566 



I^OF^EST ANt) STREAM. 



[t)EC. 30, 1883. 



the brush and wait for them, any way to get sight of 

 them before they fly. Then it seems most of the popula- 

 tion goes gunning for them. The certainty of making 

 (for them) fair wages, with a possibility of five to ten 

 times as much (one man made |9 in a day), sets them all 

 at it; but as ther^> are hundreds of thousands of acn-s of 

 hunting grounds there seems to be room enough and, so 

 .far, birds enough for all. In the nortli half of Wiscon- 

 sin there are more or less grouse everywhere. North of 

 a line drawn from Green B iy to Li Cmsse they are pretty 

 sure to be found abunrlant everywhere. It is not satis- 

 factory to hunt them in the burned pine regions. One or 

 two days of it will wear out the best of men and dogs. 

 In selecting a place make sure that it is hardwood and 

 not pineland. Cecil, in Shawam county, is said to be 

 good. Some friends just returned from a deer hunt in 

 Wood county report three deer killed and that they saw 

 a great many grouse. During October the weather is 

 usually perfect and often into the middle of November. 



O. H . Hampton, 



ALLEN BAYOU AND BEYOND. 



If you will stand with me in the dawn of the morning 

 and look northward from the Eed River Hills you will 

 look upon a scene not easily forgotten in future wander- 

 ings. This is the domain of the Five Nations, Chickasaws, 

 Choctaws, Seminoles, Creeks and Ctierokees. It is the 

 only spot left on the American Continent that is still a 

 barrier to the outside world. It is a land where there is 

 so close an affinity between nature and man that nature is 

 one hourly teacher — a land that is solemn as the sea, and 

 where, as upon the sea, the far blue mists of the horizon 

 bound the world. Nature is herself and spreads her feasts 

 and indulges her caprices for her own pleasure. Acres of 

 flowers, leagues of beauty, bloom and fade and come 

 again unseen by man. And yet the seclusion is doomed. 

 Already a Commission has left the National Capital to 

 treat with the five civilized tiibes for the cession of their 

 lands. It makes no difference what the result of this visit 

 may be, the handwriting is on the waU. It is easy to 

 predict that within the next five years the Indians' title 

 will be extinguished. Ah-eady the camp-fires of that rest- 

 less horde of cosmopolites who form the advance guard 

 twinkle at the border. 



We who live here at the threshold of the home of the 

 five civilized tribes will deeply deplore when it shall share 

 the fate of Oklahoma and other reservations so long 

 sealed to the outside world. The disciples of dog and gun, 

 the lovers of woodland sports, men who now and then 

 tramp and camp in the woods and escape as far as pos- 

 sible the requirements of civilization, have as much desire 

 to resist the encroachments of the outside world as the 

 Indiana themselves. 



On Nov. 11 a party of six, with a camp cook, crossed 

 Red River into the Chickasaw country. The six — Henry 

 Heath, John H. Gardner, Gerald Hughes, Chas. Peoples, 

 George Moulton and the writer — all enthusiastic sports- 

 men, considered no privation too great to indulge their 

 favorite pastime. The elements had no terrors for them; 

 welcome rain, sleet, hail, snow, the cold, hard earth to 

 sleep on; they accepted the situation without a murmur as 

 long as game was plentiful. 



The Chickasaw country through which the party passed 

 is decide Jly primitive. It retains the features of the back- 

 woods settlement which might have been seen in "the 

 clearings" fifty years ago. The houses are mostly con- 

 structed of rough, unhewn logs, notched together at the 

 corners, and the spaces between them filled with mud and 

 sticks. The chimney is built of sticks plastered with mud, 

 supported at the back and sides where the fire burns by 

 walls of stone. Earth sometimes forms the floor. A bet- 

 ter class of dwellings is met with now and then, where the 

 occupants, white men with Indian wives, affect "city 

 airs." At the conclusion of the Civil War a number of 

 white men, nearly all Confederate soldiers, cast their lot 

 with the Chickasaw and Choctaw Indians and intermar- 

 ried among them. A portion of the Creeks and Chero- 

 kees were loyal to the Government and contributed com- 

 panies and regiments to the Federal army. 



The most prosperous residents of the five civilized tribes 

 are the white "Squaw-men." Stock-raising is the princi- 

 pal industry. Within the past lew years more attention 

 has been paid to farming. It was found profitable to in- 

 vite renters who pay a royalty to the Government and 

 give a portion of the crop to the owners of the land. The 

 mercantile business is nearly all in the hands of white 

 men. They direct the affairs of the five civdized tribi-s, 

 they are the power behind the throne. All of the machin- 

 ery of the affairs of government is manipulated by them. 

 It they are shrewd and possess ordinary business tact, 

 there is nothing to prevent them from getting rich. 



The Chickasaw Nation is a beautiful fertile country. 

 The land is greatly superior to Oklahoma and the Chero- 

 kee Strip. Game is abundant. The favorite season to 

 hxmt it is in the fall of the year, the months of October 

 and November when the delicious weather of the Indian 

 summer prevails. The spring and summer months with 

 their glory of air and sunshine and balm, have no attrac- 

 tions for the hunter, like those of the Indian summer 

 when the barbaric magnificence of dying nature is made 

 manifest. The air is full of sweetness, the world of 

 color. 



After a two days' journey we reached the game coun- 

 try, and made camp on the shores of Cotton-tree Lake, 

 where thousands of ducks on their way to tiie Gulf stop 

 to feed and rest. Unfortunately the lake was so miry 

 from recent overflows that it was not safe to venture in 

 after the ducks killed. Charley Peoples attempted it, 

 and a rescuing pai'ty had to be sent out. At dusk thou- 

 sands of ducks came in from their feeding grounds and 

 settled on the lake. Tiiey were vigorously cannonaded, 

 many killed, but few recovered. The next day the party 

 was joined by John McHenry, a somewhat noted charac- 

 ter of this country. McHenry is a white man, a citizen 

 by marriage, a deputy TJniced States Marshal, and is 

 known as a fighter. The coimtry is overrun with des- 

 perate criminals. There is one reason why McHenry is 

 not afraid of them. There is a certain firearm which all 

 have seen ana with which many are familiar, it is a small 

 arsenal of rapid and sudden death, and a single man, 

 skilled in the use of Colt's revolver is almost equal to six 

 men each armed with a weapon which fires but a single 

 shot. In the use of this weapon McHenry is a wonder, 

 even among his skillad companions. They have tried for 

 the past two years to bushwack and kill him, but he stdl 

 lives to trouble and vex them. At night a light is never 



permitted in his house, as he is afraid that some lurker, 

 for revenge, may creep up and shoot him through the 

 chinks. He always rides Winchester in hand, and a 

 pistol buckled at his side. His simplicity of character 

 and undaunted courage make him admired of all true 

 men. 



McHenry advised the camp to move, so with him as 

 guide we puUed out of the bottoms for the deer country. 

 The camp was made in beautiful woods near good water. 

 Henry Heath, a veteran hunter, and one of the most noble 

 men wlio ever sat before a camp-fire, made a circuit of 

 the surrounding country andreportpd deer sig-ns plentiful. 

 McHenry promised to give the party a drive with his 

 famous pack of deerhounds. It was a glorious, ideal 

 winter morning — cold, clear, crisp — that infused new life 

 into the blood and exhilarated like sips of champagne. 

 Everyone wns happy, smiling in anticipation of the glori- 

 ous sport. Over the hills, down through the vnlley, there 

 was a sound a distant, prolonged note, mellow, bell-toned, 

 pervading the great woods, shaking the air in sweet vibra- 

 tions; it vFas McHenry's horn— the signal to go to the 

 stands. A slight ridge was a favorite running ground for 

 the deer; many had been killed there. The ground was 

 open woods and it was hardly possible for a deer to run 

 the gauntlet of guns held by men of steady nerve and un- 

 erring aim. Buck ague was unknown to these hunters 

 There was just the faintest sound of a hound's voice, then 

 silence reigned. It was, perhaps, a false alarm, but no, 

 the cry of the hound became more distinct, and there was 

 no longer a doubt that a trail had been struck. The deer, 

 with a strange fatality, made directly for the ridge where 

 six men, with bated breath, were awaiting her coming. 

 It was not strange that she should run into the jaws of 

 death. Deer have their established runway; she went 

 to her death as many have done before. There was an 

 avenue of escape at the river but she did not take it. 

 There was not one hound, but several, on the trail, old 

 Cheatam in the lead. It was told in camp by McHenry 

 that this hound had run three days and nights without 

 rest. The baying and yelping, the deep-mouthed howl of 

 pursuit, was getting nearer every moment. The dogs 

 were evidently coming on at a slashing pace. There was 

 a crash of bushes, and the beautiful creature with great 

 leaps clearing fallen logs passed within a few feet of 

 where Gerald Hughes was standing. He fired and kiUed 

 her. In a moment the pack of hounds, panting and 

 lolling out their tongues, burst into view and were at the 

 dead deer's throat. 



That night a great fire was built and the hunters, seated 

 about in the glare of the flames, told stories, spun yarns 

 and ci'acked jokes until the first quarter of the moon dis- 

 appeared behind the trees, leaving them prisoners of the 

 night. The first deer is a great event in camp. 



The next day McHenry was called away. Heath and 

 Moulton went still-hunting, saw many deer, but strange 

 to say killed none. The remainder of the party went to 

 squirrel shooting, which is one of the most exciting 

 sjjoris of the woods, especially when a fox or gray squir- 

 rel is in view every moment and fairly flies from tree to 

 tree, requiring snap shooting. I challenge all America 

 to produce woods like these for squirrel shooting. We 

 had been in camp three days and had done tolerably well. 

 There were venison, squirrel, ducks and quail hanging on 

 the trees. 



Wild turkeys are very plentiful in the Indian Territory; 

 wild turkey shooting must take the preference over all 

 other sport. 



In the midst of a beautiful landscape, composed of 

 prairie and woodland, stretching in monotony and silence 

 for miles away, is a sluggish stream called AUen Bayou. 

 Eighteen years ago, when I first visited the bayou coun- 

 try, it was the most celebrated for game in the Indian 

 Territory. Great troops of deer and flocks of wild turkeys 

 literally overrun the land. Cutting loose from civiliza- 

 tion with a kindred companion, Richard Maughs, we 

 passed two months in this veritable hiinter's paradise, 

 hving in a ranchman's deserted cabin. It was rare to 

 see a human face. Deer were always in sight and wild 

 turkeys fed to our cabin door. The water courses teemed 

 with wild ducks, while the prairies afforded covert for 

 quail and pinnated grouse. There was wild honey in the 

 hoUow trees, coons and opossums disturbed the slum- 

 ber, and from out the caverns of the night the gaunt 

 gray wolf sent his hoarse voice across the ravine dismal 

 and harrowing. The mocking laugh of the great-horned 

 owl answered the chorus of wolves. 



Now, aU this is changed. Cities have sprung iip on 

 Texas soil, and the woods were invaded by hunting 

 parties who mercilessly slaughtered the game for the 

 mai'ket. Wagon loads of deer and turkey were killed 

 in the bayou country. One Christmas night sixty-one 

 wild turkeys were killed on their roost by the light of 

 the moon. 



A greater change has passed over the land, the log cabin 

 looks out from many a wilderness nook. The barbed 

 wire fence is cutting the land into pastures for stock, 

 civilization with all of its attendant evils is slowly but 

 surely exterminating the game until Allen Bayou is but 

 a memory of the past. 



Our party reached the bayou in the evening and made 

 camp at the crossing. The hunt here was not a success, 

 the fates were against us. Two flocks of wild turkeys 

 were seen, but none killed. Heath, who imitates the 

 sound of either cock or hen, decoyed a flock within gun 

 range, but owing to a misunderstanding one of the party 

 fired too soon and the flock escaped to the thick brush. 



It was decided to make one -more move to the Eagle 

 Lake country, where ducks at this season are plentiful. 

 But another disappointment awaited us. The great lake 

 was perfectly dry, the first time in a number of years. 

 Where there were usually countless thousands, not a duck 

 was to be seen. It is supposed that when you write a 

 hunting article for a journal that the game record figures 

 largely, but in this the reader wiU be disappointed. 



The Eagle Lake country is a vast wilderness bottom, 

 stretching away for miles. Even when the sunshine is 

 brightest it is mantled in gloom. The most experienced 

 hupter is liable to get lost m these woods. Many thriUing 

 narratives are related of this wilderness which leads every- 

 where and nowhere. 



John H. Gardner, as good a man as ever shot over dog, 

 whose presence contributed so much to make camp-life 

 pleasant, took his dogs to the edge of a cotton field at the 

 bottoms and made a fine bag of quail. Charley Peoples, 

 the most successful shot of the party, added new laurels 

 to his squu-rel record. George Moulton pltmged into the 



woods after big game, but returned empty-handed. At 

 night cowbovsfrom a neighboring camp joined the circle. 

 The cowboy seated at my side, wearing a large sombrero, 

 with enormous spurs jingling at his boot-heels is typical 

 of the great change going on. In a few years the im- 

 mense grassy plains of Texas will be allotted to farming 

 purposes Already the Pan Handle is spanned by a rail- 

 way, and farming communities have spread out over the 

 land. The long procession of lean and weary herds will 

 never cross the plains again. Past the western forts over 

 a trail which stretches like a path through hundreds of 

 miles, they struggled toward the markets of far off Kan- 

 sas, Illinois and Colorado. The cowboy was then as much 

 of a character as the scout and plainsman, only he was 

 more numerous. His race is about run, and in the future 

 you will see him only on the playboards or in the Wild 

 West shows. 



On Sunday, Nov. 17, the party reached home, which 

 all have a longing for notwithstanding the pleasures and 

 allurements of camp life. "For he who has once experi- 

 enced the fascinations of the wood life never escapes its 

 enticements; in the memory nothing remains but its 

 charm." R. Polk Burhans. 



Dkmson, Texas. 



UTAH NOTES. 



The mountains axe grand, rather than glorious, and the 

 days are cold, rather than comfortable. For some the 

 days may be melancholy, especially for us poor silver 

 miners of Utah; but there is compensation for all such 

 trivial discomforts, and game in the hills is more abundant 

 than I have known it for many years. It seems to me 

 that ducks are unusually scarce, and for this fact I cannot 

 account. Still there are deer and bears and grouse (both 

 the western ruffed grouse, the willow grouse and the pine 

 hen that rests lazily in the dense branches over the snow 

 banks. 



Farmers are always busy, but so many of our mechanics 

 and professional men have idle hours at their disposal that 

 the crack of some shot is heard echoing over the valley 

 from dawn to dark. For big game the upper cafions and 

 valleys of the Wasatch, especially Strawberry Valley lying 

 between us and the Uintahs, are favorite resorts. For 

 chickens the sportsman tries Sanpete county and the hills 

 that fringe the Sevier Valley. 



This is not supposed to be a month for fishing, but only 

 yesterday I saw a man peddling a wagon load of fine lake 

 trout. I imagine that some device other than hook and 

 line had been used in their capture. Speaking of fish 

 reminds me that the black bass planted in Utah Lake three 

 years ago are rapidly multiplying and in three more years 

 we will have as good black bass fishing as is enjoyed in 

 Wisconsin. Last month Fish Commissioner Musser 

 planted 1,000 catfish at the mouth of American Fork 

 Creek, and, of course, the small boy of the future will be 

 delighted with the results. For my part I am sorry to see 

 our waters stocked with sluggish carp and slimy catfish. 

 Natm-ally they do not live in the same vicinity as the 

 trout and bass, but I should think that these gamy fish 

 would hate to have the water they inhabit so contami- 

 nated. 



Never have I experienced worse luck in fishing than I 

 had this summer. This was due in a great degree to the 

 use of giant powder. I see no chance of good brook trout 

 fishing until half a dozen notable examples are made of 

 these violators, and then the rest of the pot htmters will 

 quit of their own accord. The secret of the whole matter 

 lies in the lack of union among local sportsmen. I know 

 of one mess of trout that was caught in Diamond Creek 

 about a week before the law was up. The fisherman tied 

 them in a sack behind his saddle and started on a twenty- 

 two-mile ride to Provo. Slopping for a drink in an inter- 

 mediate settlement, he boasted of his piscatorial exploits in 

 the presence of the game warden, who, when the fisher's 

 back was turned took the sack and appropriated the trout 

 to his own supper. He enjoyed a good laugh at the ex- 

 pense of his victim and the fisherman dared not complain 

 audibly. 



During the latter part of June and early in July I tried 

 every trout stream of note along the western slope of the 

 Wasatch. Later in July I laid my rod aside and wan- 

 dered up the north fork of Provo River in search of larger 

 game. For the first time in my life I pitched camp with- 

 out regard to fishing facilities. Provo River and its south 

 fork were lined with campers, two for each fish. The 

 wagons that were going constantly to and from town and 

 the°log drags made the dust knee deep along the river 

 road. No wonder then that we turned away from the 

 main stream and up an icy brook, too cold for trout, but 

 bordered with heavy timber and grassy parks, with service- 

 berry patches and marshy wallows, just the place for 

 deer and bear. 



So far as scenery goes our location could not be sur- 

 passed. At the base of a small, pine-covered hill, the 

 north fork divided and each branch came from snows 

 3 000ft. above and about three mUes distant. In feathery 

 cascades it tumbled over mossy and fern-clad rocks down 

 into the spruces at the foot of the cliff. The source of the 

 main branch is a glacier a quarter of a mile long and 

 100yds. wide. "It has," to use the words of the guide 

 who first showed it to me, "been thar since the time of 

 Adam," and though comparatively short, its moraines are 

 well defined. It is the only true glacier that I have seen 

 south of the Wind River Mountains, but there is said to be 

 one in the Uintahs. 



I must confess that we were not on a hunting expedition. 

 We lay in our tents or hammocks and read, gathered 

 beetles, butterflies and mosses, and incidentally, at early 

 morn and dewy eve, shouldered rifles and strolled away 

 on the hidsides. On the second evening after our arrival 

 one of the small boys of our party called me aside. 



"Walt, I know where the biggest bear you ever saw is. 

 He's an old he one— the daddy of 'em all." 



I wanted aU the glory myself; so, saying naught, took 

 my gun and followed my little leader. 



"Thar he is!" and in the midst of a clump of service 

 berries the largest bear that ever I have seen so close to 

 civiUzation was eating his supper. I had to beat about the 

 bush to get him, hence I took a direction where I could 

 see the boy and not the bear. Motioning, after the man- 

 ner of a surveyor, now with this hand, now witli that, he 

 piloted me right to the bush where bruin wan feeding, and 

 the first intimation I had of my proximity to his majesty 

 was a snort and old Eph sat up on his haunches to ex- 

 amine the intruder. I had plenty of time to aim and in- 

 tended to break down both shoulders, but my bullet had 

 not suflicient penetration. It shattered one shoulder. 



