April 11, 1896.J 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
291 
What a monster he was! and certainly larger by far than 
any of our horses. His antlers were of truly immense 
size, curiously palmated, with twenty-two points, and flat- 
ter than any I have ever seen before or since. After 
knocking out the whistling teeth— to be afterward made 
into a charm for my watch-chain— we set to work to cut 
off his head— no easy job, on account of its great size and 
the awkward position in which the animal had fallen. 
We finally succeeded, however, and, with plenty of neck 
skin attached, left it to be called for the next day with 
the pack horses. Then, the afternoon being already well 
advanced, we trudged along, tired out but happy, back 
to camp. Several times we disturbed elk during our 
tramp homeward, but only twice did I get so much as a 
glimpse of a fleeing form through the green trees. The 
sun had set long before we reached our horses; then 
mounting these, we rode through the gathering gloom 
to camp as fast as the nature of the ground would permit. 
After supper and sitting near the blazing camp-fire I re- 
lated to my friends the killing of the big bull. 
P. did not hunt this day. C. went out, but got no game; 
he saw two sheep, however. 
Tuesday, Sept. 12.— Phillips went this morning to bring 
in the head of the big bull which I had killed the previous 
day, and C. and Billy went with him part of the way and 
then hunted by themselves. They returned in the even- 
ing without having seen anything. P. and I stayed in 
the camp, as it was snowing and looked stormy. This 
morning we had a visitor in camp — a trapper from the 
Wind river country whose camp, he told us, is located on 
the next creek north of us. 
In the afternoon I went with Brown to see if any bears 
had visited the elk carcasses in the upper part of the val- 
ley, but found them undisturbed. Except two black-tail 
does, we did not see any game. 
Wednesday, Sept. IS.— It being still very stormy, none 
of us went out in the morning, the wind being too high 
to allow us to walk on the ridges with safety, and in the 
forest dead trees were continually crashing down, making 
it dangerous to hunt there also. In the afternoon, how- 
ever, P. and Woody went out, but soon returned, the 
storm having again increased in severity. P. had shots 
at two bulls, but did not hit either. This day we had 
some more visitors, two prospectors who had lost their 
way and did not know where they were "at." They 
were old acquaintances of Phillips's and made camp a 
little below ours. We gave them all the venison they 
cared to take. 
As the evening was bitterly cold and old logs plentiful, 
we lit a huge camp-fire, around which we and our visitors 
crowded, listening to C.'s music on the banjo, and after- 
ward telling stories. Paul Francke. 
fXO BE CONCLUDED . 1 
UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING.-XV1II. 
Around the Fire. 
The two uncles of all their acquaintances got on exceed- 
ingly well together, for it transpired that Uncle Tyler 
had been a Plattsburg volunteer, which was a close bond 
of friendship, and in their exchange of reminiscences he 
had no difficulty in understanding the other, who, he said, 
"talked jest as folks used tu," 
"Some on 'em says 'at I'm a-gittin' deaf, but I tell 'em 
its 'cause they don't speak plain. The' don't nobody, 
sca'cely, now-er-days. But I can hear you a-talkin' jest 
as plain as I could hear the cannon tu Plattsburg. An' 
the' wa'n't no trouble o' hearin' them, was the'?" 
"No, ner the hollerin' nuther;" said Uncle Lisha, 
"Du you reckerleck haow that minister hollered?" con- 
tinued the other. "He come from over your way some- 
wher's, cap'n of a comperny he was, all the men folks of 
his congregation his comperny was, an' he got 'em all 
squatted daown behin' a stun wall, an' when the British 
come a-marchin' up, some on 'em kep' a-stickin' of the' 
heads up an' a-peekin' at 'em, an' the minister he kep' 
a-tellin' on 'em tu lay low, but they wouldn't, for all naow 
an' ag'in one on 'em would git a chunk o' lead in his head 
which it spilte him fer fightin', till bimebye the minister 
he got mad an' damned 'em up hill an' daown an' grabbed 
a muskit an' swore he'd shoot the fust one 'at peeked over 
the wall. Yes, he did ; damned 'em right tu the' heads. An' 
so arter he got hum they hed a church meetin' an' hauled 
the minister over the coals for cussin', an' by gol, sir, they 
voted tu 'scuse him, 'cause they 'lowed his swearin' was a 
military needcessity." 
Uncle Tyler indulged in such immoderate silent laugh- 
ter over his story that he brought on a violent fit of 
coughing, from which he recovered after so protracted a 
struggle for breath that' his entertainers were relieved to 
see him depart homeward before he should die on their 
hands. 
"He's a crabbed ol' creetur, but he's got his good p'ints," 
Uncle Lisha remarked, as they watched him rounding the 
great bend, his pipe in full blast and puffing with the 
regularity, if not quite the volume, of a high-pressure 
steamboat. "Deaf folks an' blin' folks lives in worlds by 
theirselves, still worlds an' dark worlds, an' I cal'late it 
makes a man sort o' crabbed tu live by hisself. But the 
ol' creetur hes got his good p'ints." 
"Yes," Joseph assented, "so he hes, an' it kinder seems 
's 'ough his best ones was oarin' a boat an' ketchin' fish, 
an' I do' know but borryin' terbarker in a way 'at you 
can't deny him, 'cause be allers meant tu ha' hed some o' 
hia own. But he is a tumble man tu oar a boat an' a 
turrible man tu ketch pickerels. I do' know 's I ever see 
a more one. An' naow I s'pose these 'ere 'at he helped 
me ketch has got tu be dressed." 
He heaved a sigh of resignation as he slowly drew his 
jack knife from his pocket and as slowly opened the rick- 
ety blade, while his eyes made deliberate selection of a 
worthy Buhject for his skill. This he laid upon a con- 
venient slab, and began the task with increased courage 
when he saw Uncle Lisha opening his knife with an evi- 
dent intention of lending a helping hand. As they scraped 
gray-green backs, spotted sides and silvery bellies to an 
even whiteness, and beguiled the most irksome of the 
angler's labors with friendly discourse, they heard Sam's 
return heralded by occasional shots faintly echoed far up 
the Slang, then saw the infrequent puffs of powder smoke 
whisked away by the wind before the tardy report burst 
on their ears, with briefer intervals, till the light birch 
canoe came swimming, swift and silent, around the last 
bend like a great duck, and glided into port close beside 
them. 
Antoine rejoiced over the prospective change in the bill 
of fare from fowl to fish and promised such skill in cook- 
ery as should no less gladden the others. 
_ "O, bah gosh! Ah'll tol' you, Zhozeff," he cried, as he 
sidled around with his arms akimbo when they were not 
engaged in gesture, and his head tilted to one side and the 
other, in inspection of the progress of the work, "w'en 
you'll gat dat peekrils scrope so he white lak snowballs, 
Ah'll goin' cook him so you'll wish you was king6sh'n' 
bird an' heat feesh every day, all de tarn, sem lak one 
man Canada." 
Uncle Lisha scraped his fish softly while he listened in 
expectation of a story, but Antoine seemed to have for- 
gotten that he had one to tell, though the old man 
prompted him with an interrogative "Wal?" 
"Wal," he repeated after a while, "I've allers b'en 
wantin' tu hear suthin' abaout a man in Caneedy, an' if 
you've got anythin' tu tell le's hev it. But whilst you're 
a-talkin', Ann Twine, you might be a rippin' one o' these 
'ere fish." 
"No, seh, One' Lasha, Ah'll can't oversaw de work an' 
tol' de storee an' work mahse'f all de once." 
"Wal, tell yer story then, if you've got it thought 
up. You wouldn't half clean the fish if you sot aout tu." 
"Wal, seh, One' Lasha," Antoine began, as he deliber- 
ately filled his pipe. "Great many while 'go, w'en de tarn 
was hoi', dar was one man Canada was lak for feesh so 
much he a'n't do mos' not'ing but dat. W'en his corn 
ought for be plant his waf was plant it, if he gat plant 
't all, an' he go feeshin'. W'en his corn was ought for be 
hoe, he go feeshin'. W'en it was tarn for cub off, his waf 
cut it off, an' de mans go feeshin' an' de sem for husk it, 
an' jes' de sem for rip his wheat, an' t'rash it, his waf he 
do it, all of it. An' w'en his hwood was ought for be cut 
he go feeshin' in de ice. An' w'en de Govny want it for 
go f aght de Hin jin an' de Angleesh, he'll run 'way an' go 
feeshin', so bambye de pries' he'll gat mad at it an' he tol' 
it 'f he a'n't 'have hese'f for be so shiflin', he goin' turn it 
into kingfishin' an' den see 'f he'll gat 'nough feeshin'. 
"De mans he some scare an' promise for be better, 'fore 
soon he fregit an' go feeshin' all de tarn jes' de sem. . Den 
de pries,' O haow he'll was mad an' turn dat man into 
kingfishin' raght off. De man he was supprise prob'ly, 
for feel hese'f such leetly feller all cover wid fedder, but 
pooty soon he feel glad, for t'ink he'll a'n't gat for wear clo's 
dat was trouble for git, an' can go feeshin' all de tarn. 
' 'He go up de river, 'K-r-r-r-r,' an' he go daown de river, 
'K-r-r-r-r,' an' wen he see leetly feesh, 'baout so big he 
can swaller, 'splosh' he jomp on it an' flew on a tree for 
heat it an say, 'T'ank you, Pere Jerome, it was funs for be 
kingfishin'.' When he was flew pas' hees hown haouse 
on de river an' see hees waf homp hees back hoein' an' 
rippin' in de sun an' his chil'len cry for hongry he'll holler 
'K-r-r-r' jes' lak he was laught at it, he such gre't wicked. 
"Wal, seh, he'll had good tarn all summer an' long in de 
fall 'fore it come col'. Den he a'n't hear de sing bird 
yaller any more 'cause dey all gone 'cep' de jay an' de 
whoodpeckit; den de river froze on top, but he'll a'n't 
know 'nough for go to de warm wedder. He guess he 
was be hable for stay jes' long anybody. One morny de 
river was be froze on top, but he'll a'n't know when he 
go for his breakfis' an' he go 'K-r-r-r,' lookin' for see some 
feesh, an' bambye he'll see leetly fish swim under de ice 
an' he holler 'K-r-r-r-r' an' go firs' head raght on top of 
it, 'Floop,' an' bus' his head on de ice an' broke his brain 
all off an' dat was de en' of it." 
"Sho, Ann Twine, you'd a gre't sight better be'n a-dress- 
in' fish 'an a-wastin' your time a-tellin' sech a dumb lie!" 
Uncle Lisha commented. "Naow you rence 'em off an' 
kerry 'em up tu camp, fer Jozeff an' me hes done aour 
sheer." 
While Uncle Lisha made his way to the water side with 
hands and knife held abroad till he stooped to cleanse 
them, Antoine began washing the fish, protesting mean- 
while: 
"O, One' Lasha, you was want me tol' it. You was 
jes' lak man feeshin' an' git leetly bite, an' he keep feesh- 
in' for ketch it, an' w'en he ketch it, it was punkin seed, 
an' he mad 'cause it a'n't bull pawt. It bes' was for be 
satisfy. Naow, hurrah for de suppy!" 
With that they bore their fish to camp, where Sam had 
preceded them and got the fire in full blast. Presently 
Antoine pranced around it in a culinary ecstacy, while 
the others watched him in rapt regard and grew hungrier 
with every whiff borne to their nostrils from the screech- 
ing pan. When at last they sat down to their rock table 
Uncle Lisha heaved a sigh of satisfaction as he adjusted 
his spectacles for detection of bones. 
"Ah-h-h! This 'ere 's suthin' like. The fact on't is, 
I've eat duck till I'm a-gittin' web-footed." 
"An' hah gosh! Ah'll pull up some fedder on mah back 
dis morny. Ah'll was put it on Zhozeff 's bag if you 
a'n't believed it." 
"I swan, Antwine," said Joseph, "if you'll let 'em grow 
all over ye, I'll pick ye at the halves." 
"Say what you're a mintur," said Sam, "a good fat 
duck hain't tu be sneezed at. I cal'late them leetle teal 
ducks is the ch'icest eatin', and wood duck, next, an' black 
duck next, but any on 'em 's good enough for poor folks. 
Arter all, the's more fun in gettin' on 'em 'an the' is a- 
hevin' on 'em, same as it is in most all huntin' an' fishin' 
in the true sperit. I guess it's his soul 'at enj'ys it. But 
then ag'in there's dawgs 'at folks says hain't got no souls, 
but I don't b'lieve it. 
"Ner I nuther," said Uncle Lisha. "I've seen some 
dawgs an' some hosses 'at thinks more 'n some men du an' 
reasons aout things tew." 
"Yes," Sam continued, "an' jest think o' humern fools 
an' tew-legged hawgs a-goin' tu heaven, an' good dawgs 
'at thinks an' dreams an' sticks tu ye through thick an' 
thin a-goin' aout intu nothin'. It hain't no fair shake! 
I cal'late dreamin' is a sign of a soul. The body's all 
asleep, but the's suthin' keeps a-goin' on a-thinkm' arter 
a fashion, an' what is 't if 't hain't a soul? You never 
heard a hawg du notbin' on'y snore when he sleeps, but 
you'll hear a leetle bird in the dead o' night an' darkness 
a-singin' aout on his rwust suthin' he hed left over from 
daytime, so faint an' fur off, you know he's asleep. An' 
a dawg '11 show 'at the's a part on him a huntin' in his 
sleep jest as much as folks feels tu be when they're 
asleep. A dawg 's got some advantage over us in not 
hevin' no gun tu git off. It's cur'us 'at a dream gun 
never will go off. You pull till you shet your teeth an' 
eyes, an' when the hommer falls it goes daown abaout 's 
quick as a wiltin' weed an' abaout as heavy, an' your 
dumb gun won't go off. But what I was a-goin' tu say, a 
haoun' dawg '11 foller a fox all day an' all night a-singin' 
glory halleluiah all the time, an' when you shoot the fox 
afore him he'll on'y jest chaw his backbone a minute an' 
give him a shake an' then curl up an' lay daown as com- 
f 'table as a kitten an' jest as contented. His stomerk 's 
as empty as a contribution box, but his soul is satisfied 
jest as much as a man's is. But I'm a-losin' my chance 
o' gittin' my supper, a-gabbin'! Shove the fryin' pan this 
way, Antwine." 
When they had their fill of fish they enjoyed their loaf 
by the fire and recounted the day's doings. Sam and 
Antoine told of the Indians' progress in canoe building, 
Joseph his brief experience of Crusoe life and Uncle Lisha 
of his visit to his old friend and his alarm at Joseph's dis- 
appearance. 
"I didn't know but them 'ere nigger hunters hed ker- 
ned the creatur' off," he said, "but I know'd they'd bring 
him back arter they tried workin' on him an' boardin' on 
him a spell. But I tell ye I was glad tu find the creatur' 
a-hollerin' to that ol' Tyler, 'cause I feel kinder 'caount- 
able for his safe-keepin'." 
"I druther hev a deaf man tu talk tu 'an not tu hev 
nob'dy, if it is strainin' work," said Joseph, caressing his 
throat with a tender touch. "Gol, my throat 's all furred 
up." 
"Dat was feeshbone, prob'ly. You'll a'n't wan' heat 
more hurry as you spoke, Zhozeff." 
After planning how to spend the morrow, which was 
to be their last day in camp, they turned into their 
blankets and drowsed into restful sleep to the sound of 
the crickets' faint, monotonous complaint and the fleeting 
whistle of passing wings. PlOwland E. Eobinson. 
QUAIL SHOOTING IN TENNESSEE. 
At Home. 
Chicago, 111., March 5.— There is a' rumor that when 
Mr. and Mrs. Irby Bennett, of Memphis, returned from a 
visit to the Atlanta Exposition, last December, they found 
a sign on the front door of their home, "Meals at all hours. 
Lodging 25 cents." In their absence they had turned over 
their menage to a gentleman guest who had been running 
the establishment as a sort of wide-open resort for sports- 
men, with Mr. Bennett's relatives, his cook and servants 
as accessories after the fact. It is said that when Mr. 
Bennett saw the sign he made no objection of serious 
nature. "It's all right about the meals," he said, "but it 
seems to me they've set a rather low price on the lodg- 
ing." After which the lawful heads of the household 
entered into their own castle, where they experienced 
difficulty in resuming control, and indeed never did, 
according to rumor, succeed in breaking up the succession 
of midnight chafing dish orgies until they had promised 
to buy their guest his railroad ticket if he would only go 
home, which at last he reluctantly consented to do. 
Such is the quality of the hospitality of the South. 
When you are told to "make yourself at home" there is 
something more than Hispaniolian in the invitation. The 
high quality of this gentle Southern trait— which makes it 
distinctive and inimitable— is its sincerity and matter-of- 
factness. With the invasion of this Memphis home I 
personally had nothing to do, except once in a while, in a 
quiet and dignified manner, to 'eat a bite of lobster or 
something at 12 or 1 o'clock at night; but I heard of the 
occurrence while at Memphis. Meantime I was again to 
"make myself at home" with Dr. W. D. Taylor, at 
Brownsville, some forty miles east of Memphis, where I 
had spent some delightful days the year previous. Of 
the way we went quail shooting there I would like to tell, 
and by the time I am done the telling I shall be ready to 
ask if it is not plain the South is the delightf ulest part of 
all America. Megrims, moroseness, melancholy and mis- 
anthrophy abide not there, and the man who goes South 
and cannot say he is glad he is alive ought to be dead 
and buried forty fathoms deep beneath the green earth, 
and away from the face of the smiling sky. 
To begin with, there; were the greetings of Dr. and 
Mrs. Taylor and of the children down to the baby, 
"Sweet," a yellow-headed cherub I wouldn't mind having 
tied to my desk so I could talk to her once in a while? 
But my host allowed small time for this in the morning, 
and intimated we would best be afield. So we began three 
day 8 of a sport which I consider the ideal sport of America 
when at its best, and which certainly was to be seen here 
at its very best. We had hunted horseback, had the best 
of horses, the best of dogs, pleasant weather and plenty 
of birds in good country. Moreover, the shooting was in 
the company of men who know what sportsmanlike 
shooting is, and who shoot as gentlemen should for the 
sport of it alone, with no rush, nor hurry, nor unseemly 
greed or emulation, I think I have never seen three days 
of prettier sport. 
The First Day. 
Our party on the first day was made up of Dr. Taylor, 
Dr. T. D. Cooper and Mr. J. E. Chapman, and much to 
the pleasure of all we were accompanied by Miles Bennett, 
who handled the dogs and did not shoot. Mr. Bennett 
trained for a long time with Mr. Tucker, of Stanton, and 
had lately gone in for himself, and had some dogs in 
charge for Dr. Taylor and others of that neighborhood. 
Everyone knows that the sport of quail shooting 
lies in having a well-broken dog. For Miles Bennett's 
success as a handler the pleasure of our shooting 
was sufficient evidence, and if he always does so 
well and has so good stock to operate there 
will be small room left for any objection. One 
thing I liked especially; Miles Bennett's dogs were fin- 
ished retrievers when he got through with them. To me, 
who am old-fashioned, and do not care to receive my 
opinions second-hand from the field trial authorities, 
there is no perfection in a day's shooting if my dog does 
not retrieve. This is the one act of all others which fas- 
tens the companionship of man and dog afield. A special 
retriever to follow you around may be a better thing for 
those who fancy it, but I would not ask for it myself. 
It does not seem to me that field shooting need be a finely 
differentiated system, intended to destroy the very last 
bird and not to let one get away. Suppose your dog does 
flush a bird or so when he is bringing you the dead, and 
suppose a few birds do get away. Let 'em go, and God 
bless 'em. Are you not freed of the marking and hunting 
of dead, and the scramble after wing tips, and the haunt- 
ing dread that your dog will nose out a dead bird and 
then go away and leave it ? In the dog which brings you 
to your game like a gentleman, which is steady when you 
shoot, and which then enables you to stand quiet and un- 
troubled like a gentleman while your game is brought to 
you— in that sort of dog you have not only a dog, but a 
