Nov. 10, 1894. j 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
408 
rneaus of a thin piece of strap iron on each side of the 
heel, would, I fear, hardly find favor in the Rockies, and 
I am sure I would not want any of that in mine. The 
least projection on the shoe catches the snow, and when 
the snow once begins to stick it increases into a bigger 
and bigger lump, which becomes sodden and icy as one 
treads along upon it. As it was, we found a continual 
trouble from the forming of lumps of snow and ice under 
the heel on the foot plate, and these we often had to stop 
and cut off with our knives. A piece of iron on each side 
of the foot would only aggravate this balling up of the 
snow, I should think. So, I should think, would Mr. Van 
Dyke's centerboard appliance. In fact, unless there be 
some merit in the idea of a piece of untanned hide fast- 
ened on the bottom of the shoe with the hair pointing 
backward (the practicability of which in thawing and 
freezing snow I seriously doubt), I should think a good 
many of these notions were like telescope sights and that 
sort of thing on a hunting rifle. Some may like them, 
but I wouldn't, and I believe also the average plain Rocky 
Mountain ski runner would rather have just a plain ski 
or a plain rifle with no frills or accordeon plaits. 
The statements made by Mr. Van Dyke as to speed 
attainable on the skis no doubt apply to what he calls 
sleigh track traveling, where I suppose one could get 
along without sinking down much, even on foot. Of 
this I know nothing at all, but I don't miud saying 
that if he has a Swede, Norwegian or anybody else who 
can go out into the Park country and go 80 miles in 3 
hours, 25 miles in 5 hours, or 30 miles in 6 hours, he can 
break Fort Yellowstone and all Montana, including my- 
self, although I don't live in Montana. The country out 
there is too much broken and has in it too many climbs 
to attain such speed, or the half of it. Yet our best ski 
runners out here always said they would rather travel 
over rolling country than over one that was perfectly 
level. When we were going down Nez Perce Creek, 
8 miles or so of level country, or a little bit better than 
level, since it was along the water grade of the stream, I 
think we never reached a speed of 4 miles an hour, nor 
much if any over 3 miles, but there of course the snow 
was deep and soft and we sank far down at each step. 
It would be quite a different thing no doubt on a smooch 
hard surface where one did not have to break a trail. 
When we started on our trip through the Park we 
made us some nice clogs to put under our feet going up 
jhill, but we threw them all away and finally got so that 
we rarely ever even stopped to knot a strip of gunny 
sacking under the foot wnen taking a steep hill. The 
idea out in that country seems to be to take the naked ski 
and get along with it without any furnishings other than 
the straps. There is all the difference in the world be- 
tween ignorance and experience in getting across country 
on the plain and unadorned ski of the West, but I sup- 
pose when you are in Rome it is best to do as Romans do, 
so I took mine straight when I was out there. In short, 
this is such a big country that it seems there are sectional 
differences even in ski matters; but I can quite heartily 
agree with Mr. Van Dyke as to the charm of the exhilar- 
ating sport of ski running. You must have big hills 
though, to get the most fun out of it. It is seen at its 
best in the Rockies. E. Hough. 
909 Security Building, Chicago. 
TEXAS AND THE SOUTHWEST. 
On the Border. 
Among the cleanest, wiriest and best sportsmen of the 
Rio Grande border can be named Col. William Ferguson, 
located at Eagle Pass. "Bill," as the writer is wont to 
call him, knows everything about game, having hunted 
in every State and Territory of the West and Southwest. 
He is now hunting smugglers for Uncle Sam, and he says 
in a recent letter that the crop this year is unusually 
large, and that before the birds return to the North in 
ibalmy spring, he will have several vermin-laden scalps 
'dangling from his belt. 
"Bill" says that the duck shooting at Nava is the best 
lie ever saw, and that the black bass fishing at San Juan 
de Allende (40 miles in Mexico) is a perfect dream. He 
gives such a glowing description of a recent trip that he 
has set my blood afire, and some time next month I shall 
take in both Nava and Allende. 
Mallards and Geese. 
A Corpus Christi correspondent says: "Not a feather at 
the Aso. Lots of curlew have presented their bills, but 
we don't shoot them. We have some fine mallard shoot- 
ing in the lagoons at the mouth of the Nueces River and 
plenty of geese in the Loreles Lake, about 50 miles from 
here." 
Port Lavaca. 
The duck and geese prospects were never better than 
this year at Lavaca. Large shipments are received daily 
at San Antonio and Houston, and the price received by 
the market-hunters scarcely enables them to buy powder 
and shot. Good. 
A Traaredy. 
On the 19th of October there was enacted a bloody 
tragedy in several acts near San Antonio. A fine six- 
point buck was shot in the hindquarters by some tyro 
and the poor animal was then pursued by four fierce 
hounds. The pack brought the deer at bay in the middle 
of the Salado River at the crossing on the public road 
from San Antonio to Austin. In fighting off his enemies, 
ihe buck drove one of his forefeet into one of the hounds, 
pinning it to the bottom until he drowned it. A Mexican 
living near by came upon the bloody scene, armed with a 
rope and a pucket knife. He had no trouble in roping the 
deer and holding it securely until he hacked out its life 
with the knife. Horrible. 
Visitors. 
It gave great pleasure to the Southwest wine: of Forest 
and Stream to shake hands with Wm. Wheeler, of 
Hempstead, Tex., and Jim Stewart, of Galveston, last 
week. Both gentlemen are sportsmen of note and good 
people to know. 
Plenty of Bear. 
Mr. Ferdinand Herff of San Antonio has just returned 
from a very successful bear hunt off Alpine, Texas. He 
joined a party at Alpine and, accompanied by a pack of 
first-class hounds, penetrated in the fastnesses of the west 
Texas Mountains. They saw plenty of deer, but killed 
only enough to supply camp. Six bears and three pan- 
thers were killed in five days, Mr, Herff killing three 
bears. He says there is not near as much sport in bear 
killing as he anticipated. All his former ideas of a hand 
to hand combat vvith bruin are abandoned and the animal 
is killed in the most plebian manner. The hounds are 
put down at the mouth of a canon in which flourish a heavy 
growth of live oaks, the acorns of which Mr. Bruin feeds 
on. The game is gradually driven up the canon, and 
finally the animals seek refuge in the small five oaks or 
upon some overhanging rocks, from which they are easily 
knocked off the perch by the Winchester or even the six- 
shooter method. 
Olden Times. 
About eighteen miles south of San Antonio are — or 
rather were — the Greytown lakes. The country surround- 
ing is tilled by Mexicans exclusively, who raise cotton, 
fodder, etc. A. few years ago, according to our most 
ancient nimrod, Col. Enoch August Dosch, he was in that 
region shooting deer and turkey. He came upon a party 
of Mexican women who were washing on the banks of 
one of the chain of lakes. They were talking loudly and 
laughing, and he was astonished to see the lake literally 
covered with hundreds of wild mallards and other ducks. 
The Mexicans don't hunt game, and the birds seem to 
know it, and they were not the least bit alarmed at the 
approach of the hunters, but kept on feeding, just as if 
they were in the wildest marshes of Manitoba. Speaking 
of the knowledge of the absence of harm that wild birds 
seem to possess, the writer has walked within 25yds. of 
all kinds of ducks that were feeding near the banks of 
West End Lake, in the city limits of San Antonio. The 
Greytown Lakes, spoken of above, have been dry for six 
years, and the wild ducks have been supplanted by cotton 
and canefields, 
Requiescat In Pace. 
There is a vacant chair in a San Antonio household. 
A cheery voice has been hushed; a generous soul has been 
released from its earthly tenement. Arthur C. Paris, 
sportsman, gentleman — as noble a fellow as ever pulled a 
trigger, has been cut down in the full bloom of manhood; 
a fond mother deprived of her support and two little 
children were orphaned by his sudden demise on Oct. 27. 
Arthur Paris's loss to the sportsmen of San Antonio is a 
serious one, as he was an active spirit in both field and 
trap shooting; besides being passionately fond of the rod. 
He was one of the best shots in the city and a cheery, 
wild west chap, whose presence cast a ray of sunshine 
wherever he appeared. He was generous to a fault, par- 
ticularly to strangers; exceedingly hospitable and kind to 
his friends, whom he never forgot. Thus passed a noble 
soul, a generous heart, an honest man. He has pressed 
his last trigger. 
Oct. 29.— Aa my nose sniffed the air this morning a 
thrill came over me and flock after flock of redheads and 
canvasbacks appeared (in my imagination). A fine 
norther is on and I am clutching a telegram from Corpus 
Christi stating that the bluebills are invading the sacred 
precincts of Gum Hollow. I shall take the 2 o'clock train. 
Good-bye. Texas Field. 
A DAY WITH THE BIRDS. 
"Well, Joe, how about our day's gunning?" asked big 
Jim Mac, one delightful October day, as his round, good- 
natured face made its entry into my office. 
"Wh en shall we go?" I asked, busy calculating how 
much a load of wheat would come to at so much a 
bushel, so you may know how long ago it has been, as 
wheat has not been that price lately. 
"How about Wednesday?" And so we determined. 
Wednesday came — an October Wednesday-^with its 
frost and bright and clear atmosphere. It was all a 
sportsman could wish for. I was all ready at 5 o'clock. 
The dogs, Flora and Sport, made themselves comfortable 
in the wagon; I took the ribbons and Cecil, the colt, was 
off with a bound. My fried Mac lived some distance up 
the street. Out came his big burly form, and with him came 
his dog Monitor, called after the celebrated battery of 
that name. Away we went for a six mile drive. The 
air was delightfully cool and fragrant with the odor of 
spiceberry and perfumed with the aromatic scent from 
the pines. Arrived at the farm, we hurried away to 
the fields. The country was rough and heavy, so we con- 
cluded to go slow, but the dogs with a joyous bark and 
yelp were away down the back lane, on one side of which 
was a stone fence almost covered with grass, on the other 
side a ditch full of golden rod and other fall flowers. 
About half way down this lane was a pair of bars, an 
entrance to a buckwheat stubble and cornfield. When 
well out in the field, Sport began to wind his game, which 
Flora seeing, came to him and both began their march, 
heads high, sterns low, drinking in what was to them 
the sweetest aroma in the world. So they go for a long 
distance as the wind was full in their faces. By this time 
Mon had seen the fun and began his march and they all 
three stand most beautifully. Is this not the sportsman's 
best pleasure to see his dogs stand perfectly free from all 
jealousy, firm, fast. 
I walk in, flush the birds, get my two barrels in, with 
one bird down. Mac, who shoots from his left shoulder, 
knocks his birds nicely, but the reports have started a rab- 
bit, and away goes Flora on a picnic after it, while Sport, 
who is at a charge, looks at me with a whimper of prcn 
test against such folly. Amid the confusion we do not 
mark the birds well down. We get our birds and go but 
a little way, when out of some bushes ahead and to the 
right of us springs a pheasant, but out of range. He gops 
toward the road, right over the bars, and settles down in 
the gully. Now Miss Flora puts in her appearance and a 
pretty thing she is, covered with mud, full of Spanish 
needles and limping. I examine her feet and find them 
full of sand burs, which I pick out one by one; it is no 
easy job. By her stampede she has taken at least three 
hours' good work out of herself. This was her only fault, 
but she would ' 'break shot" and run a rabbit. I could not 
break her. 
We conclude to hunt the pheasant and start back to find 
it, and after a time it rises wild; I always found it useless 
to hunt those birds; they are wild and will not lie for a 
dog. I have known good sportsmen to take a special day, 
"just for the fun of it," and give them a fair trial, but 
have never known more than four or five birds fall to 
two guns in a day. It don't pay to hunt pheasants, but 
it is nice to shoot them if you fall in with a lot, to fill the 
bag. 
We now hunt further down the lane, find another 
"bunch" of birds, as Mac calls a bevy, which rise wild 
(for the wind is now blowing quite sharply from the west), 
and no shot. By this time my nerves are strung to the 
utmost, and our day's sport has a "black eye," which, 
sponge as we may with hope, will be sore Again we 
try. Flora in a ravine points. Sport goes to her back, 
and I go in and out jumps a rabbit, much to my disgust, 
but I check Miss Flora from running it, which is good and 
softens the hit on the "black eye." I am now called by 
Mac, and there stands Mon serenely beautiful on a dead 
point. This time I hope he will have something. We go 
up, the dogs back and we flush one bird, which rises to 
Mac, and which he kills. Another springs, and I miss it 
clean, out in the open. Black eye worse. These were 
birds from the first covey and we hunt on, picking up 
some 10 or 12 of them, wliich put me in better humor and 
got us all right side up. The black eye is somewhat better. 
At this point Flora and Sport did some of the best work 
I ever saw dogs perform. The bushes were thick and the 
grass grown up through them, and into this mess went 
the last covey flushed in the gulley. Sport came to a 
point, as also did Flora, and on separate birds. Flora 
being the nearer, I flushed and killed her bird. They 
both dropped to a charge when I loaded, the Jip went 
and pointed dead, which I picked up. Sport at once arose, 
resumed his point on the bird, which I flushed, and which 
my friend killed beautifully as it came out to him. How 
is that for a trained dog — ohl ye kennel men and import- 
ers of "blue blood?" The horn now sounded for dinner 
and we attended joyfully to its summons. 
The afternoon became somewhat windy. We worked 
on, picking up a few birds and alas, alack-a-day, over a 
point by Mon there rose what we thought was a pheas- 
ant and which was Btopped in mid air by — but excuse 
me, I won't say which, only Mac apologized to our hostess 
for the loss of her golden pheasant pullet. These chick- 
ens are very wild and will lie for a dog, and although they 
will beat the world for eggs they are destructive on gar- 
dens and truck and not good for the table. 
Mac proposed to go down along the river as he thought 
we might get some ducks; so bidding adieu to our kind 
host and his good lady, we started towards home and to 
the river. Leaving our dogs and team at a barn, we find 
a dugout. Mac poles and I keep myself busy steadying 
the thing, and as I am not a waterman, or never was, I 
think I grew noisy, for just as we turned a point I heard 
"Hush, hush; there they are." I look and see whatl sup- 
pose is a flock of tame ducks, and as we had got into one 
mess, I did not feel like repeating it; but being assured 
by Mac, and told not to shoot until he said to, I was quiet 
as a mouse. At last they rose from the water, circled 
over our heads, and as the "Ready, shoot" came, we put 
four shots into the bunch of ducks and the dugout put me 
into the river, plump. "All greenies must be initiated," 
said Jim with a laugh. But I could afford a ducking as 
we got 17 bluewing teal. I shivered for a while, I can 
tell you; but as I was, and am still a good hydropathist, I 
soon got over it, dried my clothes at a friend's good fire 
and we started home with a bag of 16 partridges, 17 blue- 
wings, several rabbits and a lot of squirrels killed on the 
river hills. Going home Mon kept up a big row and I 
teased Mac about his dog's sweet temper. He would 
scold and box poor Mon's ears until at last turning sud- 
denly, he caught Sport with Mon's foot in his mouth. 
Sport did it quietly and slyly, but when the jolting of the 
wagon would make the dogs touch, Sport would bite him 
and apparently be asleep when Mac turned. "Ah! Mr. 
Joe, it is your sweet, amiable dog Sport doing all the mis- 
chief," said Jim with a laugh, 
The colt Cecil went finely until half way home, when 
he frightened at a pile of wood. j[ either had to let him 
upset the wagon or run him down a steep hill, which I 
did, and landed him high and dry in a bunch of green 
briers, and after unhitching the wagon and pulhng it 
away, we had to cut him out, and I made him haul us 
up the hill. The next morning he was pitted as if he 
had the small-pox. Mac had the laugh on me, but I 
always believed he was a little "scart" when going down 
the hill on a run. Cecil got to going well, and sold for 
$3,000, which was a big price then for a horse; but I bet 
be never ran into a green brier bush again, josephus. 
"iteport Your Luck." 
Bushkill, Pa., Oct. 28.— Down in the store there is a 
little tin placard nailed to the post, which reads, "Report 
your luck with rod and gun to Forest and Stream," and 
though I have been a pretty constant reader of Forest 
and Stream for the past fifteen years, this is the first time 
I have accepted the invitation. Even now, I have little 
luck to report, as the past week has been so very wet; but 
I thought possibly my fellow readers would enjoy hearing 
of one more proof of the wonderful scenting powers of a 
well bred dog. 
While hunting rabbits with Mr. John Schoonover, a 
well known resident here, a couple of quail got up from a 
clump of bushes to our left, and swung to the right over 
the bank of the Bushkill, bound for Monroe county. I 
took a snap shot at the hind one and was confident I saw 
one of its wings drop down, but though we looked for it 
faithfully we could not find it, as we bad not a dog with 
us. This was at 10 o'clock in the morning. At 3 o'clock 
in the afternoon Mr. S. took his old setter Pearl to the 
spot. She immediately began to road and was gone for 
fully five minutes when sbe returned, wagging her tail 
and bringing the bird in her mouth. 
While I was at breakfast this morning a pheasant caine 
sailing on to the lawn, from the woods, within a few feet 
of the house and strutted about for several minutes until 
one of the dogs frightened it off. To-morrow evening I 
hope to have him hanging up in the cellar. 
Rabbits are fairly plentiful, but owing to the forest fires 
this spring pheasants are rather scarce. H. E. D. 
Ducks Shot from Boats on Long Island. 
Batville, L. L, Oct. 25. — Having just read one of 
your articles on law breaking, I would like to speak about 
it near home. Almost every day since the law has been 
off ducks, there has been from ond to three steam and 
naphtha launches chasing and shooting ducks. I do not 
think there is any placa in the State wnere the game laws 
are so much held at defiance as they are within five 
miles of here.' Ducks are not very plentiful yet but are 
coming fast. Black ducks are making a good showing 
on the meadows considering the weatner. Three of us 
got eleven birds two nights ago; though not a very large 
bag it was all we wanted. Black Duck. 
For Sale.— One share in Horicon Club of Wisconsin. Greatest duet 
marsh in America. W. H., care Forest and Stream,— Adv, 
