Feb. 10, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



113 



snow. Down came my hat over my eyes, up went my 

 coat collar, and with rifle jammed under my arm and 

 hands well down in my pockets I took the back trail. 

 I had passed the worst of the way and got within a mile 

 of my horse when, just as I was turning a curiously reg- 

 ular, round hillock, which looked like the tumulus of 

 some forgotten race, a gruff snort came to my ear, and 

 looking up, above me towered a gigantic grizzly, just rais- 

 ing himself on his hindlegs. There was no time to get 

 my rifle to my shoulder; a snap shot from the hip was all 

 I could manage, and I dashed off to the right rear, some- 

 how getting a fresh cartridge into place as I ran. No 

 record-breaking sprinter could have beaten me to the top 

 of a rocky point which stood near by, and when I got 

 I there, utterly winded and found that everything looked 

 I peaceful and no enemy in sight, I would have drawn a 

 deep breath of content if the spasmodic state of my dia- 

 phragm had allowed, but as it was I simply sat down in 

 the accumulating snow until my lungs and nerves had got 

 down again to a working basis. 



! The only way back to my horse lay down that trail, 

 and by that way I must go. I knew, too, that my shot 

 must have told somewhere, and I had a curiosity to know 

 where, so down I went, keeping a close eye ahead, rifle 

 well to the front, ready for a fight or another footrace as 

 the moment should decide. No sign of bear until I 

 reached the end of my tracks, and there, right where he 

 , had stood, he lay, like the ambitious youth of poetry, 

 | lifeless amid the falling snow, so close to the tracks I 

 had stood in when I shot that I examined his brawny 

 chest to see if the powder had not burned him. My snap 

 shot had caught him full in the throat, smashed the cer- 

 vical vertebra and so completely unraveled the spinal 

 cord that he never could have known he was hit. 



He was a fair-sized bear, but less by four-fifths than I 

 had expected; and the thought has often come to me 

 that if his plan of battle had been the same as mine, and 

 he had run away in the opposite direction, I would have 

 gone through life with the fixed conviction that grizzly 

 bears sometimes grow as large as Waterhouse Hawkins's 

 restoration of Hadrosaurus. 



IV. 



One more — and on this I dwell, perhaps, more lovingly 

 than on the others. It was not so long ago, and what 

 can be dearer to the lover of the rifle than to recall a 

 successful stalk and at the end its lifeless object before 

 him on the ground. 



My six weeks' hunt was over and I was back in the 

 little settlement in the Park, putting in a few days shoot- 

 ing sage grouse while my guide and henchman was get- 

 ting his badly rattled harness into shape to drive me by 

 buckboard a hundred miles across the Gore Range and 

 down the Blue River to the hated sign of civilization— the 

 two lines of iron rail which would carry me back to my 

 Atlantic home. 



The weekly mail carrier came in and casually said that 

 he had seen a nice bunch of antelope down by the "Big 

 Mesa." That evening I remarked to my host that it was 

 a long time since I had tasted antelope and I would have 

 a try at them on the morrow. 



Early morning found me traveling along the streak of 

 soil which had been just enough specialized to earn the 

 courtesy title of "stage road." Five miles or so brought 

 me to the base of the mesa, which I skirted for some dis- 

 tance before I could find a place to get my horse to the 

 top; then a long and fruitless search for my game, until I 

 reached the further edge, from which a wide, saucer- 

 shaped valley fell away, sloping up again to the base of 

 the mountain opposite; there they were, on the far side, 

 more than half a mile away. 



Approach was not easy; there was little wind, but that 

 little was full on my back, and that protected them across 

 the width of the valley; a ridge ran out just behind them, 

 but several were feeding up too near its crest to make it 

 possible to reach them from that side. 



Careful inspection showed a deep coulee running from 

 the foot of the mesa on my left, in a winding course 

 across the valley and below the wind, and with my glass 

 I fixed a bush growing on its edge, from which I could 

 get a long but open shot. Turning back, I got down into 

 the coulee without exposing myself, and riding as near as 

 I dared, threw the bridle over my pony's head and taking 

 to my own legs got under cover of my bush. 



During the half hour it had taken to get there, the 

 antelope had moved off and a stretch of at least 

 500yds. was between us. There were some thirty of them, 

 and my glass showed one buck with what, even at that 

 distance, seemed extraordinary horns, and I badly want- 

 ed him, but I am not one of those rare shots who get game 

 at such distances; indeed, in my whole life I do not believe 

 I have sighted it half a dozen times so far off; but there 

 was nobody by, if I missed, so I set about it. My gun was 

 a .50-95 single shot Winchester, made from my own speci- 

 fications; no more accurate rifle ever came to shoulder, 

 and I had shot it enough over known ranges to be pretty 

 familiar with its drop at long distances. There was no 

 need to hurry, so I put up my sights to the highest point 

 made a good allowance for the remaining distance, and 

 the buck was not as much surprised when 312 grains of 

 solid lead caught him in the ribs, as I was to see his side- 

 way jump, landing on the ground. But like his kind, he 

 was up and off in a second and before I could get back to 

 my horse and get him up on the flat, the whole bunch was 

 out of sight. 



I knew the lay of the land moved from them to the 

 right, so I swung that way myself to head them, quite for- 

 getting the creek which I would have to cross and which 

 came on me suddenly. It looked deep and cold, but it 

 was too late to hold up, and my little white-footed bay 

 had his blood up and I doubt if I would have stopped him 

 if I tried. In we went with a plunge, and when that 

 was over, it mattered little as for wetness, whether the 

 rest of it was 2ft. or 2yds. deep— but we got through, and 

 over beyond the second rise I came on my antelope, look- 

 ing very sick, at the steep base of the mesa, up which the 

 rest had gone. He started off into the sage-brush as I 

 came up, but he was nearly done and twice I rode him to 

 a standstill, the second time jumping off and raking him 

 with a shot which put him down to stay. 



Half an hour later I was riding across to cut the road, 

 with all of his best qualities behind my saddle, including 

 a pan of horns 14£in. in vertical height. 



The greater part of the interval between my first and 

 second shots found me wrestling with the classics and 

 kindred pleasures of youth. I was always troubled over 

 my Virgil and a hard nut I found in "forsan hcee olim 



meminissejuvabit," but it deeply impressed my budding 

 perceptions, when at last I got it out. Since then, over 

 the camp-fire, in comfort and in peace, in cold and in 

 storm, sometimes too, alone and in hunger, how often has 

 it come back to me? "Perhaps some day it shall rejoice 

 us to remembe r these." * B. 



AT NIGHTFALL ON A SIDE-LINE. 



The frequent mention of the panther in recent numbers 

 of your valuable paper, tempts me to relate an experience 

 ~ once had with this class of varmints. 



Years ago, I dislike to think how many, when our na- 

 tional proclivity for wanting to see foreign parts induced 

 me to turn my back on " The Land o' Cakes," my footsteps 

 turned toward Demerara, or more properly British Guiana, 

 in South America. Arrived in the colony, my natural 

 inquiries turned to the hunting and fishing to be had. 

 Of both I may have something to say later, but at present 

 I shall relate one little hunting episode, where the tables 

 very nearly became turned as between hunter and hunted. 



The great industry of this country is sugar making, and 

 the plantations run for miles along the banks of the great 

 rivers and along the coast line, but hardly ever are they 

 found back from the water front. The reason of this is 

 that the land, for several hundred miles from the coast, 

 is low-lying alluvial jungle, subject to overflow at any 

 time, hence enormous embankments along the water 

 fronts are raised and constitute the only roads of import- 

 ance. The plantations generally run back from the 

 water in long narrow strips, some of them extending 

 deep into the jungle. The system of drainage employed 

 necessitates large canals, or side-lines as they are locally 

 called, which run the length of the plantations on either 

 side, and form a dividing line between the cane fields and 

 the almost impenetrable woods. Across these canals, 

 late in the evening, the deer come to eat the young 

 sugar cane, of which they destroy quite a quantity, and 

 it was at such a place that I found myself, with several 

 others, waiting impatiently for a shot. 



Our mode of procedure was to string ourselves out, 100 

 yards apart, along the canal and on the field side of it, and 

 as the deer crossed over, shoot them down. It was not 

 very sportsmanlike, but it was about the only way that 

 venison could be got, for to follow the deer through the 

 tangled mass of tropical vines that constitute the under- 

 growth of the woods was out of the question. I had 

 taken my stand at a point where the overhanging limb 

 of an enormous mango tree reached across the canal and 

 above my head. I had laid my rifle down carelessly on 

 the ground to my right, thinking I would have plenty of 

 time to move it to my left shoulder, from which T shoot, 

 and little thinking how important this casual action was 

 afterward to become to me. 



As sunset approached I could hear deer or other animals 

 moving in the jungle, but as often as they came near 

 where I was I could hear them dash off as if in mortal 

 dread. This was repeated several times, so concluding 

 that I was not sufficiently concealed, and that my chances 

 for meat were slim, and as the darkness would soon fol- 

 low the few minutes of twilight of the tropic, I prepared 

 to get up from my uncomfortable position, prone on my 

 stomach, and to start for our horses. 



At my first movement I was startled by a low, purring 

 growl that seemed to be right by me. I gazed intently 

 across the canal, but could see nothing. Again I made a 

 slight movement, and again the warning growl sounded 

 to my ears. Up the canal and down the canal I cast 

 careful glances, but nothing was in sight on the well 

 cleaned banks. Suddenly the recollection of the limb of 

 the mango tree, extended above my head, flashed on my 

 mind, and carefully turning my head without moving 

 my body any more than I could help, I glanced upward. 

 What was my horror to see, almost immediately over my 

 head and crouched low down to the limb, an enormous 

 puma or South American lion, whose fiery eyes were 

 fixed intently on me and whose long tail was jerking 

 backward and forward in that spasmodic way that indi- 

 cates that "Kitty" is about to spring. 



To say I was scared within an inch of my life is saying 

 what every one will readily surmise, but after a moment's 

 thought the gravity of the position seemed to steady my 

 nerves, for I can well remember even after a lapse of 

 many years the train of thought that flashed across my 

 mind. It was something in this line: Here is a puma 

 which, like the Scotchman under the tree, has come out 

 to get some venison for supper, but owing to the scent of 

 the puma or the sight of the Scotchman, the deer have 

 concluded not to eat any cane at this point of the canal; 

 therefore the puma, being the hungrier of the crowd, 

 concludes that the moving mass under him and partly 

 hid by the cane leaves, will do instead of venison. Now, 

 my gun is on my wrong side for shooting (as I cannot see 

 well with my right eye) and besides my position, prone 

 on the ground, makes shooting overhead an impossibility. 

 If I move, the puma will jump; and before I can regain a 

 standing position my neck will be cracked. What is to 

 be done ? 



All this time, and it seemed an age to me, I never re- 

 moved my eyes from those of the puma, arid I noticed 

 with some satisfaction that he would occasionally close 

 his. My determination was soon taken! Slowly I com- 

 menced to turn on my back, and one can hardly under- 

 stand the pain it gave me to make that slow turn, never 

 for a moment taking my eyes off the puma's. Any 

 sudden movement on my part would have been instantly 

 followed by the spring of the varmint in the tree, but at 

 last I was fairly on my back and, as luck would have it, 

 with my rifle lying; on my shooting side and the muzzle 

 toward my feet. With the same care observed in turn- 

 ing over, the rifle was slowly raised and, with the thumps 

 of my heart almost making a fine bead impossible, the 

 trigger was pressed ; and without making any sound that 

 I can remember, my ugly friend rolled from the bough, 

 shot through the brain, and stone dead. 



With the fall of the puma I sprang to my feet and 

 clubbed my rifle, as it was a single-shot only; but the few 

 spasmodic jerks of the creature's limbs told me that the 

 trouble was over. 



Then it was that I lost my head, and sent yell after yell 

 ringing out on the air, which soon brought my com- 

 panions to my side. As soon as a glance at the puma 

 indicated the state of affairs, they in turn would join me 

 in my hysterical shouts, till a sight was presented that 

 would have baggered the appearance of a mouse in the 

 dormitory of a female college. 



The pelt went to Scotland along with other trophies 

 picked up, B, 



A DAY AT MAXOM'S. 



The faint, cold light of dying day was just fading in 

 the west as I finished loading my last cartridge. 



A little flutter of wind now and then rattled the loose 

 blinds on the shutter and caused the naked branches of 

 the magnolia, which leaned over the house, to beat a rat- 

 a-tat against the side of the gable. 



Father, who had been reading the last number of For- 

 est and Stream until the twilight gave place to the less 

 steadier gleam of the fire, and who was now busy filling 

 his favorite brier, looked up as I crimped the last shell 

 and rose from my task with a sigh of relief. "Finished?" 

 he asked. 



"Yes," I replied, "and there will be frost enough to- 

 night to make a good day of it to-morrow; there are a few 

 big coveys in that lower "field that need thinning out." 



Here old Isiah entered the room bearing a bundle of short 

 lengths of pine and hickory, and as he proceeded in his 

 Unrivaled style to build up the huge fire, I filled the brown 

 bowl and drew my chair up alongside of father's. For a 

 while we sat in silence watching the sparks so full of life 

 as they darted fresh from the flames, winging their silent 

 way out into the night to disappear — where? Like tiny 

 human lives they are lost in immensity! Indeed, Ik 

 Marvel, the home of philosophy is in a wood fire. 



The tobacco smoke soon softened the sharper outlines 

 and angles in the room, and the jolly iron dogs who have 

 guarded our hearth for the last century assumed very 

 grotesque shapes in this living background of flames. 



"You are using wood powder now," said father, as he 

 pulled a hassork toward him and rested his slippered feet 

 upon it. "Well, in my clay Hazard and Du Pont are the 

 only names I remember in connection with clean, strong- 

 shooting black powder; with 3idrs. of powder and l^oz. 

 of No. 10, a miss was seldom scored. I never looked for 

 anything better, and would rather put my faith in it to- 

 day than in your patent brands. Yes, Isiah, bring up the 

 decanter on the right of the sideboard. You can put on 

 a kettle of water — and turn in whenever you feel like it." 



Presently a little jet of steam was adding to the misty 

 atmosphere and the merry hum of the kettle mingled its 

 melody with the clinking of spoons in the bottom of our 

 tumblers as we stirred the hot "lemonade" so the "stick" 

 would assimilate. 



"You remember our old friend Jim Lillie," said father, 

 inhaling the fragrant steam that rose from his glass, 

 "Well, Jim and I took a trip down to Charley Maxom's 

 long about in January some years ago. It was before 

 Charley built his new hotel near the "head of Barnegat 

 Bay; at that time he had a small country tavern at the 

 forks of the road, near the village of Point Pleasant, a 

 little over three miles from the railroad station. There 

 were lots of quail and ruffed grouse about there, but you 

 would not be able to find them unless you had a native 

 for a guide. 



"We got to Charley's toward evening. The weather 

 was cool and clear, and as we rode from the depot in an 

 open wagon you can imagine how glad we were to draw 

 up alongside of that round, white-bellied stove, that stood 

 in the extension of Maxom's tavern. We stepped into the 

 main building for supper. The supper consisted of fried 

 cod, home made bread (none of that sawdust kind that 

 crumbles all to pieces when you try to spread the butter, 

 but moist and sweet, Mrs. Maxom always put potatoes in 

 her bread), and a cup of tea. The cod had been taken 

 that very day about five miles off shore abreast of Island 

 Beach, and had only been out of the water long enough 

 to freeze. We saw them brought in from the wagon like 

 so many sticks of cord wood shortly after we arrived. I 

 could have made a supper off of that alone. 



"Thawed out and appetite appeased we adjourned to 

 the extension, a very natural thing for all wayfarers to do 

 at Maxom's. Seated and enjoying our pipes, we opened 

 up a little talk with Charley. 'What is the prospect of 

 getting a few birds to-morrow Charley?' 'Wa— 11, Gen- 

 eral, thar air some birds around, 'n' if you kin git Johnny 

 Loveman to go 'long y ou'll be apt to find 'em. I'll send 

 over to Johnny's and find out if he'll go.' 



"We got word from Johnny that he would be over early 

 in the morning. That point settled, and as Charley was 

 getting our candles ready I said, 'Hadn't we better leave 

 word to be called, Jim?' If there was any one thing that 

 Jim was opposed to, it was getting up before daybreak. 

 'Called? No, what do you want to turn out early for? 

 We'll take our time, have some more of that fried cod in 

 the morning and a good cup of coffee, there's nothing like 

 having a good breakfast to start on.' 'All right, that 

 suits me, good night.' 



"But we were called all the same, for we slept a little 

 late and they detailed one of the youngsters to walk the 

 hall and ring the breakfast bell until he received some 

 evidence that we were up and doing. I had been up a 

 few minutes and was adjusting a worm screw to my 

 cleaning rod to bore a hole through the ice that had 

 formed in the pitcher, when I heard Jim in the adjoining 

 room advising the bell-ringer in these words, 'See here, 

 young man, I want you to get out of this hall P. D. Q.; 

 we don't want any more of that music and if you come 

 up here again I'll help you down. Skip.' 



"Rigged for the day's tramp we went down stairs and 

 steered right for the extension to see if Loveman had 

 arrived. 



" 'Good morning, Charley, has Loveman put in an 

 appearance yet?' 



" 'Wal, thar's his dorg, reckon he ain't very fur off. 

 Here he comes.' 



"Loveman was a young man about 27 or 28, slim built, 

 strong and wiry, his face was the color of an old time 

 powder flask and covered with a mosquito proof skin. 

 " 'Your dog, Mr. Loveman?' 



" 'Yes, sir, thar's one of the best English pointers in 

 this country. I have shot over him a good many years 

 and 'though he can't hear a dern thing, I wouldn't swap 

 him for the best high-priced dog that comes down here. 

 It's a fine day and I may have a chance to show you 

 some of his good points in the field,' 



"After a first-rate, breakfast we took our guns, dropped 

 a few cartridges in our coat pocket and started as lightly 

 rigged as the weather would permit to shoot out the 

 balance of the day. 



"We followed the road that ran to the southward of the 

 house for an hour or more, smoking and chatting, with 

 the old pointer .trailing on behind, until we came to a 

 break in the rail fence, and the wagon tracks told why the 

 rails had been removed. 



I " 'Now, Jim,' said Loveman, 'w§ ought to find sqjh§ 



