[May 26, 



"Forest and Stream's" Yellowstone 

 Park Game Exploration. 



442 



DEER, DUCKS AND CRANE IN MEXICO. 



San Luis Potosi, Mexico. — Nobody in Mexico is 

 expected to work during the semana santa. But it is 

 all right to amuse yourself. I am not quite sure why it 

 is considered so much more irreligious to work than to 

 play. But it is characteristic of the country. Easter 

 comes rather late in the season for hunting, but from 

 President Diaz down about every man in this land who 

 loves a gun takes advantage of the last days of Lent for 

 a little outing. Not to be out of fashion 1 went myself. 



Eleven o'clock A. M., and the sun coming down 

 straight and hot, found three of us at the little station of 

 Las Tablas. The country around the lonesome station 

 house is an alkaline flat, apparently once the bottom of 

 a lake. It is covered with coarse marsh grass and the 

 salt water goes wandering mysteriously about through it, 

 now above ground forming a neat little pond and now 

 disappearing with a gurgle to come to light a hundred 

 yards away a limpid stream. It looks good, but it tastes 

 "pizen." The burros and other natives drink it freely, 

 but it doesn't combine with the interior economy of a 

 civilized man. A big cedar brake fringes the open plain 

 and straggles along the borders of the ponds. A mile 

 back of the station a long rocky ridge springs from the 

 flat some 300ft. in height and several miles in length. 

 There are usually deer to be found on this ridge, and 

 though rough it is open and a fairly good place to bunt 

 them. In front of the station (north) lie the ponds, of all 

 shapes and sizes, and scattered over hundreds of acres. 



The sun was pouring down a dazzling white flood. 

 The open spots recently covered with water were how 

 incrusted with crystal saltpeter, white as snow. The 

 heat was intense and quivering, but of all the cranks the 

 hunter is the crankiest. We jointed our guns, filled our 

 shell pockets and started after ducks. And we got 'em. 

 A good many had left for the icy comfort of the North , 

 but th« ponds were still covered with them. They were 

 all rolling in fat, preparatory to their long migration. 

 The battle was hot, in more senses than one, for a little 

 while, as they lazily flew back and forth between the 

 ponds where we were stationed. But they gradually 

 drifted away, under the lead of long-necked sprigtails, to 

 more distant waters, and we had time to compare notes 

 and eat lunch. 



My two companions decided to stay with the ducks 

 during the afternoon. I took the string of dead ones 

 with me to send home and went back to the station. 

 There I rested till the up train came by at 4 P. M. and 

 the Gulf breeze began to blow cool and sweet. The con- 

 ductor took charge of the game and a note for the "wim- 

 men folks," and I shouldered the old .45-90 cannon and 

 started after deer. The end of March is no time for deer 

 hunting, I know, but what would you? I had spent the 

 winter in a benighted part of Tennessee where there are 

 no deer, and this was my first chance. 



I went down the track about a mile and started over a 

 sort of gap in the ridge. A man's muscles get "vealy" if 

 he stays out of the mountain « too long. I had to stop 

 often. Behind me spread the plain, mostly open, for ten 

 miles or more. Between thin groves of mesquite and the 

 denser copses of cedar stretched the long reaches of grass 

 and alkali barrens. In time of heavy rains the whole 

 plain is often under water. It has very little slope, and 

 most of this water remains till evaporated. Occasionally 

 I could hear the boom of my companions' guns, more than 

 a mile away. Little groups of donkeys were scattered 

 about, and every minute or so a long-drawn "ge-honk" 

 from some of them would be the opening note in a 

 general chorus, which rolled against the hillside and was 

 taken up faint and more faintly in the misty distance. 

 The burro's vocal apparatus would be a treasure to the 

 railroads if steam could be applied to it. Its performance 

 is as much out of proportion to the size of the animal as a 

 Ilea's jump. 



Just before turning the crest I took a final breathing 

 spell. It was 5 o'clock, and I thought I might find some- 

 thing astir. Peeping cautiously over I saw that a steep 

 gulch led down the opposite side, just in front of me. As 

 I examined the shoulders of the ridge on either side I saw 

 a deer wheel at sight of me and start to trot away, about 

 125yds. off to my right. There was no time for nonsense, 

 as he had only a few feet to go before disappearing. I 

 brought the old: gun around with a sweep, and caught a 

 quick glimpse of the bulk through the Lyman sights. I 

 never could have done it with any others. All was quiet 

 as the smoke cleared away, and I slipped in another 

 cartridge. Then out he came, bawling and thrashing the 

 brush and rolling down the hill in a most disconcerted 

 way. I couldn't get a bead on him to save me. When he 

 got to the bottom of the gulch he stopped. My man ran 

 along one hillside and I the other, and we headed him off 

 and caught him. Both hindlegs were broken low down. 

 (The shot was low, as I afterward found, because my 

 sight had been tampered with.) 1 took out my knife and 

 went to work in orthodox style. Bah! I'll never do it 

 again. I felt like a cold-blooded murderer. As long as 

 the game is up and alert and ready to escape at a breath, 

 the excitement of getting possession sustains me. But 

 once it is reduced to helplessness my heart fails. If ever 

 I have to kill another wounded deer it shall be with the 

 quick and merciful bullet. 



My quarry was a four-point buck in fair flesh. Strange 

 to say he still carried his horns, and though small they 

 were in perfect condition. Can any one suggest a reason 

 why the breeding season of deer in this country is a 

 month or more later than in the United States? My man 

 took him on his back and trotted off around the point of 

 the hill. I went lounging back over the top. 1 didn't 

 care to hunt any more. Going toward the station the 

 wind was behind me and blowing hard. About half way 

 down the hill I crossed the trail of two small deer going 

 my way. I began to follow, but my heavy shoes 

 crunched among the stones and the wmd roared in a 

 gale from me to them. They kept stopping just ahead of 

 me, as I could see from the tracks, and once I caught a 

 glimpse of one as he hopped across an opening. They 

 were a precious pair of donkeys, and had it not been that 

 everything was against me I should have got another scalp. 



The other fellows brought in more ducks, and that 

 night the wind blew quite cool, putting our game, which 

 was hung up to air, in fine condition. Once game is 

 thoroughly chilled it will keep for several days in spite of 

 heat. Next morning we all took a round over the moun- 

 tain, but no deer were seen. After following the ridge 

 for two or three miles we came down into the valley, 

 found a fine grove of mesquites shading a carpet of 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



marsh grass and had our lunch. Over a little fire we 

 warmed the tortillas, beans, eggs, and coffee with pilon- 

 cillo, which we had got from a good Mexican woman 

 near by, and supplemented with them the canned meats 

 and other contents of our bag. It is amazing what a vast 

 capacity for destroying rations a single day's hunt will 

 develop. We ate till everything had disappeared except 

 a piece of raw bacon and some potatoes fried in a hair- 

 lifting chile compound that vanquished even the cosmo- 

 politan Spanish tooth carpenter, who was of the party. 



Near by was a spring of alleged fresh water whence the 

 railway people pump supplies for their engines. The 

 genial pump man told us of a laguna near by where there 

 were ducks galore and where the cranes still watered — 

 such of them as had not departed for Canada. We found 

 a flock of them restine on the shore when we reached it, 

 but they promptly took their leave. The waters had dried 

 up and left a wide stretch of bare margin all around. The 

 ducks were plentiful but cover was not to be had. How- 

 ever, we surrounded the laguna, which was about half a 

 mile long. I found a sharp point which had on it a few 

 tufts of dried grass. At the first gun the ducks began to 

 fly up and down and the fun commenced. Singles, 

 double and in flocks, sprigtails, widgeons, shovelers, 

 baldpates, teal, they were everywhere and going in every 

 direction. By the time they had begun to thin out a lit- 

 tle I had quite a collection around me. I picked up the 

 ones that had fallen on land and took them back to the 

 shade where I had tied my dog. I intended to loose him 

 to get such as were in the water. But while I was in the 

 bush I heard the trumpet of a crane, and looking out saw 

 a long double line coming across the water right toward 

 me. They were prospecting, as they always do, to see if 

 the coast was clear before lighting. I clawed the No. 6 

 loads out of my gun and reached for some No. 2s which I 

 had in my pocket. It seemed to me that I never would 

 get them into the chambers. As the gun closed with a 



RAILROAD RODTK TO COOKE CITY. 



snap the big birds were passing right alongside about 60ft. 

 high. I just stepped clear out into the open and put in a 

 right and left as fast as my finger would work. The 

 double thump on the marsh grass which followed made 

 me grow about a foot. Uhm-m! but doesn't that kind of 

 a shot put a good taste in your mouth! 



I gathered up my slain, which made a brave show, as 

 the ducks were getting on their spring clothes, and went 

 back to my grass blind (?). Here I had a shot from time 

 to time at passing ducks. I missed a good many of them. 

 I suppose everybody does. They were at all heights and 

 flying with greatly varying velocities, and this, in addi- 

 tion to their being of all sorts and sizes, made heavy 

 demands on the shooter's experience and judgment. 

 Occasionally I would make a shot that would cause me to 

 hug both myself and gun in congratulation. After a good 

 while I saw more cranes coming straight for me. It was 

 too late to get back to the brush. I stuck my head in the 

 grass and flattened out like a scared toad. Two loads of 

 heavy shot that I had lying handy were slipped in, and 

 as they came by at rather long range, I gave them a 

 broadside. One old fellow dropped out, making a tre- 

 mendous splash in the water, I heard the shot rattle on 

 the other's feathers, but he went on. I was probably 

 deceived by the distance and shot too straight at him. 

 That is a fault that is hard to avoid with such large birds. 

 But they really fly quite rapidly. The flock went on, and 

 as they reached the upper end of thepond I saw one waver 

 and drop out of line before the sound of Dr. E.'s quick 

 double reached me. 



That night we had a load. Four sandhill cranes and 

 twenty odd ducks weigh a good deal when hung on a 

 stick. And it was the fag end of a hard day's tramping 

 and shooting. At the pump house we got help, and when 

 the track was reached the boss of the section gang got out 

 his little push car with true Mexican politeness and sent us 

 all in. 



Next day was Saturday, and our last. We got up early. 

 I decided to try the deer again, and my companions to go 

 to the cedar brake after turkeys. The hunt was a failure, 

 though both deer and turkey are doubtless fairly plentiful! 

 That afternoon the train was five hours behind time, and 

 after it began to grow cool and we had rested from the 

 morning round, we took our guns again and paid the 

 ducks a call, P. P. C. It was a lovely little shoot. We 

 added about a dozen to our collection, and came back to 

 find an empty commissariat staring us in the face. There 

 was a famine thereabouts. We had even drank up all the 

 fresh water. The agent of the railroad had a barrel which 

 was filled for him from the engines. It was empty, and 

 not to be filled till next day. We had to drink pond 

 water, with dead minnows, dirt and an original and only 

 genuine smell for trimmings. But we survived, and the 

 train did come at last. Moreover, the train men treated 

 us "white" in the matter of carrying game and traps, 

 and — and we would do it again. Aztec. 



No. 3. 



Chicago, 111., May 12. — Last week I gave some expres- 

 sions of opinion heard among the friends of the Cooke 

 City Railroad through the Park, commonly known as the 

 "segregation road" or the "segregation scheme." The 

 latter is the better term. The project was never at any 

 stage more than a scheme, and is now a good scheme 

 because it is a dead scheme, thanks much to Forest and 

 Stream's repeated expositions of the facts. Facts are the 

 deadliest medicine on earth for schemes. In the candid 

 belief of many of the best Montana merchants and busi- 

 ness men in general, there never was at any time any 

 money behind the Cooke City Railway scheme except the 

 .fund raised by its adherents for the purpose of enlarging 

 the disgraceful record of American lobbying. Actual 

 capital to build the road is not now in evidence. Friends 

 of the scheme say it once "could have been raised." 

 Opponents to the scheme allege the opposite, and declare 

 that all the pushers of the Cooke City scheme expected or 

 wanted was to get the right of way. The right of way 

 would of course be valuable even for the purpose of locat- 

 ing mineral claims, and as a salable franchise of course it 

 would have a certain speculative value. The arguments 

 used to back it were very plausible, very specious, very 

 well-appearing, and especially strong in the two points 

 most brought into play — sympathy for the industrious 

 miners and the practical industrial development of a valu- 

 able portion of a great State. There are many Montana 

 men who believe that behind these two masks of apparent 

 sincerity there hides actually the visage of a selfishness 

 and unscrupulousness which is either narrow or absolutely 

 insincere. 



It would be arrogating a very swift quality of wisdom 

 to myself to -claim that I knew all, or even much, about 

 either side of this question, in regard to which there is so 

 wide a local divergence of opinion, and I do not so claim. 

 But I do claim that Forest and Stream knows more 

 about, and has gone to the bottom of it more fully, and 

 has set forth the exact truths in regard to it more fairly 

 and justly, than any other journal on earth, of any class 

 whatever, and whether of Montana or elsewhere. To 

 accuse Forest and Stream of an Eastern prejudice when 

 it is working for a Western benefit is unjust enough, but 

 to accuse it of ignorance of the theme in hand is to show 

 a local folly and ignorance hardly worth a good healthy 

 contempt. It is my privilege and duty to add to the 

 Forest and Stream fund of information by telling, fairly 

 and fully, what the men in Montana say about this segre- 

 gation scheme. Last week I told what the friends of the 

 scheme say. This time I want to quote a few men who 

 do not believe in segregation. I think both the one and 

 the other are going to be a little rough on the scheme 

 itself, which is doubtlessly blessed by friends whose hot- 

 headedness leads them to wild and injurious statements. 

 Such intemperance of statement, I am bound in justice 

 to add, I did not find among the opponents of this scheme, 

 although I do not doubt they are just as much in earnest 

 and just as apt to be in the fight at the end of the issue — 

 if, indeed, the end is not already reached to-day. 



Capt. Anderson, Superintendent of the Park. 



The representative of Forest and Stream was enter- 

 tained by Capt. Anderson at Fort Yellowstone, and one 

 could hardly quote the unreserved statements of a host. 

 This, however, is not necessary, for the position Capt. 

 Anderson has alway maintained as to the integrity of the 

 Park is something too well known throughout Montana to 

 require reiteration. The organs of the Cooke City faction 

 have abused him continuously in the hot-headed, ill-ad- 

 vised fashion to which I have called attention, but in this 

 abuse he takes a placid pride and satisfaction, regarding 

 it as the highest possible tribute to his efforts at keeping 

 the Park as it is, the property of the whole people and not 

 of a few of the people. "The more Ihey shate jne, the bet- 

 ter I shall like it," said he, "but just ateusing the Park 

 superintendent isn't going to scare the U. S. Army, and it 

 isn't going to throw open this Park to poachers and land- 

 grabbers. As to this road proposed, you just go over the 

 route yourself and you will see the reasons why I or any 

 other thinking man must oppose the idea. In the first 

 place, anyroad in means all roads can come; in the sec- 

 ond place, this road would ruin the Park and leave it with- 

 out a boundary on the north, where now it has a very 

 practical boundary; in the next place, this road is imprac- 

 ticable even if it were right to undertake it; and in the 

 last place, and especially, to have that road built would 

 be to kill all the antelope, and to practically cut off for- 

 ever the thousands of elk which winter in the northeast- 

 ern part of the Park. Moreover, and besides all that, this 

 Park is too grand an affair to be touched. It is here, and 

 let us keep it as it is. For my part, I love it, and I hope 

 never to see it spoiled." 



I suppose now I should add that I did go over the route 

 of the proposed segregation railway, but the fact is, I 

 didn't. Nobody ever has or ever will, in all probability. 

 But our party kept away to the right of the white moun- 

 tains that line the deep-sunken Yellowstone, along which 

 the Cooke City road must go if it goes through the Park. 

 We climbed the Gardiner Hill, about four miles straight 

 up in the air, crossed the succession of hills and streams 

 which cover that upper region, and ten miles further on 

 ran down five miles more, steep as a house roof, into the 

 valley at Yancey's. When it came to going back, some 

 one jokingly proposed we return down the Yellowstone 

 canons, along the "railway" route. "My boy," said 

 Uncle John Yancey, "you couldn't get down there in ten 

 years." From this I infer that a railroad couldn't get up 

 in ten years, also that it will not, even in a thousand 

 years. If it ever does, it will have a good solid roadbed, 

 sure, and plenty of snowsheds. As to the game which 

 winters in the valleys making down the big river, I have 

 already hinted and shall speak fully later. Capt. Ander- 

 son's reasons against the Yellowstone Valley road are 

 patent to any one who knows that country as it actually 

 is. Years of residence at the Park, and continuous explor- 

 ation of it, would seem to give that knowledge to the 

 superintendent of the Park. 



Mr. J. D. Losekamp, of Billings. 

 Mr. Losekamp is a typical Western business man, 



