March 3, 1894.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



179 



dat's a fac\ You see, I likes a pipe, cause it's like an' oT 

 fr'en' dat you done know fo' a long time, but a seegar 

 alius 'peahs like a stranger an' it ta,kes you some time to 

 get 'quainted. 



"No seh, de wah did'n' make no diflf'rence to we-all. 

 Some ob de niggers was glad to git dere freedom, but dey 

 was mos'ly young folks. De ol'er ones was kinder sorry 

 like, dey did'n' wan' to leab ol' Marse, fo' dey was mighty 

 comf'able an' happy in dey little cabins, 'dout no rent to 

 pay an' nothin' 't all to pester 'em. No seh, I did'n' do no 

 fightin' nohow, but I went wid de ol' Marster when de 

 wah broke out, 'cause you know I was his p'ticular sarvent 

 an' ten' to him ever since we was bofe chillen. 



"Heh — whenever I goes quail shootin' it makes me 

 think ob de time when de ol' Marster an' me went hun tin' 

 one day over in de Valley of Furginia — you see — it was 

 long aboutthe en' of de wah, an' we was wid de Army of 

 Noth'n Furginia. Mistah Lincum was a keepin' our 

 rations down mighty clus, an' we all was pow'ful sick of 

 eatin' corn meal, but we did'n' hab nothin' else, so of cose 

 we had to make de bes' of it. Well, one mo'nin jus' 'bout 

 daybreak, I was a fixin' breakfas' fo' de ol' Marse, when 

 I hears some quail a pipin' in a little patch of corn stubble 

 ober to'ards de woods — Marster he done hear 'em too, an' 

 he lif' his haid off en his saddle 'n' say: 'Lis' en still, Isiah. 

 Hear dat whis'le. It soun's like quail.' 



" 'It cert'ny do,' sez I, 'an' dem quail would taste 

 mighty nice if dey was done broiled over dis yeah fiah. 

 Dey beat dis yeah no 'count corn pone and goober corfey, 

 I tell you. My sakes, dem quail holler so loud dey make 

 me 's hungry as a houn'.' 



"De Marster he done get up an' shake hisself, den he 

 look down to'ard dat cornfieP an' he sniff de air jus' like 

 he had done got de win' of dem birds. By-m-by he say, 

 'Look yeah, Isiah, we jus' gotten hab some ob dem quails 

 fo' breakfas'. Jus' you go up yon'er to dat fahmhouse, 

 an' see 'f you can borrer a shotgun.' 



"Well, up I went to de fahmhouse, 'n' knock on de doo' 

 an' take my hat off to de lady what opens it, an' say, 

 'Please, ma'am, missus, de Marster he wan' know if you- 

 all will ba so kin' enough fo' to len' him a, shotgun fo' a 

 few minutes, cause dere's some quail down yon'er what he 

 would like to git fo' breakfas'.' 'N' she say, 'Cert'n'y 't 

 . ain' much 'count, but de Oapt'in am welcome.' Den she 

 bring me de wuss lookin' gun you ebber did see; de barr'ls 

 was all red wid de rus'; an' one of de hammers act like it 

 .done had de rheumatiz. My! you nebber did seesicha 

 [gan\ Cose I did'n' say nothin', but 'low it was a fine gun, 

 [thank her very kin'ly, an' done toted de ol' thing back to 

 [de marster. He laugh when he see it, but we managed to 

 ;git one of de barr'ls loaded so as it would be very likely 

 to shoot, den we starts off fo' de cornfiel'. 



"De quail was hollerin' louder 'n' ever an' I 'clar' 'twas 

 so long sence I had done any huntin' dat I was a shakin' 

 like a young colt wid de wust case ob buck fever you 

 ebber see. When we reach de cornfiel' we done git down 

 : on our nan's an' knees 'n' c'mence to crawl very slow 

 like to'ards de bunch ob stalks where de quail was a 

 feedin'. 



"You knows we had to be mighty keerful, 'cause de 

 woods was jus' swarmin' wid Yankees. 



"Marster was creepin' jus' a little ahead ob me an' he 

 wave his ban' so like fo' me to keep back, so I jus' sot 

 still an' he crawled on. 



"He had'n' got no mo' 'n three yards away from whar 

 I sot when zip came one ob dem minie balls, 'n' it mus' 

 hab jus' passed about fo' inches over his head 'n' bury 

 itself in de dirt behin' him. 



"I looked up to'ards de woods on our right an' jus' 

 caught a glimpse of a little cloud of white smoke fadin' 

 away in de top of a big oak. De Marster he see it, too, 

 'n' I hear him sw'ar to hisself. 



"I whispered fo' him to come back, but he don' pay no 

 'tention to me, fo' he was ter'ble sot on gittin' dem quail, 

 an' he creeped right on. Den zipp-ie ! came another one 

 ab dem balls, an' a little bit ob san' flew up an' hit de 

 Marster in de face. Dat settles de matter, fo' he see dat 

 some daitn Yankee sharpshooter was up in dat live oak, 

 an' dat he was jus' feelin' fo' his range. He 'd got de 

 tine true 'nough; one shot had been too high, de nex' too 

 Low, but de third shot was jus' about liable to come in 

 between— an' dat's whar de Marster was. So back he 

 3ame, his face almos' as black as mine, an' a-sw'arin' mos' 

 pow'rful. 



"All day long we could hear dem quail a-callin', an' 

 every time de wind would bring deir voices to us, de 

 Marster would cuss dat Yankee twell he couldn' think ob 

 no mo' cuss words. 



"One day in de airly fall, long after de wah, when 

 Capt'in Haynes, a Yankee gen'leman, was down here at 

 de Hill f o' de shootin' season, I hear de ol' Marse a-tellin' 

 aim de story, while I was a-mixin' dem some aig-nogg; 

 m' de Marster he say, "No, seh, Capt'in Haynes, I don' 

 sear no manamosity to'rds de Yankees, dey done burned 

 ny houses, 'stroyed my fiel's and killed my stock, but I 

 wouldn' hab minded dat a bit if dat daim Yankee sharp- 

 shooter had only lemme git dem quail." 



The General. 



THE SOUL OF SHOOTING. 



It may be pretty late to recount one's experience in last 

 season's shooting, but as such occasions never die with 

 ;hose who really enjoy them, by such they seem always 

 appropriate and in order. While mine extended over 

 nost of the open season and was divided into many short 

 sxcursions, the grand results as far as bags of game were 

 concerned were quite small. I started out splendidly, 

 feetting five birds with my first six shots— one partridge' 

 fcne woodcock and three quail. If I had stopped here no 

 Iloubt my record would have been quite creditable in the 

 ■ 'aged class," but I should have lost much real sport, and 

 |he revival of ntany old memories that are dearer to my 

 beart than bags of game. 



1 I hunted mostly alone except for these memories, and 

 ftime in the soft autumn days would pass wonderfully fast 

 fcnd pleasant, with none visible about me but my faithful 

 Bog. If there were nothing about hunting but simply the 

 feame one gets, I never should hunt verv much now, what- 

 ever I might have once done. Sport without sentiment 

 fteems much like a harp without strings or a shadow with 

 fco sunshine to me nowadays. It may not always be good 

 taste to shake out this sentimental flag every time one 

 takes his rod, gun or pen, but shall we not be better men, 

 fend will not the enjoyment of our field sports be keener 

 fend more lasting the closer we entwine them with the 

 feffections of our hearts? It seems so to me. 

 I My system of hunting has become, of late years, to 



be very quiet and perhaps lazy. I take my dog in the 

 wagon in the morning, driving sometimes three or four 

 miles to a locality before hitching, and if I find one 

 bird I worry with it till it either comes to bag or out- 

 wits me, and the latter is quite often the case, though 

 I make it a rule never to leave a wounded bird as long 

 as I and the dog can keep any trace of it. Sometimes 

 I would do all my hunting for the day in one locality, 

 and at others I might try two or three places. I and 

 the dog would take our lunches quite regularly at about 

 noon, and the dog not having this bad habit I did the 

 smoking for the party the whole day. Some days we 

 took home a partridge, a brace of woodcock or a few 

 quail, and some days we went home without a feather; 

 but do not for a moment believe that such days were 

 entirely without sport and real benefit. The bushes may 

 have been very thick where we found the game, or the 

 birds may have flushed wild, or my shooting may have 

 been bad, owing partly to the rheumatism in my right 

 elbow, which was the case all season. But was I not all 

 the time hoping and expecting to get something, and did 

 I not enjoy one of those quiet autumnal days which needs 

 no description to those who have lived them? I cannot 

 hope for many more of those glorious seasons, but they 

 will be among the last to fade. A. 



DANVIS FOLKS.-XXIII. 



A Gathering Cloud. 

 The continual roar of the November wind on the moun- 

 tains was at times overborne by the nearer uproar of blasts 

 that swooped upon the valley, screeching through the 

 withered herbage, clashing the naked branches and driv- 

 ing the fallen leaves in sudden scurries against the low 

 window of the lean-to. 



But if the outer world was cheerless the shop was cosy, 

 and Uncle Lisha and Sam were enjoying its comfort over 

 their pipes and the affairs of their absent friends. At 

 times the draughty little stove ceased its fluttering mono- 

 tone, as if holding its breath to listen to the conversation. 

 Then it resumed its roar as if the subject was too trivial 

 for its attention. 



"Yes," said Sam, "Peltier's pooty sober, but he 'pears tu 

 be kinder settled daown, an' not narvous nor off in a 

 dream as he was. Why he'd hev spells last year, 'at he'd 

 stan' a gawpin' off int' the air, at nothin' anybody else 

 could see, an' let a fox go skippin' by him wi'aout seein' 

 the critter ner takin' no notice till Drive came on his 

 track an' looked wonderin' as if askin,' 'why in time 

 didn't you shoot?' Oncte he let a silver gray go by him 

 jest that way. That raly tried my patience, fer it seemed 

 as if it would ha' cured a feller of most anythin' tu ha' 

 shot that fox. Then agin, he'd be all in a whew, an' blaze 

 away wi'aout takin' no sight at nothin'. But he's carm 

 as a eight-day clock this fall, an' haint let a fox go by 

 yet, ner missed ary one." 



"I cal'late he'll be all right when fishin' time comes 

 raound agin," said Uncle Lisha, splashing an obdurate tap 

 in the tub and then bending it back and forth with im- 

 patient jerks. "Good airth an' seas. I b'lieve that aire 

 so'luther must ha' come off 'm an off ox, it's so dum'd 

 cont'ry." 



' 'It jes' as likel' he come off cao w, prob'ly," said Antoine, 

 catching the last remark as he entered the shop and took 

 his favorite seat. "Ah '11 have see caow was more wus 

 for do he '11 man' to as hoxens, jes' sem' aswhomans was," 

 and he crowded the tobacco down in his pipe and drew his 

 crossed legs closer under him. 



"Whomans was funny kan o' peoples, an' so was mans 

 prob'ly. Ah '11 b'lieve more as half de tarn' de fun ant 

 pay for de troublesome for get marry. Folkses had more 

 good tarn' for be hoi' bachely an' hoi' gal. Ah do' know 

 if Peltiet ant lucky for ant gat marry, prob'ly." 



"Sho, Ann Twine, you've took twicte as much geniwine 

 comfort as ye would if you 'd ben a-shoolin' 'raound 

 julluk a lunsome garnder all yer days, an' so hev I, along 

 wi' my ol' goose, an' so 's Sam, tew, a-hevin'. One tech 

 o' that leetle goslin' o' hisen, a-snugglin' up tu him, is 

 wuth more 'n ten year o' his ol' wiT goosin. Haint it, 

 Samwil?" 



Sam nodded a hearty affirmative. He could hear the 

 slow rock of a cradle in the next room above the subdued 

 voices of the old wife and the young, and the occasional 

 responses of his father, who preferred the amiable con- 

 verse of these two women to the babble of the men. 



"The trouble is," Uncle Lisha went on, "folks gits mer- 

 ried tew young, 'fore they raly know what they want, 

 an' bimeby wake up an' fin' they got what they don't 

 want, an' then they jest set the' sharp aidges tow-ards one 

 'nother the hull endurin' time." 



"It ant gat no diefrunce," Antoine protested, "w'en 

 Ah '11 was marree, Ah '11 was heigh teen, an' Ursule was 

 feefteen, an' we '11 ant quarrly honly for made up ag'in. 

 Mebby some tarn Ah '11 had for slap it leetly mite, but 

 we '11 be all raght pooty quick. Wal, siah, One' Lasha, 

 der was hoi man an' hoi hwomans in Canada get marree 

 togedder w'en dey was hoi, an' in free day dey was set 

 heat dinny an' leetly maouse run on de haouse, an' hoi 

 hwomans say, 'See dat maouse.' Hoi mans say, 'It was 

 rats,' an' hoi hwomans say, 'No, it was maouse.' 'Ah tol' 

 you it was rats,' he '11 said. 'Maouse,' she '11 said, an' dey 

 holler 'Rat,' 'Maouse,' an' get so mad he' 11 go 'way an' 

 stay free year. Den he '11 come back, an' she '11 was 

 veree glad for see it. 'It was too bad you '11 go 'way so, 

 jes' for leetly maouse.' 'Ant Ah '11 tol' you it was rats?' 

 he '11 holler, an he '11 go an' never come some more. What 

 you tink fer hoi folkses now, One' Lisha?" 



"Yis, the's ol' fools as well as young fools, an' it's hard 

 tellin' which is the biggest. But I've hearn tell o' tew ol' 

 critters 'at got sot aidgeways an' come aout better 'n you 

 tell on. They 'd lived together thirty year, but bimeby 

 they fell aout, an' they 'd mump raound all day 'thaout 

 speakin', an' when it come night they 'd turn the' backs 



hips, till she see the ol' man was a-gitftn' tuckered, an' 

 the bear a-hevin' the best on't, an' then she up with a 

 sled stake an' gin the bear awollopon the back 't knocked 

 him stiff er'n a last, an' tben they hed a hugging match 

 over the carkis of the bear, an' lived tugether as folks 

 ortu, tu the eend o' the' days. But what's this I hear eem 

 tellin' 'baout that aire Bascom goin' to marry Square Need- 

 ham's widder? She's rich, I s'pose. Got taller 'nough 

 aouten the ol' ox tu buy her a steer." 



"Ah '11 guess he '11 marree it if he'll could, prob'ly. 

 What ail dat Bascoms? He '11 borry money of ev'ree 

 bodee, an' dey say dey can' anybody gat hees pay, honly 

 promise, promise, nex' week, nex' week." 



"I'm glad he's in the same fix I be," said the old man. 

 "He haint got none o' my money, ner I haint nuther." 



"An' dey say folks was hear loaded team goin' way 

 from de store in de naght, an' dey fink he'll carry hees* 

 good." 



"Sho! You don't say? Wal, I'm afeered he's a tough 

 cud fer someb'y to chaw, I r'aly be, an' a turrible nice- 

 spoken, candid-appearin' feller he is tuw." 



Sam arose, went to the door, and looked out into the 

 gusty night and retired to the kitchen. He bent for a 

 long time over his boy sleeping in the cradle where 

 Huldah, sitting sewing at the table corner, could jog it 

 with her foot. Then he cast a troubled glance upon his 

 wife and Aunt Jerusha at her knitting, and at his father 

 nodding over the braided husks coiled in many convolu- 

 tions about his legs and on the floor. Then he sat down 

 in moody silence to whittle the morning's kindlings. 



"You '11 ant s'pose prob'ly Sam w-as lend it money, ant 

 it?" Antoine whispered. 



"Good airth an' seas, no," said Uncle Lisha, in a voice 

 as guarded as its emphasis would allow, "Samwil haint 

 no money tu lend, but he 's allers took onaccountable tu 

 that aire Bascom, an' he can't abear tu hear a word agin 

 him. There, that tarnal tap is on at last, an' it's hopesin' 

 it won't make the man 'at wears it go the way he don't 

 wanter. It 's contr'y 'nough, tu." 



He loosened his foot and the boot from the strap that 

 held it to his lap, and rising with a sigh of relief, began 

 to untie his apron, a hint that hastened Antoine's depar- 

 ture. Rowland E. Robinson. 



ight m tne fall o' the year 

 they heered a turrible rumpus 'mongst the sheep in the 

 yard, an' he ups an' dresses him an' goes aout. Arter 

 quite a spell, an' he didn't come back, she slips on her 

 gaownd an' shoes an' aout she goes tu see what 's the 

 matter ailded him, an' lo an' behol', he was clinched in 

 with an almighty gret bear, the bear a-chawin' at him an' 

 him a-huggin' as hard as the bear tu keep him f 'm gittin' 

 his hind claws intu his in'ards, which is onpleasant, as I 



FIGHTING FOR A DEER TRACK. 



I Was stopping at a hotel in Indiana a number of years 

 ago, and made a passing acquaintance of a gentleman in 

 this way: I was looking at some railroad map of Wiscon- 

 sin, in the vicinity of Wausau, Marathon county, when he 

 casually asked me if I was acquainted up there. Telling 

 him no, but that I had recently been up there looking 

 over some land on which I had paid taxes for twenty-five 

 years or more, but had never before seen, he said that 

 when a boy he had lived in that section, and had so often 

 been out with his father who was employed sometimes by 

 surveyors and sometimes by owners of land in looking up 

 their property, that he was familiar with that entire sec- 

 tion. In speaking of looking over my land I happened to 

 say that at two pools or small ponds of water I had noticed 

 the tracks of many deer, where they had evidently gone 

 down to drink. With a peculiar smile he said: "Speak- 

 ing of deer tracks recalls one of my experiences up there. 

 I was about seventeen years old, a fair shot, and had 

 killed many deer unaided. There had been a fall of three 

 or four inches of snow one afternoon, the first of the 

 season, and as the clouds cleared away about sunset, I 

 determined to start early the next morning for a deer. 

 Getting into the woods about sunrise I jumped a deer 

 almost before I had really settled down to business. It 

 was a fine doe and I had carelessly turned her out of doors, 

 as it were, from her night's apartment beside a large 

 fallen pine. I made a quick shot as she bounded directly 

 away from me,with no effect, so far as I could see, except 

 to push her quickly to one side; and when I got up where 

 she was when my gun cracked, I found a little tuft of 

 hair that had evidently been cut from her side, but no 

 blood stained the snow. 



"Having a muzzleloading rifle I took plenty of time to 

 reload, knowing that she would not get quieted down and 

 stop for some little time. I followed the trail carefully all 

 the forenoon, and only saw her once, but did not get a 

 shot. I saw in the mean time the tracks of several other 

 deer crossing the one I was following, in one instance two 

 together, and quite as fresh as the one I was on, but I 

 thought to myself, this is mine, and I will follow it out. 

 But imagine my feelings, when soon after noon I came on 

 to the imprints in the snow of a good-sized pair of boots 

 keeping my deer track veiy close company. Of course I 

 stopped and thought the matter over a little. One argu- 

 ment was, 'You can go back and pick up one of the many 

 tracks you have crossed in coming here.' But against this 

 came the thought that 'Some one may have killed those 

 deer or run them out of reach before you get back there, 

 and besides, this is your track.' That settled it, and I 

 hastened on without using any precaution to get a shot at 

 the deer, but with all speed to get a sight of the man who 

 wore the boots. I had gone a mile or more when, as I 

 went over a knoll I came suddenly upon him, and with no 

 preliminaries I said, 'You are on my deer track.' He said 

 he reckoned not, that he had been following it for two 

 hours and he thought it was bis. I told him I had been 

 on the trail since sunrise and I thought it was mine. 

 That ended the verbal argument, except that both said 

 they would have the track or fight; and as if by mutual 

 consent we set our guns up against trees and came to- 

 gether, catch as catch can. While I was only seventeen 

 years old, I was pretty well grown for my age, quite 

 active, with good wind and plenty of sand. However, I 

 was thoroughly satisfied that I was right. My antagonist 

 was about thirty years old, well set and about my size. 

 We tussled about for some time, and once I came down 

 on one knee, but my foe was either getting winded, or he 

 was too slow in benefitting by his advantage, for I gained 

 my feet quickly and found myself with the under-hold, 

 when with a heel-trip I laid him flat on his back with my 

 weight across his breast. He struggled once or twice to 

 throw me off, without any prospect of success, and then 

 said that if I would let him up he would give up the track. 

 I took his word for it. We both got up, shook the snow 

 off and picked up our rifles. I followed after the deer, 

 he turned back and we have never met since. I got a 

 shot at the deer after a while, breaking one of its hind 

 followed it till near sunset and found I was about 



know. Go it, ol man, go it bear, says she, 'it's the fust ] thirteen miles from home; went to the nearest farm- 

 %V ev6 f f, e ?* I , dldn ' t keer which licked.' house, staid all night, took the track the nest morning 



'She stood lookin' on a leetle spell with her fists on her ' and got my deer within an hour." A 



