Sept. 16, 1893.J 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



227 



and still heavier rifle said, "Now. Doc'or, you come wid 

 me. Me fine good place for you stan'." 



We went up through the Woods for nearly half a mile. 

 Near the lake it was composed of maples, beeches, ashes 

 and other hard woods. These gave place to spruce and 

 firs, and in one place quite a grove of hackmatacks. 

 Then we reached a small barren tract. At least it seemed 

 small in width, though how far it extended I had no idea. 

 Coming to the edge of this and at one end (it seemed) 

 Nuel said, "Now, Doc'or, me fine you good place for 

 Stan' here. Have rest for gun. Good place for sit. Cover 

 over head. Nice place for watch um moose. He mose 

 like come up dare. Be sure you hit him if he comes. No 

 more chance if you miss." 



It was indeed a nice place, as the Indian described it 

 when he placed me. A fallen tree was just in front, sup- 

 ported on its decaying branches and about 4ft. high. 

 -Then a stUl older fallen monarch and much lower than 

 this was just behind it, so as to form a capital seat just 

 behind this. When we had trimmed some of the limbs off 

 it niade a capital back to my bench. 



No sportsman ever had a nicer place to watch from. I 

 was perfectly screened and in as easy a position as a man 

 could aak. The only thing was that should I hit a moose 

 and wound him it would be utterly impossible for me to 

 get to him. I could not climb over all the dead trees that 

 were around me in the dark nor push my way through the 

 dense underbrush. 



As Nuel left me he said, "Now, Doc'or, me go long way 

 from you. W'en you shoot, me come. You stay here. 

 Gun load wid ball. Eifle, too. Hope you hab luck." 



With this he was oE, and left me alone again to my 

 reflections. It was still light enough for me to see the 

 scarlet of the maple trees around me (especially the 

 smaller one that grew a little way out on the barren) with 

 the yellow of the birches and the red of the blu -^berries; 

 that seemed to complete the landscape in one direc- 

 tion. 



1 do not know how lotlg I had been sitting here before 

 I heard Nuel's first call: It seemed to me a yery long 

 time though, and the call appeared very distant. 1 only 

 Concluded that it was Nuel's from the direction he had 

 taken when he left me, and from the fact that it was in 

 the opposite direction from which the moose was to come. 

 But what was that sound that came from far off, over by 

 those shadowy hills to my left, quo-oh, quo-oh, and 

 echoed so singularly on the evening air? I must listen. I 

 must listen. 



After quite a pause then comes the call, and then the 

 reply again, only much nearer. He is coming, I say to 

 myself. Again and again I hear the call, and then 'the 

 reply. I think I hear the breaking of branches in the 

 distance, as though some one was thrashing the limbs of 

 a dead tree with a stick. 



But now all sounds cease to my right. I hear Nuel, but 

 he gets no reply. The moon is shkiing out brightly; it is 

 only two nights from the full, and is nearly behind me 

 now, throwing her light out on the barren and leaving 

 my hiding place in almost total obdcurii^*^. 



J list at my right, where the moose was expected to 

 came from, the barren sloped down quite abruptly, imtil 

 it met the trees that grew by a small water course. I had 

 been trying to watch this edge of taller growth very care- 

 fully, so as to be prepared should a moose walk out. As 

 it was now I could not keep a good eye on it. The moon 

 from her position, and a tree that cast its shadow near 

 me, obstructed the view. And there would be no time to 

 prepare if a moose should come out from behind the ob- 

 jectionable tree, he would see a motion at once, if he did 

 not scent my hiding place. ' But fortunately the wind, 

 that sighed over the barren and just shook the birch and 

 poplar leaves, was in my favor. 



But now I am nearly tired of watching and waiting, 

 and I guess Nuel is, too, for he has not called for some 

 time. But I think I hear something. It is something 

 like the swish of a bush when it is bent down and then 

 aUowed to resume its position, as it springs upward. I 

 have thought I heard the same thing a dozen times since 

 I have been sitting and standing here, and have got aU 

 ready again and again, only to be disappointed. How- 

 ever, I will get ready again, I say, and bring my gun to 

 bear upon that objectionable tree. May be the fact that I 

 had made ready so often, only to be disappointed, steadied 

 my nerves now, I certainly did not expect to see anv- 

 thing. 



But what is that tall thing with branching horns that 

 walks out so quietly just as I have brought my rifle to 

 bear in the direction that it has pointed so many times 

 to-night? What an immense size I See those ears bent 

 forward to catch every breath of sound! See that head 

 slightly turned aside ! See that stealthy listemng attitude ! 

 But steady. Now! Far and near the report echoes, and 

 I hear the loons call upon the lake. My moose vanishes 

 within the shade of the woods, and the smoke of the 

 powder rolls back in my face. 



I listen to my would-be victim for a few moments as 

 he goes crashing through the vmderbrush. The noise gets 

 fainter and fainter in the distance. Then all is quiet 

 a^in, except the loons. The question is, have I hit him, 

 t>v have I not? I am only conscious of the fact that when 

 I fixed the moose stumbled, or seemed to. This might 

 have been from fright or astonishment. And then I 

 thought I heard a choking as he turned. I must wait 

 until Nuel comes. I say witliin myself, "No man ever 

 had a better chance to kill his game — ^not a hundred yards 

 distant — m fuU view, and a rest for his gun." 



It was not long before I heard Nuel coming to me from 

 the direction he had taken in the early evenmg. His first 

 words were: "Well, Doc'or, you hab um shot? What 

 luck? You hab um shot afer me give up caU— was comin' 

 for you." 



I explained everything. When I got through his re- 

 mark was, "I 'ope you kill um. We go see." 



This was not such a very easy thing to do though, even 

 for an Indian. We had to climb over a perfect barricade 

 of dead trees, besides wending our way through the 

 scrubby bushes— that seemed as thick as jackstraws. 

 However, we had not far to go. We had hardly reached 

 the place before Nuel exclaimed. "Ugha, what datV" 

 And holding up his hand in the moonlight, said: "You 

 hit him. See dat blood." Then he added, "More blood. 

 You hit um bad." And as we turned around facing the 

 moon, and saw the blood glistening on the leaves all 

 around, he went on to say: "Doc'or, me dink you kill um 

 dat moose, sartin. You shoot um neck. He not run 

 berry far. You come see wid me. Me make um you 

 bark light in big wood," 



"O jes, 1 will go anywhere with you." And I do not 

 know that I ever felt more pleased to follow any one, 



I followed his steps to the edge of the woods, while 

 every little while he would repeat to himself, "Much 

 blood." When he reached the deep shade he said: "Now 

 make um bark light. Dat moose not go far. He bleed 

 um dead," 



However, he went further than he thought he would. 

 We had to make a good many bark torches, and it was 

 not until after twelve o'clock that Nuel said, "Dare he is, 

 Doc'or — stone dead." 



And sure enough, there he lay, with his forefeet 

 doubled under him— in a hollow— and his neck stretched 

 out, and resting on a Httle rise, close beside a large beech 

 tree. The ball, very much as the Indian had said, had 

 struck the neck near the shoulder and nearly separated 

 the jugular vein, It had not passed out the other side of 

 the neck, but ranged upward and embedded itself in the 

 bones. 



"Dare. Me more please 'an if me do it mysef, Dat 

 berry big moose. Big as Capin' kill— you know, Soger- 

 man— no, bigger moose dan dat." 



But 1 must measure my prize, while it is warm, so as 

 to know how large he is, and how large to make his 

 limbs and body when 1 set him up. 



So Nuel Was directed to make a fire, and in less than 

 half an hour oUr work was completed. It was, indeed, a 

 large moose. Very few have been killed (that we are 

 sure of) much larger. And the horns were perfect. 



When we had measured him Nuel proposed that we 

 should begin the skinning at once. "Skm come off easy," 

 said he. But I had to object. I wanted to see my prize 

 by daylight, while I knew that the most the Indian 

 thought of was stuffing himself with fresh meat. "No, 

 we will get some sleep," said I, "and in the morning begin 

 the work of skinning." 



I saw that he consented to this with reluctance, and I 

 feared that I might have to watch my prize if I would 

 preserve it. However, he did lie down and went to sleep, 

 and so did I, and he restrained himself the next morning 

 until we had skinned down below one of the hindquar- 

 ters. Then we had a "good feaa'," as the Indian called it. 



It was all^day Work to transport our pri2e home. And 

 a hard day's work it was, too. The first load of course 

 was the skin and head complete. These I was anxious to 

 prepare with my own hands. We got them to the camp 

 about 11 o'clock, with sufficient meat, it seemed to me, 

 for a dozen men. But a good part of this disappeared 

 before Nuel was through his dinner. How one man could 

 hold such an amount of meat was a mystery to me. 

 However, he ate nothing else. Just at sundown he 

 reached the camp with his last load. As he came up the 

 bank he grunted out, "IJgha, dare. Now Ingin hab rest. 

 And berry glad he is. Lots for eat— for whole moon." 



The day had been lovely again. Indeed, with the ex- 

 ception of the rainy night in the peninsula, the, weather 

 had been charming ever since we left home. There was 

 a ha;^e in the atmosphere almost like the Indian summer. 

 But it was too early for this yet, though there had been 

 light frosts, and I could feel that the evenings especially 

 were getting cool. This one was the coldest of them all. 

 I suppose it was this that led Nuel to remark, as he rolled 

 quite a log into the fire, "We hab fros' denight." 



We lay down after tea. Nuel had hardly smoked his 

 pipe out before I saw his eyes closing. He had little or 

 nothing to say as we ate our supper, only I could see a 

 look of great satisfaction on his face as his eyes wandered 

 over toward me and the skm and head that were on my 

 side of the camp. I used to say to myself, "He is think- 

 ing of the crowns." But it may be thafe I was wrong. 

 Perhaps he was thinking of the meat hangmg up outside 

 the camp, that had come out of that skin. 



But soon he slept. I was not so ready for sleep. I had 

 been imder too much strain and excitement to fall asleep 

 at once. A review of the way we had come and the 

 scenes we had passed through, and the success I had met 

 with, and the wilderness and solitude ihat surroxmded us, 

 all seemed to press upon my mind as it had never done 

 before. Then I had killed the moose myself, and when I 

 looked at him, standing in the museum, would think of 

 the pleasure that it gave me and the circumstances at- 

 tending his death. 



All these things were gone over and over again, and al- 

 though I felt so tired and relieved in mind and body, no 

 sleep came to me for several hours. However, at last it 

 came, and I knew nothmg untU I heard the Indian's 

 voice, "Doc'or, you beat Ingin go sleep. You not usum up, 

 are you? I wan' go hunt deday. We hab um breakfas'." 



"Oh, no, not used up. Feel first-rate. Have breakfast 

 any time." 



I f oimd that the sun had been up for some time and that 

 Nuel had everything ready. We were about half through 

 when he said, "Doc'or, you big hunter. You kiU great 

 moose. Me berry glad. But me wan' cow now. You 

 wan' um, too. I go look deday. Dat moose hab cow 

 roun', hab some place. He not make much soim', did he? 

 He come from same way hove time. Good place ober 

 dare— 'tween mountains. We got plenty meat. What 

 you say we try get cow, too? No f reezum up for more 'an 

 two week." 



I thought it was a good idea, and I knew I had enough 

 to keep me busy for several days, so I said, "All right; 

 you go and I will wait. See what you can do." S. 

 [to be cokcluded,] 



Homing Pigeon Killed. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Having some carrier pigeons, many of which leave me 

 as they mature, I this morning concluded to splice out a 

 short reed bird supper with a pair of squab pigeons. 



My son showing me one which he said was a squab, I 

 kiUed same with a .22 rifle. Greatly to my surprise and 

 regret I find the bird is tagged, as follows: On left leg 

 was a gold or brass band (my son says right leg) fully 

 ^in. wide, enameled in light blue; on outside marked 

 1893; inside, Rd. 183437. The 1892 figures are on white 

 enamel. 



Presuming the owner would like to know of No. 183437, 

 the above furnishes the information. 



This is the first of the flock I have killed, and am 

 singularly unfortunate in having killed another's, and 

 what may have been a valuable bird. 



I will gladly mafi the ring to the owner if he will 

 furnish his address. Howard Garrett. 



801 Delaware Aykntie, Wilmington, Del., Sept, 6 



BRUIN AND THE REDFISH. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Since I have been in the Okanagan Mountains I have 

 been a constant reader of your valuable paper, and can- 

 say that I derive as much pleasure in i-eading it as I do in- 

 the pursuit of game. I have carefully watched for some 

 sportsman to give us a history of the redfish of Payette 

 Lake, in Idaho. 



A few years ago in September, on going over the trail 

 from Warm Spring to Boise, in company with a couple of 

 men, we camped one night on the Payette above the lake. 

 The redfish were running at that time, and it was diffi- 

 cult to get a horse that was nervous to cross the stream, 

 for the fish would strike their legs, and my horse came 

 near throwing me. 



I was riding a short distance ahead and came over a 

 smaU hill in plain sight of the river. About 100yds. 

 below a log was lying across, and on the log was a black 

 bear watching redfish. I stopped and waited until my 

 companions came up, when I pomted to the bear, which 

 was so much interested in his study that he did not notice 

 our presence. We had waited and watched but a few 

 minutes when the bear made a plunge. We could see 

 fish; the water was about 2ft. deep. The fish had come 

 up neai'ly under the bear when Bruin made his plunge. 

 But this time he missed his prey. He kept making phmge 

 after plunge until he had the water in great commotion, 

 and finally he gave up the chase and climbed upon the 

 log again to await another school. My companions 

 wanted to shoot the bear, but I persuaded them not to, as 

 we did not want the meat and the fur was not good then. 



As soon as we moved he saw us, and after a very short 

 survey ambled off up the side of the mountain. We saw 

 some very big tracks of others, but that was the only 

 bear we saw. Some one who has fished there should give 

 the readers of Forest and Stream the true history and 

 habits of the redfish. Lew Wilmot. 



[The redfish of Idaho is the blueback salmon (Qncor- 

 hynchus nerka). The identity of the redfish was first 

 determined by Capt. Chas. Bendire, TJ. S. A., who in 1879 

 sent specimens to the National Museum and drawings and 

 a description to FOREST and Stream.] 



. A Chipmunk Corn Planter. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I would like to know if any one has heard of a chip- 

 munk that plants and grows corn ? If not I shall claim 

 the right of discovery. I have found one. I can swear 

 that he plants corn, but I would not like to swear that he 

 intends to grow the same with the intention of harvestmg 

 a crop. One cannot tell what is in the mind of a chip- 

 munk. 



The chipmunk in question has been planting corn in 

 my garden for five years. I will give his method, and the 

 readers of Forest and Stream can sit in judgment on 

 his intentions, 



I throw out corn to the squirrels and bluejays, and 

 chippy works like a beaver to get his share. He can carry 

 away sixteen kernels in his pouched cheeks. When he 

 has supplied the home larder he plants the balance in the 

 garden, no two loads in the same spot. After the com 

 sprouts and shows above ground, chippy pulls it up and 

 carries it away. It sounds strange to tell it, but it is a 

 fact, he leaves one kernel, or stalk, in each spot. At the 

 present time there are twenty stalks, thus planted, grow- 

 ing in my garden. The chipmunk, as a rule, leaves but 

 one stalk. During five years I think there have been only 

 three exceptions. 



It is only through the months of May and June that he 

 leaves the growing corn. 



I watched him yesterday while he was carrying away 

 planted corn, and not a stalk was left from four lots. 



These little animals possess enough intelligence to cause 

 them to lay by a store of food for the long cold winter, 

 and, perhaps, they know more about the growth of such 

 food ihan man is wfiling to admit. Hermit. 



Crow Blackbirds' Nests. 



Denver, Col. , Sept. 4. — There was recently a discussion 

 in Forest and Stream relative to the nesting habit of the 

 crow blackbird. One writer, and I believe it was Brother 

 Blines, asserted incidentally that the bird in question 

 sometimes took possession of the nesting place of a 

 woodpecker— a hole made by the latter in a dead tree— 

 and there made its nest and reared its young. Then 

 various fellows jumped on to BUnes, or whoever it was, 

 and said it was "no such thing," and that old "blackie" 

 had been slandered, I rise merely to remark that fifty 

 years ago, in the State of Ohio, where dead elms and 

 the like still grew (?) all through the cornfields, the crow 

 blackbird did very often make his nest in the hole of the 

 red-headed woodpecker and the yellow-hammer. Not so 

 often m the former because it was seldom large enough. 

 He also found many other odd and seemingly unnatural 

 places for nests. Wm. N. Byers. 



A Congregation of Night Hawks. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Did you ever hear of night hawks flocking? I have 

 noticed them in fairly large numbers, especially in Vir- 

 ginia, where they are called bull bats, but I never heard 

 of such multitudes being seen at once as passed over 

 Cummington, Mass., last week. There were thousands 

 of them. The flight took place early in the afternoon 

 and attracted the notice of gmmers m the vicinity. Was 

 it a migration? Charles Hallock. 



[It is a migration, and they do it every year about the 

 last, of August or first of September. Often they are seen 

 by thousands, usually in the afternoon of still bright days.] 



An Albino Squirrel. 



Kendall viLLE, Ind., Sept. 3.— Sidney Sayrez, of this 

 city, brought in a pure albino red squirrel which he shot 

 within the city limits to-day. He nearly succeeded m 

 capturing it alive. It is perfectly white, with pink eyes, 

 and is the first ever caught in this vicinity. Are they 

 rare? I have never heard of a perfectly white specimen 

 before. W. H. T. 



[Instances of albinism are met with opcasionally in 

 many species of animals and birds,] 



