call yourself a trifle," muttered Bob, 

 as he moved away toward the dark trees, calling his dogs 

 after him. 



Ah! those hounds! How sleek and supple they looked! 

 How plainly I see them now through the soft haze of 

 thirty-five years! How many times have I hstened to 

 their fierce cry, driving the quarry to its death, and 

 scattering the thick fur of Sir Fox. Here, yonder they 

 go, trotting demurely at Beb's heels, wagging their 

 featliery sterns as though they meant nothing but good 

 will to all on earth. Smooth, sweet-voiced hypocrites, 

 how we aU love them! As they follow their master 

 toward the upper end of the swamp, let us take a glance 

 at the bipeds of our party. First in weight and condi- 

 tion is the redoubtable Thomas, already noticed, who in 

 consideration of his physical ponderosity, places himself 

 at the point nearest the knoll. Next beyond him and 

 further out in the open marsh is the stand of our yoimg 

 Connecticut friend Barker, gotten up in a stunning man- 

 ner as to wardrobe and equipped with a double rifle. 

 Beside him, and nearly hidden bv the branches of a fal- 



len oak, IS the post of Jack Stevens, at that day perhaps 

 the most unerrmg shot and the most accomplished woods- 

 man in the Old Dominion. Dressed in a suit of gray 

 homespun and leaning motionless on his rifle, his spare 

 form is scarcely distinguishable froni the dead branches 

 that surround him. Lastly, and furthest from the orig- 

 inal point, is the station of old Jim Skinner, the greatest 

 fox hunter of that section, with his hoimds and his long 

 wooden-stocked rifle, which was a terror in his accus- 

 tomed hands. 



Hardly had they reached their respective poste when 

 Bob's voice was heard hallooing to his hounds: "He-e-e-r-e 

 back, Vaughan! to heel! Back, Minnie, back, I say''' 

 But in vain did he call and lash; two or three of the 

 quick-scented creatiu-es straying too near the swamp had 

 their more than suspicions aroused, and throwing up their 

 heads had plunged into the thicket and were soon fol- 

 lowed by the rest, regardless of Bob's voice and commands 

 and whip. After the first moment of tumidt all was still. 

 Dick had gone in to hunt the dogs; the standers had sunk 

 sdently mto the alder bushes that skirted the marsh, and 

 I was left standing upon the knoll alone in my glory, the 

 sohtary spectator of the scene. Presently a disturbed iay 

 flew chattermg from the tamaracks to the northward of 

 my post, and directly after a doubtful whimper from a 

 famihar voice came floathig up the air. That was Max; 

 then came a bold, decisive note of challenge from another 

 throat; that was Locksley. Directly Fidele gave tongue, 

 followed by voice after voice accusing in turn the scent, 

 until the whole pack, opening into full cry, came away 

 southward with their game, making the woods ring with 

 the mad music of their trumpet tones. How the blood 

 goes coursing through our veins again at the revived pic- 

 ture upon memory's tablets! How clear is each familiar 

 voice, each voice that, often as it has spoken to us— has 

 never once lied. No, there was never even an equivoca- 

 tion there— there was conviction in every syllable. 



Ha! there was a shot, well meant, but badly executed, 

 and as the smoke cleared away far down the swale, a doe 

 broke cover and made to cross the marsh to the land be- 

 yond. Puff! puff! A clean miss, yoimg Barker, a little 

 too high, to judge from the quick dodge of the active 

 deer, who dropped at the first barrel and jumped back 

 toward the swamp at the second, tail flying and head well 

 up, leapmg long and high. Another pipeful of white 

 smoke— ha! there's no mistake about that sign. The sud- 

 den dropping of the flag, the convulsive contraction of 

 the hmbs ki midair, the headlong plunge into the tall 

 grasses of the marsh, tell, before the crack of Jack's rifle 

 reaches me, that his bullet had been winged by death. 

 But the hounds have gone back to the north once morej 

 and the echoes of their fading voices are 



"Faint from farther distance borne," 

 until aU is still again, and nothing but the long thin line 

 of smoke floating across the open, remains to betray the 

 actors in the finished scene of Act 1. With rifle quickly 

 reloaded with his nicest care. Jack came out of the thicket 

 to bleed his game, but scarcely had he withdrawn his 

 knife from the sheath when his arm was held suspended 

 and his whole form as rigid as a statue. Struck motion- 

 less by the charm of a bell-like note wafted on the light 

 wind from the distant swamp, and then leaving the for- 

 est stiller than before. Hai'k, again! it is the fuU organ 

 tone that swells through the gothic arches of the woods, 

 constantly crescendo, until it develops into the grand 

 orchestral crash of the full cry, flatted suddenly by the 

 report of Bob's rifle in the distance, and then bursting 

 forth into fresh fury as if the pack would rend the very 

 heavens with their frantic melody. Noble and abundant 

 cause had they! From up the tufted ground streams the 

 reeking scent of as lordly a buck as ever foiled a hound. 

 Straight away before them he dashes, proud in the 

 security of his speed, recking naught of his dead love at 

 Jack's feet, naught of the other that Bob's rifle has • 

 ah-eady brought low, far away beneath the tamarack. 

 Onward he comes, flag and antlers high in au-, his bound- 

 ing flight to be compared to nothing in the world save 

 the long swelHng lines of ocean billows rushing to shore. 

 Broken cover! and as the ounce ball from fat Falstaff 's 

 rifle crashes through the branches, the gallant stag falls 

 earthward, as if its last plunge had been made. The pace 

 of the fat man, as he rushes toward his game, knife in 

 hand, is a killing one, but just as he reaches out to strike, 

 his ponderous body is overthrown by an unlucky branch 

 tripping the hm-rying feet, and the animal springs once 

 more to its feet, giving its sprawling foe a parting 

 salute with its hind legs— fairly snatching itself fi-om 

 the very jaws of the leading hounds, that are at 

 the heavy-weight's heels, when the miracle occurs. 

 The bullet, as is sometimes provokingly the case, had just 

 chipped the upper edge of one of the vertebrai at the neck, 

 and stunned the animal for a moment, which, now sound 

 as ever, is coming at a rattling pace directly up my knoll, 

 the hoi.mds running at sight, and well nigh mute from 

 very excitement. Of com-se, as the mark is running 

 straight at me, I fail to kill, though the bullet rips up the 

 hide on the left side and causes him to double quickly upon 

 the dogs, and make for the cover whence he so lately 

 issued. To reach it he must pass within 1 00yds. of Fal- 

 staff, who is to mad too shoot. On he goes, past Jack and 

 gets another touch of lead but cannot fall, for the bitter 

 threats of his fast approaching foes drive him past Jim 

 Skinner's stand, where another wound awaits him. StUl 

 he stiaiggles gamely down the swale, though evidently 

 growing feebler at every stride, and as the hounds gain on 

 him, their full-mouthed chorus proclaims their victory. 

 Now Fidele is at his flank; one last struggle and he shakes 

 her off and wins; no,for Locksley and Max come dashing 

 at his throat; the beaten stag totters as the pack closes in, 

 and with a fimal rush and yeU of triumph, they pull hirn 

 down, srnearing their white teeth with his gore. 



Ten minutes more and we are grouped aroimd him, each 

 man pointing out upon the buckskin the red seal of his 

 particular shot; all save Falstaff, who rubbmg his battered 

 nose, rails against "the cussed deceivin' critter;" imtil 

 Bob's mocking voice silences him with: "Don't get mad 

 at trifles, Tom; he didn't mean nothin'," which came so pat 

 that he could not withstand the drollery of the thing but 

 joined in the loud and long laugh at his expense. 



It is indeed many a long year smce those deer were 

 done to death; long since I listened to the music of that 

 noble pack; but often 



"When the hours of day are numbered", 

 fancy calls up the scenes of their stirrmg victories; the deer 

 flit Uke shadows past the forest glades, and the well 

 remembered voices of those faultless hounds float upward 

 through the menigries of the past, Fra:nk HEYWOOn. 



