FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Jan. 4, 18*6, 
brought him down. I think almost any other man than 
Braithwaite would have lost this particular moose. He 
had an excellent set of antlers, measuring 49in. across, 
but not so fine in other respects as the pair secured at the 
Crooked Deadwater. 
William says they saw no caribou on the entire trip 
and very few tracks, which is partly owing to the exten- 
sive lumber operations now being carried on at Little Sou'- 
west Lake and Jack's Lake, where caribou have hereto- 
fore been very numerous. 
One of the most impressive sights the Prowler has wit- 
nessed of late was the return of Mr. John Bodkin from his 
hunt on the caribou plains near Gaspereaux with the ven- 
erable guide, Joe Mitchell. They brought into town on a 
country wagon one rainy day the unskinned carcasses of 
three large bull caribou and a deer. One of the caribou 
heads was much above the average. Joe says the caribou 
were very plentiful and it would have been easy to kill a 
score of them. 
Harry Chestnut returned to-day from his trip on Nor'- 
west waters with Arthur Pringle, bringing two caribou 
heads, one of them a good specimen. They saw no 
moose. Pringle shot a caribou with a remarkably large 
set of antlers. Prowleb. 
Fredebicton, N. B., Dec. 33. 
A HUNT FOR TEN CENTS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The season now drawing to a close has been, in this sec- 
tion, rather below the average. 
Woodcock have not been overabundant, while they who 
have been so fortunate as to bag a few quail are looked 
upon with more or less envy by their fellow sportsmen. 
Partridges, however, I am glad to say, are reported to 
have been more abundant than usual. This, there can be 
no doubt, is directly attributable to the appointment of 
game wardens, who, soon after the law was off , succeeded 
in arresting one of the snarers with which the woods 
around here have been so thickly infested. While the 
outcome of this arrest was rather discouraging to sports- 
men in general, still there can be no disputing the fact 
that it has had a rather salutary effect on the general con- 
tingent of snarers. The person arrested was caught with 
seven snared birds in his possession. It was expected that 
he would be heavily fined, but through a flaw in the law, 
which can readily be taken advantage of by discriminating 
rural justices, he escaped very lightly. 
While a trip in the woods will reveal lines of snarers, 
on examination they will be found (most of them) to be 
old, broken down and unused. They are last year's. 
Very few will be found to have been recently con- 
structed. 
Now that the bird season is drawing to a close, sports- 
men hereabout are looking forward with pleasurable ex- 
pectations to the fox hunts, which in recent years have 
become so popular in this section. 
These hunts are largely patronized by New Haven's 
most celebrated brush and trap-shooters and business 
men. Some time in the near future I hope to be able to 
send Forest and Stream a description of one of these 
enjoyable occasions. 
Shifting to an entirely different subject, if it will not 
be considered too much of an intrusion on your valuable 
space, I would like to tell of one of the most enjoyable 
hunts I ever engaged in. The most peculiar part of this 
hunt is it only cost 10 cents. The manner in which it 
came about was: I had been reading the evening papers, 
with their sensational headlines of portending war, 
whereupon, growing weary of their exaggerations of an 
already ticklish subject, I laid them aside for something 
better. When my eyes lighted on the familiar cover of 
Forest and Stream it is needless to tell of the pleasant 
recollections it awoke in my mind. I realized that in a 
perusal of its pages the mind would be carried to scenes 
and thoughts more congenial than could be conveyed by 
war news, much of which is manufactured for the express 
purpose of increasing newspaper circulation. 
Upon taking up the great sportsman's journal and open- 
ing it my eyes lighted on the article headed "Two Men in 
the Woods." 
I settled myself comfortably on the lounge with mind 
fully prepared to enjoy a half hour's good reading, then, 
aB the hour was rather late, to betake myself to bed. 
I had read as far along as the sentence that tells of the 
"peculiar" sound of the hound's voice after he struck the 
trail, when, strange to relate, I actually became one of 
the party, and was engaging in my first bear hunt. I 
could hear the "peculiar" sound of that hound's voice as 
plainly as I would had he been in the room. Over marsh 
and meadow land, through thicket and glade, up hill and 
down, through dark cafions and along the base of steep, 
forest-crowned ledges, he led us. Then his voice, chang- 
ing in the distance, came back to us soft and melodious 
as a fairy lute floating on the faintest of zephyrs. 
Finally he led us to the banks of a turbulent stream, 
whose waters, rushing down a steep incline, were shat- 
tered into feathery lace works of foam against black- 
headed rocks and mossy islets that stood above the sur- 
face. The sun breaking through the fog at this instant 
touched this wild scene with such a dazzle of colors as to 
form a picture of grandeur too beautiful for description. 
We had proceeded along the bank but a short distance, 
when we perceived the bear on one of the small islands, 
where he had evidently gained a foothold while endeav- 
oring to cross the stream, the current of which had 
proved too strong for him. 
Even while we looked the hound broke out of the thick 
pine and hemlock woods that lined the bank. Reaching 
the water's edge he paused for an instant, then plunging 
into the stream he gamely struck out for the island, 
where the bear stood upright and at bay. 
Reaching the island the hound crawled out on its mossy 
bank, then crouching low for an instant, he made a sud- 
den dive for bruin's legs, which he seemed content to 
snap at. He repeated this maneuver over and over, nim- 
bly dodging the blows made at him by the bear. We 
watched him at these tactics until we reached a point op- 
posite the island, 
By this time the bear was thoroughly aroused. His 
breast was covered with flecks of froth, and even above 
the roar of the stream we could hear his surly growls and 
the barking of the dog. 
Fearful lest in his blind rage bruin might injure the 
hound we all opened fire on him with our Winchesters. 
We fired so quick and fast that the reports mingled into 
<W? Qor^irjupus/ b-r-r-r-r-r-r, When, before J could sea 
what'effect they had taken on the bear, I awoke with a 
start in time to hear the last sound of the alarm clock as 
it mingled with the rumbling approach of the first trol- 
ley car [of the day. Great Scott! I had dreamed it all. 
Nevertheless I can thank Forest and Stream for a hunt, 
even if it was only a dream, that will always awaken 
pleasant memories. And all for 10 cents. 
William H. Avis. 
New Haven, Conn., Dec. 26. 
MISSES OF PLEASANT MEMORY. 
Often, when thinking over my many hunting excur- 
sions and other incidents thereto, I try to make up my 
mind what shot I regret missing the most. Such reflec- 
tions bring back to me floods of happy memories of the 
times spent amid nature's grandest and best scenes and 
pictures of every kind of game animal in the United 
States. I can see them now (in my mind's eye) and how 
they stood amid their grand surroundings, for I have shot 
them all, with the exception of the mountain goat and 
sheep, and these I have often been close to, but not close 
enough. When I get to thinking about it I get fevered 
with excitement and long to go through it all again. 
Sometimes I say it is my first bull moose, then again a 
grand bull elk, and anon it is that pesky black bear. 
Again, it is that finest blacktailed stag among a band of 
four beauties — and so on and so on; for, brother sports- 
man, I am not ashamed to say I have made many misses; 
yet in justice to myself I must say that my hits and kills 
have exceeded the misses. 
Now, I know that the shot I regret missing the most (I 
know of no keener regret for the time being) was in the 
fall of 1894. It was on a wet day on the Grand Marshes 
near Grand Lake, Newfoundland. I had succeeded by 
careful stalking on almost open ground in getting within 
75yds. of one of the grandest caribou stags it has ever 
been my fortune to see. He had a monstrous head of 
antlers, fully sixty points. It is only in Newfoundland 
that one can see such stags and antlers. I certainly never 
saw anything like it before nor ever expect to see such 
again. There the old fellow lay, not more than 75yds. 
away, but unfortunately his harem lay around him, con- 
sisting of some ten hinds, I feel sure I could have pinned 
him in the shoulders, but my guide insisted on my wait- 
ing until he rose, but when he rose his harem rose with 
him (as if to do him homage) and surrounded him. I 
couldn't get in a shot without hitting a hind, and the up- 
shot of it was that I only got two running shots and 
scored a clean miss. I think I shall never cease to regret 
missing that shot, and it stands out in relief whenever I 
think of the shots I have missed. I wanted those antlers, 
and if ever a man coveted what belonged to another I 
was that man, as I stood up to my knees in mud on that 
large swamp with the rain coming down and drenching 
me. You see, I was selfish, having already a fine set of 
antlers in camp. 
Accounts of moose hunting seem to be coming in. I 
would like to add my little say. Howard Fuguet and I 
spent three weeks on the headwaters of the Shelburne 
River, Nova Scotia, in September. We each got a bull 
moose with two fine sets of antlers, besides getting shots 
at others. Almost every day we "called" we had answers, 
and sometimes two bulls would start to come at a time, 
but the cows were so plentiful they would "call" them 
back. One morning I had two bulls coming nicely from 
opposite directions, but unfortunately they met at the 
edge of the green woods, and of all the answering and 
racket they made I have never heard the like. They 
were each large bulls and neither wo Id advance into the 
open. After a while we heard some cows bellow out and 
they both went back as fast as they had come. 
I know of no grounds on this continent that are so easy 
of access that offer so good a chance for moose. The 
only trouble is that the cows are so numerous that the 
bulls will not leave them until later in the season. The 
country is literally tracked up with moose. This would 
be a grand place for still-hunting after the leaves are off. 
Quail are quite scarce here in Florida this season. 
Some attribute it to a wet spring and others to some dis- 
ease. Last winter they were quite plentiful here. 
H. W. Hamlyn. 
Melrose, Fla. 
A NEWSPAPER ITEM. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
All the enjoyment of sporting pleasures that I have 
had for several years past has been furnished by your 
Forest and Stream. And, considering its excellence 
and the certainty that once a week I can have an evening 
of real pleasure in its perusal, I am not certain that I 
would exchange permanently this Forest and Stream 
for those of the North Woods. 
When I was a boy we had no sporting newspapers, and 
I well remember the first item of hunting news I ever saw 
in print. 
The Utica Observer was our family paper and I always 
made it a point to look at the picture of a ship under full 
sail, and read the legend beneath, "Ten days later from 
Europe;" and then skip to the heading of the doings of 
the XXVIII. Congress in their strife with the President, 
John Tyler. But on one occasion there was an item that 
I knew something about, and which ran thus: 
"One day last week, John Robinson, in Fulton county, killed a full 
grown female panther in the woods about four miles south of North- 
ville. The State bounty on that kind of game is $30. " 
I knew John Robinson well, and also knew all about 
his killing the panther. But to see an account of the 
matter in print, together with the name of a man I knew, 
was a circumstance that added greatly to the laurels of 
the hunter. 
The event transpired on the 4th of May, 1843. During 
the night previous there had been a light fall of snow, as 
often takes place as late as that in that northern section of 
the country, and John with his dog and gun went out to 
track game, which the dog scented as soon as he en- 
tered the forest, and in a very few minutes he treed some- 
thing which John seeing only a small ridge of hair thought 
to be a raccoon and fired at once. But instead of a raccoon 
tumbling frr in the tree, a hideous monster, such as Dr. 
Butt might have called Americanus horribillus, swung 
into full view hanging to a limb of the tree. Having only 
a single barrel uiuzzle-loading rifle, John had good reason 
to be alarmed for his own safety, and accordingly he 
climbed a tree and began to load his gun, but in his haste 
he got too het.vy a patch — probably two or three thick- 
nesses instead pf one— so that t% ball stuck fast a, few- 
inches down the barrel. Like a true woodsman, John had 
the habit of prompt action, so he dropped from the tree 
and ran for home, where he told his father and brother 
Will that he had shot the devil, but had not killed him, 
for he was hanging to the limb of a tree and spitting and 
snarling like forty cats. 
His father and brother took their guns and then went 
to the woods, where they found a panther lying dead at 
the foot of the tree, while the faithful dog sat close by 
unharmed. The ball had gone diagonally through the 
body, piercing the lungs. That panther had a mate 
which remained in that vicinity for several months. He 
was seen several times, and I heard him scream on two 
occasions. 
I have seen in Forest and Stream some expressions of 
doubt as to whether or not a panther does scream, but if 
those writers had heard in the night the screams that I 
heard I think they would have been willing to admit 
that a panther does scream, or else that John" Robinson 
was right in saying he had shot the devil. 
My father and some of the other men did not believe 
there was a second panther about, and argued that the 
noise was made by screech owls; but when two of these 
unbelievers had heard the noise, a party of them went 
out with their guns loaded for big game, just to satisfy 
the women and children, but their hunt was unsuccess- 
ful, although no such noises were heard afterward. 
It is now many years since I roamed in the woods of 
that part of the State of New York and fished and swam 
in the waters of the Saccunadagua — not Secondago, as 
some modern geographers have it. In my time the local 
pronunciation of the name of the river was "Sau-can-dau- 
ger." 
The name is evidently of Indian origin, but I cannot 
form any idea of its signification, but have often wished 
for some authentic information concerning that river and 
the adjacent hills. The John Brown tract of wilderness 
is, as I believe, at the northwest of Northville, but his- 
torians and geographers seem to consider that whole sec- 
tion as a sort of unexplored region. Often have I looked 
in Forest and Stream to find some enlightenment about 
the home of my boyhood, but so far in vain, for sports- 
men and tourists reach the Adirondacks by going directly 
south from Saratoga Springs by way of Lake George. 
But, with the permission of the editor, I may get some in- 
formation yet, by writing what I used to know, thus in- 
citing some up-to-date writer to show how much I am olT, 
F. Z. M. 
Erie, Pa. 
A ROCKY MOUNTAIN BEAR TRAP. 
While on a hunting trip in Deer Creek Park, Wy o- 
ming, in 1886, I saw some bear traps not less remarkable 
for their simplicity and ingenuity than for their effective- 
ness. A glance at the accompanying sketch will give an 
idea of their construction. A rude pen is built of ridge 
pole pines, nailed or notched at the corners and thrown 
together on the same principle that a log cabin is built, 
except that as the work progresses each tier is laid a little 
closer to the center. When the pen is completed it is in 
the form of a truncated pyramid, 8 or 9ft. high, and pos- 
sibly 12 or 14ft. square at the base, and with an opening 
at the top 8 ft. across. The last logs at the top are some- 
times placed so as to turn upon their axes easily. 
The pen is baited with a deer or part of an elk carcass 
and left for the keen-scented bear to discover. 
When Mr. Bruin comes along he soon finds that there 
is no way to get at the meat except through the open top 
of the pen, and as the distance is not great he generally 
has no hesitancy in dropping down inside. 
The old motto "Look before you leap" would be espe- 
cially applicable in his case, but bears as a rule are un- 
acquainted with proverbs, their time no doubt being oc- 
cupied too fully with the exigencies of existence. 
Hardly has the bear ceased congratulating himself 
upon his good fortune in running across such a well-ap- 
pointed little dinner when he becomes aware that he ia 
not in such luck as he imagined. He finds unexpected 
difficulty in getting away from the cozy corner and good 
dinner, and his pleasant dreams turn to dross as he paws 
ineffectually at one of the revolving top logs of the pen, 
while his hindleg seeks an evanescent foothold. 
It takes him a good while to see the point and that his 
trunk and the hide thereof are held for payment of that 
dinner, and to realize that he is trapped. And mean- 
while he expends a good deal of energy in trying to get to 
the end of that endless revolving log, and his temper is 
generally completely ruined when the hunter arrives. 
These pens are designed for both black bears and griz- 
zlies. Joe James, who constructed most of the pens in 
the park, told me that he had sold the privilege of killing 
a grizzly in one of them to a New York sportsman, who 
in the East bears quite a reputation as a hunter. He said 
that the grizzly presented such a savage appearance as to 
completely unnerve the sportsman, and that after firing 
several times and only hitting the logs of the pen, be 
(James) was obliged to kill the bear, timing the shot as 
nearly as possible with that of the so-called sportsman so 
that the latter might imagine he had killed the bear. 
J. B. BURNHAM. 
Small Shot and Deer. 
Fox Lake. Dodge County, Wis., Dec. 28.— One of your 
contributors in last week's issue wonders at finding bird 
shot in his venison. It is a common thing among hunters 
who use shotguns for deer to fill in around the buckshot 
with fine shot. This I often do, though I do not know as 
it improves the pattern any. W. E. W. 
The Forest and Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday 
Correspondence intended for publication should reach «.» at th 
latent by JS^an4dy qnd q» r>\uch wrlier as. rwocWcabJfl- 
