fjsb. 22, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
at the death were six out of fifteen starters, but if I had 
been alone all the time I should have been out of the 
chase, no doubt; and at the close the bear could have been 
killed ahead of me by any of the others, had not all held 
back to give me the shot. I was simply the beneficiary of 
Uncle Joe's ears and Oapt. Bobo's courtesy. So it may be 
seen I could not claim much glory. 
The Theory of the Chase. 
I imagine that Oapt. Bobo takes one of his greatest 
pleasures in bear hunting in the watching of the different 
dogs coming on in the art of bear chasing. He and the 
colored men were talking all the time while we were 
dressing our bear about such and such a young dog that 
was going to make a good one. Bad Eye was voted a 
great one, being found fast to the bear's neck when we 
got there. I much misdoubt Bad Eye is going to come to 
an untimely end one of these days. Old Rock was fierce 
as ever, and Dollar was there, and Roncn and Jolly, and 
all the others gathered in somehow. Jolly was surely 
baying at another tree about a hundred yards off when 
we came up, though he came to us when we fired. After- 
ward we thought that probably this was a cub that had 
treed and that the cub theory would explain the odd 
actions of the pack that afternoon. The bear we killed 
was a female and was nursing cubs which must have 
been about 8 months old, as big as dogs, and mighty 
fat and glossy. I am glad the poor little brutes were big 
enough to take care of themselves, since I killed their 
mammy. I am quite sure I heard dogs baying at a tree 
that afternoon about 4 o'clock and it is possible that this 
old bear and a pair of cubs had made all the trouble. 
A Ride in the Dark. 
We skinned and divided out our bear by light of a tiny 
fire of dry cane stems. Then we began to think about 
getting home. At first we thought we should stay all 
night where we were — with no water since morning — but 
Capt. Bobo thought we could make it in. 
"If we can get back to that slough where we stopped 
to listen before we came in here," said he, "we can ride 
down that slough till we come to the big bayou and then 
we can ride up the bayou till we strike a trail that will 
take us to camp. Will your mule take us back the way 
we came in, Bill?" 
Bill's mule was one much famed for sagacity in such 
matters, and Bill expressed confidence in its wisdom to 
pilot us out of the wilderness. So we turned our backs on 
the vast oak tree where the bear was killed — a grand tree 
it was, at least 7ft. through and perhaps 100ft. or more in 
height — and sought for the winding trail through the cane 
we had made coming in. The cane had closed in again 
like water behind us, and we could see no trail at all: but 
Bill's mule led us out unhesitatingly through the black- 
ness, and we found in due course the slough, and the 
bayou, and the secret, dark and midnight trail from the 
bayou to the camp. And at the coming home Uncle Joe was 
there with the rest of us, jogging along peacefully on his 
mule, with no sign of weariness or discontent on his benev- 
olent face. We found all the rest of the party in camp 
before us. We slept, some twenty men in all, that night 
in camp. 
Adieu to the Delta. 
One bear was all I wanted to kill on the hunt, and I 
was quite willing some one else should have the pleasure 
of killing the next. Moreover, my time was growing 
short. Accordingly on the next morning Mr. Money and 
I left camp for home, from which I had been absent a 
week and two days — time which had passed away very 
swiftly under such pleasant and eventful surroundings. 
I disliked to say good-by to my Southern friends, for the 
only unpleasant thing about your visit to the South is the 
time when you have to say good-by. Capt. Bobo I cannot 
thank enough for his courtesy, and I hope he will live to 
see plenty of sport yet in his beloved Delta country — a 
country whose richness is its own worst enemy, since 
eventually it must attract the covetousness of men per- 
haps not so fit to occupy it as those who now claim it as 
their homes and as their hunting grounds. 
E. Hough. 
909 Skctoitt Building, Chicago. 
THE DUKE, THE COCK AND THE BEAR. 
Being a Sportsman's Fable— with a Moral. 
BY HENRY M. KIEFFER. 
The Duke was not a real, foreign duke with an antique 
title, in search of complaisant financial support. On the 
contrary, he was of pure American blood, having received 
his title from his fellow sportsmen by way of courtesy, as 
it were, and in just recognition of his eminent erudition 
on all subjects pertaining to the sports of forest and 
stream. 
The Duke was not originally one of our party. We fell 
in with him on the way — took him on the wing, as it 
were — that is to say, on the cars. We had just settled 
ourselves comfortably in our seats in the smoker, piling 
our traps on the seat in front of us, when the Duke, hav- 
ing with the keen scent of the sportsman noticed our guns 
and equipment, came up smiling from the other end of 
the car, where he had been seated, and entered into con- 
versation. He was a short, thickset man, rather florid in 
complexion, and, as we soon found, quite an authority on 
allkmdsof game fowl — especially on pheasants, and more 
especially still on woodcock. When he f ound we were 
bound for the mountains and after pheasants, and that a 
woodcock were a possibility, and that there was even 
suggestion of an occasional bear in our hunting grounds, 
he begged the privilege of joining our company — a priv * 
lege which we readily granted. -'But," he remarked, a 
we climbed out of the cjxs at our destination in the moun- 
tains, that "he was sorry there was not a better prospect 
of woodcock." 
As we mounted the buckboard for our six-mile ride 
across the country, and rode along in the crisp, cold air 
of that October morning, sniffing the scent of the fragrant 
pine woods through which our road lay, the Duke con- 
tinued his learned disquisitions on all manner of game, 
and on woodcock in particular, the haunts and habits, 
methods and manners of the bird being as familiar to 
him, apparently, as to a cyclopaedia. 
"And, gentlemen," said he, "one peculiarity of the 
woodcock that renders him an admirable species of game 
or a good shot is that you've always got to take him in 
ull flight. You'll never see him light on a bush or tree 
or sitting on a log. No, sir; not he. He's altogether too 
wise for that. He keeps close to cover, don't ye know, 
and covets the low places, and you've always got to take 
him on the wing or you don't get him, don't ye know." 
Hawkins, the driver of our buckboard, however, ven- 
tured to insist that he had Sometimes seen a woodcock 
sitting on a log; in fact, had seen one in that disputed 
position that very morning as he crossed the swamp, and 
he'd show the gentleman the place by and by, if he cared 
to see it. 
This roused the Duke, who declared it must have been 
a pheasant that Hawkins had seen, or perhaps an 
owl. 
And this put the driver on his mettle, as if, forsooth, 
he, who had "lived in these woods ever since he was 
knee-high to a grasshopper, didn't know a woodcock 
when he saw one; in faot, didn't know the difference be- 
tween a woodcock and an owl! Bah!" Hereupon the 
driver removed his quid, consulted his tobacco box for a 
fresh supply of patience and forbearance and vented 
his feelings in an extra flourish of his whip on the off 
horse. 
"All right, my friend," said the Duke, with an evident 
effort at conciliation. "Of course I won't take it on me 
to say that a woodcock never did sit on a log, only that I 
never saw one do it, and that the books say they never 
do it; but you juat show me one in that remarkable situa- 
tion and I'll knock under." 
The rest of us took no part in the discussion, being only 
ordinary sportsmen, with no pretentions whatever to the 
science or the literature of the subject in hand, and claim- 
ing to know but little beyond our own personal observation 
and experience. Still, as we rode along, one could not 
help the reflection that to be a real good companion on a 
hunt one should not be away out of sight of his friends in 
the matter of information. These people who know just 
everything about hunting and fishing are far from being 
the most companionable. Between a cyclopaadia and my 
friend Tom Toole, the woodchopper, I'd choose Tom 
every time for a tramp through the forest or a fish down 
the stream. 
Well, to make a long story short, we had enjoyed two 
days of rare sport with the birds, and had bagged some 
and missed more, and strange to say, the Duke's score of 
the latter category was unusually high, a fact which he 
accounted for by laying the blame on his gun. However, 
as we were not inclined to be critical, but with the large- 
heartedness of amateur sportsmen accepted his own ex- 
planation of his want of success as being perfectly satis- 
factory, the Duke kept in good humor and continued his 
learned (and often labored) disquisitions on game of all 
kinds, their habits and their habitat, as we tramped 
through the woods or sat by the glowing fire in the open 
grate at our hotel, recounting our experiences and spin- 
ning our yarns when the day's sport was done. 
One evening, as we were on our way home and were 
nearing the hotel, having emerged on the only public road 
running through that wild country, we heard the rumble 
of the wheels of Hawkins, the driver of the buckboard, 
who had dared so stoutly to discuss the habits of the 
woodcock with the Duke on our way from the station a 
few days before. As we were trudging along the road 
Hawkins overtook us. 
"What-luck, boys?" queried he, cheerily. 
"Not much to-day, Johnny." 
"Didn't see any woodcock settin' on logs and waitin' to 
be knocked over, anyway," said the Duke, who was tired 
and irritable. 
"Didn't, didn't ye?" said Hawkin3 with a smile. "Well, 
I did then, an' if ye'll come with me I'll bet I kin show 
'em to ye now." 
"Bet ye $10 ye can't!" challenged the Duke. 
"Keep yer money, man," answered Hawkins, elevat- 
ing his shaggy eyebrows, "I don't want yer money. I 
only want to show ye woodcocks a-settin' on a lose, that's 
all." 6 
"Well, lead off, then," said the Duke, "I'm just dyin' 
to see 'em." 
Hawkins dismounted, tied his team to a scrub pine by 
the roadside, and led the way into a thicket. The ground 
was low and marshy, and, as it was getting toward night- 
fall — an hour when woodcock are almost likely to be 
stirring abroad— the Duke's incredulity was subject to 
some small discount, the more so as Hawkins was so pro- 
vokingly positive. 
"They were in here yesterday," said Hawkins, "just 
about this time too, an' 1 wouldn't wonder if they'd be 
here again to-night." Then, as he parted the brush care- 
fnlly ahead of him and peered through, he waived his 
hand and said in a loud whisper: 
"There they be now, sure as guns! Two of 'em, a- 
settin' on a log waitin' fer ye! See 'em?" 
The Duke, gun in hand, and all ready to shoot, stepped 
up and looked and looked, but apparently had difficulty 
in making them out. When the rest of us broke cover 
and bent our visual organs on the unusual sight, we all 
burst into a loud laugh; for the two woodcocks were 
there, sure enough— only they were of a peculiar species, 
being of that Bort ordinarily designed for the small bung 
of a wine cask or cider barrel— cedar spigots, that is to 
say, or wooden-cocks, which had been carefully placed 
er ict on a moss-covered log, and they were big ones too! 
The grunt which the Duke now gave made us all fairly 
start, as if a wild boar had shown his tusks and were 
blowing his bugle to the charge. And, judging by the 
speed our friend the Duke now made for the hotel, one 
would have thought the boar, or even something more 
formidable, had suddenly given him chase. And the 
way Hawkins rolled on the ground and laughed was 
enough to scare all the sylvan deities out of that "neck o' 
woods" forevermore. 
Tae Duke didn't make his appearance the next morn- 
ing, nor was he with us hunting that day. When we re- 
turned in the evening he had already retired. As we sat 
about the blazing fire after supper joking and telling our 
yarns Hawkins came in, and having cautiously searched 
the four corners of the room with his eye he asked- 
"Whpre's the Duke?" 
"Don't know. Ain't seen 'm to-day. Not visible to the 
nakel eye." 
"Eclipsed, I reckon," said Hawkins with a comical em- 
phasis on ttie first syllable. "Guess he's readin' up on 
woodcocks! Ye see," continue! he in that most enjoyable 
but most indescribable tone of the native mountaineer 
when he is speaking philosophically. "Ye see, there be 
woodcocks and woodcocks. Some woodcocks are made 
out o' wood and some isn't. Them as is, sets on logs; them 
as isn't, doesn't. That stands to reason. Any man with 
half an eye kin see that. Haw! haw! haw! Land sakes, 
boys, but didn't he grunt when he seed them two wood- 
cocks a settin' up there on that old log as big as life, don't 
ye know, haw! haw! haw!" And Hawkins went off into 
another apoplectic fit of laughing, coughing, sneezing and 
blowing his nose that was wonderful to witness. 
The Duke did not put in an appearance at the breakfast 
table the next morning, a circumstonce that gave rise to 
inquiries as to whether he might not be meditating 
suicide by starvation, if not even by some mdre Violent 
methods. 
Shortly after breakfast, however, our attention was 
diverted from the Duke by the discovery that another of 
our company was missing. "Where's Abe? Where is our 
genial dealer in hats, caps and gentlemen's furnishings? 
What ho, Abe!" But Abe (his other name, gentle reader, 
will appear in due time) had somehow very suddenly and 
very mysteriously vanished, disappeared or "absquatu- 
lated," as "mine host" ventured to suggest. 
Well, we couldn't find him, and we weren't going td 
wait for him, that was all, and so, when all our arrange- 
ments had been made for the day's tramp (and, as eVery 
amateur sportsman knows, that is a process which con- 
sumes no small portion of the morning hours), and we 
were about setting forth without our lost companion, my 
old acquaintance, Tom Toole, the woodchopper, who was 
eng ged in peeling bark down in the swamp about half a 
mile from the hotel, came running up to the porch, all 
out of breath and his eyes fairly sticking out with excite- 
ment, yelling like mad at the top of his voice, "A bear! a 
bear!" 
We questioned Tom closely, but he told a straight story. 
We grabbed our guns, loaded up with buckshot, the best 
we could do, for there wasn't a rifle in the party except 
the Duke's — he had two or three guns with him — and in 
our excitement we were half-way to the scene of action 
before we were aware that the Duke was coming up be- 
hind us on the double-quick, shoving shells into the maga- 
zine of his rifle as he ran. 
"A bear! a bear!" said he. "Scissors and buttons! 
that's the game for me! But, where is he, boys, where is 
he?" 
"Down here in the swamp, up a'tree too, the man says. 
We'll have a heap o' fun knocking him off the tree, and 
don't you forget it." 
When we at last came to the place, all out of breath 
and so trembling with excitement that I question whether 
more than 20 per cent, of us could have hit a barn door, 
Tom Toole called out in a loud whisper: 
"There he is! There he is! Up that tree, there; see 'm? 
Look out!" 
All hands now got ready to shoot, when, grinning like 
a monkey, behold! on the limb of a tree appeared our 
missing comrade Abe — whose surname was Bare, retail 
dealer in hats, caps and gentleman's furnishings! 
"A. Bare, at your service, gentlemen," said he, with In- 
fo ast and blandest business smile. "Hats, caps and gentles 
men's furnishings. What can I do for you to-day, gen- 
tlemen?" 
"Come down off that tree an' take a good lickin', that's 
what you can do!" said Sam, 
"Guess I won't come down then." 
"I've a blamed notion to shoot ye," snorted the Duke. 
"I'm tired of this eternal foolin' — " 
And away he went through the brush, grumbling 
something about a "deuced pack o' confounded idiots." 
I've never seen the Duke since. This time he "ab- 
squatulated" for good. He sulked in his room all day, and 
had left the hotel for parts unknown by the time we got 
back from the day's hunt. 
And a few days thereafter, when we were on our way 
to the station, being homeward bound and feeling good 
and happy over our week's sport, it was something great 
to hear Hawkins, the driver, in mountain vernacular, 
which the effort to reproduce in cold type fills me with 
despair, expatiate on "dukes, an' woodcocks, an' bears," 
their different varieties, habits and peculiarities; how 
"some sets on stumps an' some climbs trees; but you've 
got to know t'other Irom which, gentlemen, an' not get 
'em mixed, don't ye know; haw! haw! haw!" And then 
he'd laugh till the very horses would stop to listen, and 
once even a lonely mule in a field we were passing, hear- 
ing the xacket going by and doubtless thinking some of 
his kind must be in the company, joined in the chorus 
both long and loud. And as for the moral, why, ask 
Hawkins or — the mule. 
Easton, Pa. 
DEER ANTLERS. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Inclosed please find my check for $4, b=>ing amount 
due for my subscription for lb98. I hope to be able to 
send a similar check for many years te come. I inclose 
you a clipping from a Belief onte, Pa., paper giving a 
correct description and showing something unique in 
the way of antlers. Hoping it may be of interest I re- 
main J. A. Melsheimer, M. D. 
The Gazette's notes read: Two weeks ago we pub- 
lished an article in the Gazette, stating that Robert Mann 
had shot a buck that had twenty-three prongs. Not hav- 
ing seen the deer ourself we doubted the statement, but 
published it as a communication, signing ClarenceiDaley's 
name to it, as he had sent it to this offite. We were accused 
of prevaricating from all sides and had almost come to 
the conclusion we had lied, when on Wednesday of last 
week John A. Daley, of Romola, entered our office with 
the identical head. We promptly had a photograph taken 
of it, which we forwarded to an engraving house to have 
a cut made with the above results. There are positively 
twenty- three well-defined prongs to the antlers — twelve 
on the right and eleven on the left. Three prongs the size 
of a spike-buck's come out at the base of each horn. 
Only ten points on the right antler are visibh3 — owing to 
the position the camera had to be placed to take in both 
antlers. The main point on the right antler appears to 
be broken off, which is not the case, but it is due to the 
Bhading of the picture. The dimensions are as follows: 
Length of antlers 26 in., spread 16 in., longest prong 11 in., 
circumference of horns at head 6£in., circumference at 
broadest point 8^in., number of prongs on right antler 12, 
number of prongs on left antler 11, weight of head with 
horns 151bs., weight of deer 2381bs. 
