612 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 27, 1896. 
two miles up the ca" m and kept finding fresh tracks and 
sign. We knew the herd was there and that we would 
run across them after a while. About this time we heard 
a rifle crack over to our left, then another, and another, 
until it broke into a regular fusillade. We knew the boys 
had got into elk, as there were too many shots for it to be 
deer. The deer in the Rocky Mountains do not run in 
large droves like elk. We kept on going, only 
watched more closely and kept our rifles ready. I 
was determined to down the first elk that showed 
his head, and not be chagrined as I had been 
once before. The canon became very rough and 
walking was exceedingly laborious. We had to 
climb up and over great masses of stone, all covered 
with thick huckleberry and currant bushes, and 
then down into the bed of one crater after ano'her. It 
seemed as if nature had made a retreat for the poor 
hunted beasts that defied mankind. We surely could not 
have gone much further up the canon, as it was begin- 
ning to be one mass of boulders, and the undergrowth 
was so thick we often had to stop and cut our way 
through. We heard several more shots over to our left 
and knew the boys were still starting game. We were 
beginning to get pretty tired and hot when we heard a 
wild snort and the brush breaking. We both stopped, 
cocked our rifles and waited. We onlv had to wait for a 
moment, when we saw a large bull elk plunge out of the 
thicket and wring up the side of the steep declivity. It 
was about 100yds. distant and a splendid shot. Ed was 
below me on a hillside and did not see the bull as soon as 
I did. I took aim and fired, but just as I pulled the trig- 
ger the old fellow plunged behind a huge boulder and I 
thought he was gone. By the time I pumped another 
cartridge in my rifle, however, the old bull appeared 
again. This time I had a good shot. He was running 
broadside to me. I took more deliberate aim this time 
and drew at his foreshoulders. At the crack of the rifle 
he plunged forward and changed his course. Old Ed said 
a good shot. We will find him over yonder somewhere. 
Ed now turned down the canon to head off the bull if 
possible, and I went to the spot the bull was when I fired. 
I soon found the blood trail and followed it. I had not 
gone more than 300yds. when I saw him. He was stand- 
ing in a clump of fir trees and was looking right at me. 
I realized that it was not safe for me to go too close to 
him; so when I got within 40yds. of him I stopped, and 
taking deliberate aim shot him through the head. That 
dropped him. Ed heard the shot, and realizing that I had 
overtaken and killed the bull he came to me. After the 
excitement was over I began to realize what I had done. 
I had killed the oldest and largest bull on the trip and had 
a magnificent set of horns. Ed estimated the weight of 
the bull at 8001bs. The horns had five prongs on each 
beam and both beams were exactly alike. I never saw a 
nicer matched pair of beams. They measured about 5ft. 
from tip to tip. 
The killing power of the Winchester express rifle is 
tremendous, and I would advise every hunter who goes 
to the Rocky Mountains to have one, and to use the hol- 
low-pointed bullet. We now set to work to skin the bull, 
and hung the hide, horns, tallow and both hams up in a 
tree, so the wolves and bears and thousands of small ani- 
mals could not get it. We did not intend to try to get 
any of our meat out of the woods that day, as the distance 
and difficulties were too great to overcome. 
We set out toward the places where we had heard the 
other shooting. After scrambling over rocks and break- 
ing brush for about an hour we stopped and fired twice, 
the usual signal. We received an answer not far from 
us, and we went to the place. We found Sam Wester sit- 
ting on a log, and at his feet lay a large cow elk. He then 
took us to another place about 75yds. distant, and there 
lay a yearling elk. Sam related his experience in a few 
words. He was alone, as he had separated from Will 
McKamy shortly after starting. When he reached this 
place he started three elk— a very fine bull, a cow and a 
yearling. Sam was too greedy. He did fine shooting, as 
he killed the cow and yearling and wounded the bull be- 
fore it got away. But alas! he lost that fine set of horns. 
Sam should have fired at nothing but the bull, and should 
have allowed the cow and calf to go. If he had done 
this he certainly would have killed the bull, for he iB an 
excellent shot at both running and standing game. He 
took us to the spot where he shot the bull, and we could 
distinctly track him by the blood on the grass and bushes. 
We did try to trail him up, but soon lost the trail and had 
to abandon it, Sam was neaping reproaches on himself 
for allowing that fine set of horns to get away from him. 
We had to laugh at him. The idea of a man being so 
greedy as to want to kill all three of the poor beasts. We 
told him he did not deserve any sympathy. We now set 
to work to skin Sam's elk and hang up some of the meat 
and the hides, and then set out to find the other boys. It 
was not long before we found Will McKamy. Will was 
down on his knees skinning a big elk. He had got into a 
bunch of a dozen or more and had picked out the largest 
bull and killed it. He had a pretty good set of horns, but 
not like mine. We helped Will to finish his job of skin- 
ning and hanging up his trophies and meat, and then set 
out to find Frank and Bob. We finally located them after 
firing several signals. 
When we reached Frank and Bob we found that they 
had another bull elk. They had it skinned and ready to 
rake the horns and part of the meat to camp. . Frank had 
killed it. Bob was unsuccessful on this our banner dav's 
hunt. 
We decided to take Frank's and Will's meat out of the 
canon that night and go back to our main camp. Frank 
and Will went after the horses, and after considerable 
trouble we picked out a way for them and got the horses 
to the two carcasses. Now came the troublesome part of 
the day s work, getting the game out of the woods, and 
such woods. People who never saw a Rocky Mountain 
canon cannot realize what the Grand Teton Canon is 
where we had our game down. We started after lunch.' 
It was about 2 o clock. After we had loaded three horses 
with the combined horns and hides and part of the meat 
of Frank's and Will's elk we started out of the cafion. 
Now came the rub. Of all the places on earth I never 
saw such a place as that cafion. We had to chop and cut 
at almost every step, as the bighorns would get hung in 
the thick bushes and vines. We also had to unstrap the 
loads and carry them by hand over the numerous glacier 
beds. Ihese glacier beds are rough places, caused by 
snow and ice sliding down the sides of the cliffs and roll- 
ing huge stones and broken timber down into the cafion 
When the snow and ice melts away it leaves a rough bed 
of boulders the size of houses, and matted and broken 
timber. We were five hours getting the horses and their 
loads out of that place, but we finally accomplished it 
and rolled into camp about 9 o'clock that night. We 
were all worn out, but happy. The cook hustled around 
and got us up a hasty supper, and we ate, drank and 
were merry. Old Ed was happy. He had seen three of 
us get big sets of horns that day, and his supply of meat 
and tallow had been very largely increased. 
A. B. Wingfield. 
MY FIRST LARGE GAME. 
Experienced sportsmen will probably detest many 
wrong ideas and mistakes I made in my first hunt; but 
they must remember that they are the ideas of a green- 
horn and (probably) are not backed up by the experience 
of any guide or sportsman. 
My friend Mr. O. invited me to go into the woods 
with him last year and I gladly accepted the invitation. 
He furnished all the camping outfit from his well-filled 
stores, even insisting on my taking one of his fine rifles 
that had a record of three moose. 
I was on hand at the appointed time, and after many 
miles' ride in a canoe (my first one) and half as many 
more with a pack on my back, we arrived at camp just 
as darkness was shutting down. A few days' rest and 
getting the lay of the land and I was ready to try my 
luck. Our camp was about 100 rods from a small stream 
which was hardly navigable for a canoe, owing to the 
dry season. George, my guide, and I started down 
stream about 1 o'clock just to look the ground over. The 
stream was very winding and its banks for 200 to 300ft. 
back were covered with tall grass and alders and then 
thick woods beyond. As we rounded a point the stream, 
which here was 60ft. wide and quite deep, stretched out 
500ft. ahead and then took a turn to the right. Across 
this expanse of water and back about 100ft. from the 
shore breast deep in the tall grass and alders stood the 
finest buck seen in these parts for twenty years (guide's own 
words). The sun, which was getting low, was in our 
backs and shone full upon the buck, who stood head on 
THE PORTABLE CAMP AS LOADED ON THE CARS. 
with a look of intense listening, his beautiful, heavy an- 
tlers reflecting in the sun* forming as handsome a picture 
as one could wish to see. My rifle ready cocked lay 
across my knees, which, owing to my sitting very low in 
the canoe, brought it within 1ft. of my shoulder. It took 
but a moment's time to line the sights and pull the trig- 
ger. I aimed at the base of the neck, as I could not see 
below there. The buck reared straight up and went over 
backwards, and the top of the aiders shook as we paddled 
down the stream. We were paddling by the deer out in 
the middle of the stream and making for a point further 
down to find a good landing, when George said, "I am 
afraid he will get away." This was enough for me. I 
jumped to my feet, at the same time bringing my rifle to 
my shoulder, saw the deer staggering, took quick aim and 
bobbed down again just as the canoe was going over. 
The guide swore roundly at me and said, "You can't 
shoot that way, you almost upset the canoe; there is 
6ft. of water and then 6ft. of mud here, and I can't swim 
a stroke." Well, we got ashore and found that the first 
shot had glanced on the neck bone and cut the jugular 
vein, and the second had passed through his neck near 
the body. As it was growing dark and we had a stream 
full of snags to get up, we left the deer and came for him 
in the morning. He had as fine a set of horns as one 
could wish, being nearly as large as a man's wrist at the 
base. 
I had several chances to drop a deer later on, but as old 
Tim said, "You have as fine a buck's head as you will get 
if you come here twenty years," I did not care to shoot 
any merely for fun. 
One morning, Mr. C. and his guide having left us for a 
few days, George and I started down stream at 6 o'clock. 
George said, "I want to go early and try my luck at call- 
ing." Now, George is not considered a professional 
moose caller, and was taken with our party because he 
was an excellent cook, but he proved better than we ex- 
pected. We were out about an hour, and came to a 
stretch of dead water where George had several times re- 
marked it would be a good place to call. George laid 
down his paddle and taking his birch bark horn gave two 
calls. We then paddled down stream 300 or 400yds. and 
called again. After waiting a while we paddled on. At 
the end of this dead water the stream narrowed to about 
4ft. and took an abrupt turn to the left, leaving a long 
point of land covered with tall grass. As we neared the 
turn I heard what sounded to me like a horse walking 
very fast in the water. George said in a whisper, "That's 
a moose," and a moment later, "It's a big fellow, and lie 
ia charging right on to us. Be sure of your aim." I was 
all alert in a moment, but not the least "shaky." We had 
reached the turn in the stream and the prow of the canoe 
was pointed to the opposite bank, 4ft. away, so I had to 
turn half around to the left and look over the side of the 
canoe to command down stream. The grass was high on 
the point and I could not see 6ft. away. The splashing 
continued coming nearer and nearer, and I waited with 
rifle at shoulder and my eye along the sights. George, 
who had been standing, was drawing himself down to keep 
out of sight of the moose, and he at last whispered, "Can't 
you see him?" I shook my head, not daring to answer. 
George forced the canoe suddenly ahead till it struck the 
opposite bank with a crash and told me to jump. He 
afterward told me he was frightened, and that he thought 
the moose would rush over us. It occurred to me that it 
was foolish to make so much noise when we had been 
keeping so still, but I had no time to think, for it brought 
me out to the end of the land where I could just see 
through the grass. The moose, which was charging 
ahead, stopped suddenly as he saw the outlines of the 
canoe through the grass, and before he realized his dan- 
ger I had fired, aiming at the base of the neck. When I 
fired he vanished. I jumped to my feet to spring ashore 
to get another shot as the moose ran down the stream, but 
George yelled, "Sit down!" and being a greenhorn, I 
obeyed him. When he found he could not force the 
canoe around the point — the water was so shoal at this 
bend — he said: "Well, get ashore." One jump put me in 
command of the stream, but I would have been too late 
had my first shot not proved fatal. The moose lay 200ft. 
down stream with his head under water and his legs 
pounding the muddy surface. Soon George worked his 
canoe around the point and we managed by ropes and 
trees to drag our prize on to a low place. The bullet, a 
.45-70, had struck him in the soft part of the base of the 
neck and passed through to his hip. He weighed about 
1,000 lbs., was about 6 years old, and had a very handsome 
hide, but a poor pair of antlers. The hide and horns now 
grace my billiard room, while the handsome deer head 
adorns my dining room. 
I would like to tell you of the game Mr. C. brought 
down. Of the large black bear he shot which thrust its 
head out of the tall grass nearly into the canoe one dark 
night as Mr. C. was paddling up the stream, and of the 
beautiful double shot he made, bringing down two fine 
caribou decked out with handsome horns a yard long. 
But as I started to give the experience of a greenhorn, I 
will stop at that. E. N. Winslow. 
A Portable Camp. 
Laconia, N. H. — Editor Forest and Stream: A few 
weeks since we noticed in the columns of your paper an 
article relative to our hunting outfit, now at Parlin Pond, 
Maine. 
Thinking that perhaps it might be of interest to your- 
self and some of your readers we send you a photograph 
of the camp loaded on a flat car for transportation. 
The camp ia on wheels having 6in. tires, and is also 
provided with runners which can be clamped to the 
wheels for use on snow. The running gear was built by 
Messrs. Abbott- Downing Co. , Concord, N. H., while the 
body was built by a local car builder. The body is 16ft. 
long by 8ft. wide, inside measurements; is provided with, 
four berths having air mattresses and pillows, a cook 
stove, cupboard, refrigerator, sink, tables, and below the 
body of the wagon, between the wheels, is a cold storage 
where the provisions and supplies are stored, the entrance 
to which is effected through a trap door in the floor of the 
camp. "Under the back platform of the camp and back 
of the rear wheels is another closet in which are kept the 
tools for use in cases of emergency, such as axes, ham- 
mers, wrenches, ropes, etc. , while on the top of the camp 
is an arrangement by which a canoe can be fastened and 
taken along, although it is not shown in the photograph. 
The camp is double sheathed throughout, is lined with 
tarred paper between the sheathing and is as warm and 
comfortable as our own houses at home. The inside is 
finished in the natural wood, while the outside is painted 
a dark olive, as near the color of the foliage as was pos- 
sible to get it. 
The entire equipment, canoe and everything, weighs 
6,0151b8. and can be drawn anywhere by four good horses, 
providing the road is not too rough. 
Both the doors and the windows to the camp are pro- 
vided with shutters, which can be closed from the inside 
whenever it is desirable to do so. 
The camp was designed and built in Laconia, N. H., 
last fall by Frank E. Busiel and William Esty, of this 
place, was placed aboard the cars in the latter part of 
November and shipped to Jackman, Me., where it was 
unloaded and drawn to Parlin Pond, Me. 
Frank E. Busiel. 
William Esty. 
Iowa Game Items. 
Nevada, Iowa, June 9. — While we have had a great 
deal of rain in Iowa this spring it has come down mostly 
in the form of warm, steady showers, and has not in- 
jured the eggs or young of the prairie chickens. I have 
already heard of young chickens being seen, and the 
prospects are fine for a "big crop" of the birds. 
Fishing in the lakes of northern Iowa is reported fine. 
Large catches have been reported from Spirit, Okoboji, 
Clear and other lakes. Mud or Cairo Lake, in Hamilton 
county, once a famous ducking place, but which was 
ditched and drained two years ago and partly farmed 
last year, is full of water again, and the boys are rejoic- 
ing at the prospect of some duck shooting next fall. 
Uncle Charley Bryant was in the store to-day and in- 
formed me that several days ago he caught a litter of 
eleven wolf pups near his place, northeast of this city. 
He says they were a cross between the prairie and tim- 
ber wolf, and Uncle Charley ought to know, as he has 
been in the wolf business a good many years. He 
manages to get a litter of wolf pups nearly every 
spring, but this was the largest litter he ever caught in 
this State. He told me that he had holed up two other 
litters this spring, but as he has a lame hand he could 
not dig them out alone, and while he had gone for 
help they escaped. The bounty for wolf scalps is $2 
each, and the neighbors say Uncle Charley pays his 
taxes every spring with wolf scalps. J, C. Briggs. 
A Ducking Incident. 
Ashland, Wis. — Time, daybreak, Sept. 1. Location, 
wild rice meadow, channels of clear deep water meander- 
ing through. A birch bark canoe, Indian in stern, white 
man in bow. Indian noiselessly paddling canoe toward 
the crimson light in the east. 
Some wood ducks spring from a fringe of willows at 
the edge of the channel. Bang. One dead bird. Click 
goes gun; fresh shell shove4 in, Cliok again. More, 
