Sept. 1, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
179 
use of salt on its caudal extremity. The manner in which 
that bird came to its death will always be an open ques- 
tion. I think it was a case of old age, as it had lost its 
spurs in many a hard fought battle. 
"When our champion from the city of the World's Fair 
discovered what his rival had done, he fell into a morbid 
and dejected mood. Had he not the latest and most im- 
proved firearms? Had he not centered the bullseye many 
a time at the Chicago shooting galleries? Did not his 
small brother regard him as invincible? And yet no tur- 
key, bear, deer or duck had fallen to his gun. He com- 
plained bitterly of his fate. He spoke of how delighted 
his old father would be if he could write home and tell 
him that he had killed a deer. He was willing to give ten 
dollars in American money to kill even a turkey. These 
pathetic lamentations touched our guide, and when he had 
called to his aid his limited knowledge of mental arith- 
metic, and had estimated the amount of mescal which the 
ten dollars would buy, he said, "Never mind, my boy, 
you too will have game." Just as the sun was setting he 
went into the clearing and sniffed the air like a well- 
trained hound, looking up and down the river. When he 
came back he said, '•Will you get up in the morning when 
I call you?" "Yes," was the eager reply. 
Before daylight the next morning the two left camp, 
the guide without weapon, Chicago armed to the teeth 
with knife, pistol, shotgun and rifle. In a short time we 
were aroused by the report of a shotgun twice in succes- 
sion and within five minutes the guide came in breath- 
less. "What did you uns bring that feller with you for?" 
he said. "Why I tuck him right up to a turkey roost 
and got within forty feet of them ere turkeys, and. when 
it got light sez I, 'See thet un on thet low branch? Shoot 
him first,' and he banged away, and what do think fell? 
Nuthin'. Then I sez, 'See thet big gobbler with his head 
stickin' out? Give it to him,' and he banged away, an' 
what do you suppose 
fell? Nuthin' but leaves. 
En I sez, 'Look yander 
and yander;' and bang, 
bang, went his gun, an' 
what do you suppose 
fell? Nuthin' but shot." 
We implored our guide 
for the sake of the 
young man's family to 
say nothing more about 
the matter. It is prob- 
able that the smaller 
brother's idol is still un- 
shattered. 
For several days we 
led a lazy, care-free life. 
We lounged around 
camp, reading such lit- 
erature as we had with 
us, smoking our pipes, 
listening to the thrilling 
stories of border life re- 
lated by the guide; and 
each in his way, follow- 
ing his own taste, ex- 
tracting the most pleas- 
ure from life in the 
woods. Vincente proved 
to be a good cook, and 
our oppetites increased 
in an alarming ratio. 
Part of every day was 
spent in an exploring 
tour around the adja- 
cent; country. We took 
our camera with us, and 
made snap shots at such 
bits of scenery as we 
wished to perpetuate. 
During one of my morn- 
ing rambles I discovered 
a most remarkable 
Bpring of water. It was 
about 2ft. long, 3ft. 
wide and 4ft. deep, and 
it was quite a distanqe 
from the river, at the base of a cliff. The water was 
clear as crystal, and growing along the margin were 
hundreds of water lilies in bloom. At the bottom of the 
spring and along its sides were growing the most beauti- 
ful vines and flowers I ever saw. They were of every 
tint, from dark green to bright scarlet, and were so inter- 
woven and their colors so arranged as to produce a most 
charming effect. I called my companions to enjoy with 
me this striking work of nature. Even Vincente, who 
had never been accused of entertaining a sentiment, ex- 
claimed "Esta bonita." 
One morning while we were out gathering the nuts of 
the pecan tree, there rode up two Mexican cowboys — 
vaquerou, in their language. Their attire alone would 
indicate their calling. They were dressed in the typical 
leather suits, and had expended small fortunes in the 
purchase of sombreros. The average Mexican applies all 
his spare money to the purchase of a hat. It is jealously 
guarded and taken care of, and it is the last article of 
apparel that finds its way to the pawnbroker. Jay had 
seen the same vaqueros while out fishing, and came into 
camp somewhat out of breath and alarmed about their 
appearance in our neighborhood. They proved very 
friendly, however, and gave us much valuable informa- 
tion about the habits and methods of taking the large 
game in this country. The Mexican cowboy seldom uses 
his rifle for any other purpose than to kdl the animals 
which prey on his stock. They expressed gx-eat surprise 
at our hammerless guns, never having seen any before. 
With the instinct of a Connecticut Yankee they offered 
to trade for them. When they learned that we had a 
canvas boat on the river they put spurs to their ponies 
and galloped off to see a boat that would fold up like a 
hat. We learned from them that sheep and goat herders 
(ijastores) were paid from $6 to $8 per month. These 
were the only human beings we had seen since we crossed 
the Rio Grande. 
After spending another day in boating and fishing we 
moved down the river to our fourth and last camp. 
From this we expected to kill such game as we wished to 
take home or send to friends, One day was set aside for 
turkeys and another for deer, and both were marked with 
remarkable success. While Jay was a successful turkey 
hunter and fishermen, he had never killed a deer. He 
must have this experience before we broke camp finally. 
One day he saddled a gentle mule, and taking his lunch 
went off for deer. All day long from over the ranges 
came the crack of the rifle. In the evening he came in 
with nothing but a very noticeable expression of disgust 
on his face. He had shot at seven deer, some of them at 
close range, and had missed them all. He is a good shot 
at other game, but has never succeeded in overcoming 
the "buck ague." 
After spending four days at the camp we packed our 
duffle, and turned our mules' head towards the Rio 
Grande. The following is the result of our hunt: Eight 
deer, 20 turkeys, 50 ducks, 2 Mexican eagles, quail, no 
account kept, squirrels, no account kept, bass and trout 
1501bs. , other fish lOOlbs. Had we left the river and gone 
into the mountains we could have found Mexican lions 
and an abundance of black bear. 
On our homeward trip we came unexpectedly upon the 
old deserted mission of Santa Maria, on a small tributary 
of the San Diego River. It was built many years ago by 
the Jesuits. The church is now in ruins, but the walls 
around the m-ssion forming an inclosure of about five 
acres, seem to be as good as the day they were built. 
The walls are of limestone and about 12ft. high. We 
drove into the inclosure through an opening or gateway, 
and turning a sharp angle brought up before the dwelling 
of a Mexican family. We came upon them suddenly, 
and the moment they saw us they scattered like a covey 
of quail. Both the guide and the cook attempted to get 
them out of their hiding places, telling them that he 
wanted to take their photographs, and insisted that we 
would do them no harm, but they kept out of sight and 
remained as still as death. As we were about to leave, a 
middle-aged woman was seen approaching the house 
from a spring near by. She came up to us without 
hesitation, and was very friendly. She seemed to have 
JACKAL" WITHIN THE WALLS OF SANTA MARIA MISSION. 
more than the average intel^gence prevailing in this 
isolated section. She induced her husband and the rest 
of the family to come from their hiding places — the 
group, including the pigs, dogs, goats and chickens— for 
they all live together on terms of perfect equality. There 
were fifteen of them, and she assured us that they were 
all her children; but this statement was a tax on our 
credulity, for they showed a variety of colors and feat- 
ures. Some showed Spanish blood, others pure Indian. 
Two of the senoritas were quite pretty, but were so shy 
that it was with the greatest difficulty that we induced 
them to remove their shawls from their heads and faces 
that we might take their pictures. This was a new ex- 
perience for them, and they imagined that the camera 
was some deadly weapon. We explained its functions, 
and promised to send them several of the views, which 
will afford them subjects for conversation for many days. 
L. C. B. 
Vermont Quail and Sharp-tail Grouse. 
St. Johnsbury, Vt., Aug. 23. — A covey of quail was 
recently seen in Harvey's Woods in the town of WestCas- 
ton. Their origin is not known. The Rutland Fish and 
Game Club have several times put out quail in the county, 
but without any apparent results. 
The seven sharp-tail grouse which Commissioner John 
W. Titcomb put out in the woods near St. Johnsbury have 
been heard from. One covey of young ones was seen last 
Monday, and another covey has been reported, although 
the witness to the last covey was not positive but what 
they might have been ruffed grouse. Wheelock. 
Sage Hens and Coyotes. 
Fort Bid well, Modoc County, Cal., Aug. 14.— If any of 
your sportsmen want practice send them here. The coun- 
try is alive with sage hens. I was out a few hours one 
day last week with another gunner. We shot away our 
ammunition and brought in 48 birds, which was probably 
not one-tenth of what we saw. California offers a bounty 
of $5 per scalp for coyotes, and thousands have been killed 
in this section, hence the marked increase in sage hens. 
FLANNEL SHIRT DAYS. 
Noonday— and pretty warm at that. I am sitting on 
the porch of the camp enjoying the comforts of a pipe 
and a flannel shirt simultaneously. In the dazzling sun- 
light which compels me to half close my eyes I see the 
surface of the lake, slightly ruffled by a soft southern 
breeze. The wind rustling in the leaves of bush and 
treetops wafts the sweet scent of balsam and fir from 
the hillside and mingles their aroma with that of the 
tobacoo in my pipe. The birch barks are lying unused in 
the Bhade of the brush. They seem to share the general 
languor which has taken possession of the camp and its 
surroundings. Even the distant roaring of the falls at 
the foot of the lake sounds faint in the noonday air. 
A solitary Indian is at work on a new birch canoe, and 
the languid air with which he mops his brow and draws 
his knife across the cedar strips looks as if he too had 
fallen a victim to the universal dolee far niente. The 
craft shows no signs of progress. Who would blame 
him? Not I, who am enjoying my ease, my pipe, the 
breeze, the scent of the woods and last, but not least, the 
freedom from restraint of stiff collars, cuffs and boiled 
shirts, and all the other paraphernalia of modern civi- 
lized attire. These are flannel shirt days and I am enjoy- 
ing them to my heart's content. 
Ah, how clear the air, how fresh the verdant hillsides, 
how blue and limpid the lakes, now mirror-like snowing 
again the outlines of the hills, the rocks, the dark spruce 
and the gleaming b'rches, and then again, when a breeze 
ruffles the waters, reflecting the azure above dancing 
and gleaming in the sunlight. 
I know a small lake, or rather pond, beyond that hard- 
wood ridge yonder, clustered among the hills, shaded by 
the forests, whose child it is. In its crystal depths, all 
along the wooded shores, under the old logs and around 
the sunlit rocks, thero 
dwells many a noble 
trout; and if you suc- 
ceed in enticing them 
from the'ir lair, I war- 
rant you some sport. 
But, alas ! they are 
changeable in their 
moods and appetites, 
and there are times 
when, offer them the 
choicest tidbits your fly- 
book and bait-box af- 
ford, and few and far 
between will be the 
flashing rises and the 
vicious tugs which so 
delight the sportsman's 
heart. But then we are 
not fish-hogs, you and 
I, and there will always 
be trout enough after a 
forenoon's fishing to 
grace the birch bark 
plates on the log table, 
up there on the point, 
where the pines stand 
sentinel over the lake 
and the cedars stretch 
their boughs lovingly 
across the waters. 
We were up there the 
other day, my wife and 
I. There had been 
thunder showers the 
night before, and the 
air was crisp and cool. 
The sunlit woods faintly 
rustled in the morning 
breeze that bore us along 
through the narrow 
stretch of water separat- 
ing this part of the lake 
from the larger portion 
beyond. A pair of king- 
birds have built their 
nest here on an old log, 
away out in the water. They do not seem to fear 
any foes, nor the rain and the storm. As the canoe 
passed within a few feet of their dwelling, we see 
three little heads Btretched out above the nest. One 
of the parents is perched upon a branch near by, 
pouring forth his morning song and keeping watch, 
while the other no doubt is in the bushes looking for food 
for their brood. We pass by them swiftly. The canoe 
glides along, propelled by the measured stroke of the 
blades, past the swampy mouth of the brook from Lake 
La Roche, whose waters we near tumbling down over the 
rocks in the deep woods; past headlands of birches and 
spruce; past little islands clad in the dark green of cedars 
and bordered by bright patches of rushes, that look like 
slender spears thrust through the bosom of the lake; past 
white, glistening water lilies; on again over the ruffled 
.surface of the lake, which now sends its ripples toward 
the bow of our craft. The cry of a loon sounds across the 
water; we look up, and there, not fifty yards away, he 
swims, turning his head to and fro. For a moment we see 
his white breast gleaming in the sunlight; and then, 
frightened by our approach, he dives down to come up 
again away out of reach. His fears are unfounded; we 
would not harm him. 
We leave on our right the outlet of Lake Au Sable and 
the bay where the old beaver dam bears witness of the 
sagacity of its builders — who now, alas, have all found 
their way to the furrier's benches — and cross straight 
over the lake, where the lilypads and alder bushes mark 
the entrance to the river. We pass on between the four 
ponds which flank its mouth, into a small pond-like 
widening of the stream, almost entirely covered with 
rushes, white and yellow lilies and their broad round 
leaves, save for a narrow channel on the left. The chan- 
nel is crooked, and to save time we head our craft straight 
through the lilypads and bulrushes. The paddles touch 
bottom here, and using them as push-poles we plunge 
through the aquatic vegetation. Splash, splash, it sounds 
right and left. The quiet repose which reigned here a 
moment ago is rudely broken by our intruding. On all 
sides before the bow leap a small army of bullfrogs, which 
until now had been resting on the leaves, enjoying the 
warm morning air and stupidly blinking at the sun. The 
£>lue heron had as quietly enjoyed his breakfast here and 
