512 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 15, 1894. 
OREGON NOTES. 
Portland, Ore. , Dec. 1. — Wildfowl shooting, so far, has 
been a miserable failure in this neck of the woods, except 
where hunters have resorted to the reprehensible practice 
of seducing the ducks with wheat. Either the wretched 
carp or the summer floods, or a combination of both, have 
obliterated every vestige of food from our lakes, and our 
hunters can only mourn for the days that will never 
return, while hoping, vainly hoping for something, any- 
thing, to happen that will send the millions of wildfowl 
inland. Not for twenty years have there been more wild- 
fowl than now. But they stay down along the coast — 
Gray's Harbor, Shoalwater Bay and Tillamook. Will 
Ladd, Tom Farrell, the Honeyman boys, Joe Paquet and 
a few others have secured fair bags, but generally in 
questionable ways, for this wheat feeding will doubtless 
ruin the best of lakes in time. However, the boys rightly 
plead in extenuation: "No wheat — no ducks." 
Grant Patton and IheBurrell boys, Walter and Herman, 
have been stirring up "broder b'ar" in a lively way of late. 
Eecently I saw in Fobest and Stream an account of 
Walter Burrell's dogs killing a bear outright near the city. 
That was entirely correct. No better bear dogs ever 
sniffed a trail than these same dogs. Patton's are nearly 
as g\x)d. While it is a recognized fact that "blood will 
tell," there is little doubt that training and experience 
will tell as much more. 
You see, Grant caught a young bear some time since 
and the boys wisely used the captive in training their 
dogs. They would take this bear a long trip through the 
woods, and then, after letting him climb a tree, they 
would turn the dogs loose at home and they would do the 
rest. At first they would tie the bear to the foot of the 
tree, but it wasn't long before they discovered that the 
dogs were too much for him, and they had to give him 
more rope. 
Grant has gone to the Coast Range with his dogs to hunt 
bear all winter. The bear do not den up there as they do 
in colder countries, at least not so completely. 
So "O. O. S." has been killing wild turkeys down in the 
Ozarks. He wrote me that he had killed six, and a few 
days later, just before he returned to Fredonia, he wrote 
that he had killed two more, one weighing 121bs. Brother 
Smith always was a lucky dog. You remember how he 
got away with the cougar with a hand spike down on the 
Pilchuk? Wasn't that lucky? You know it isn't every 
fellow that could get out of such a scrape without a 
scratch. But to return to the turkeys. Do you know that 
I would rather kill a great big wild gobbler than to kill a 
big bull elephant? Honestly, I envy Brother Smith his 
good fortune in securing such game, for the day is not far 
distant when the turkey will be reckoned with the buffalo, 
a thrilling memory of the fading past. 
Bill Newman is just up from the Scantogrease, down 
along the Columbia. Of course he has entertained us 
with the usual assortment of bear and cougar stories, but 
nothing he has ever told in my presence before quite 
equals what he now relates regarding some of his late ex- 
periences with the calico Chinook salmon. The idea of 
hunting Chinook salmon with a club and bulldog! Vari- 
ous and numerous have been the methods heretofore 
resorted to for their circumvention; but club and bulldog 
is certainly a new departure. And then, too, a trained 
dog! Just think of a dog, bull or otherwise, being 
trained so finely that he will allow himself to be dragged 
to the bottom of atwenty-foot hole by a three-foot salmon, 
but finally land him. And strangest of all, I believe that 
this yarn is, in the main, true. Notwithstanding Bill's 
disposition to exaggerate, his yarns are generally founded 
upon fact. S. H. Greene. 
ON LITTLE RIVER. 
What is known as the Three States Club is a variable 
company of good friends who go annually on an outing 
in Arkansas or Missouri. This year there were even 
twenty in the crowd, and it would be hard to find a hap- 
pier, merrier set. Dr. A. T, Hobbs is the recognized 
leader of the club, while E. P. Fonville, J. L. McGlothlin, 
George Dent, Wellington Etheridge, J. L. Farmer, J. D. 
Ladd and others of like character make splendid seconds 
in everything that goes to make up first class gentlemen, 
hale, happy camp-fellows. There is nothing small or im- 
pecunious about them. It is a pleasure to be out with 
such men. 
On the 7th of November the Cotton Belt R.R. landed us 
in good style and good time at New Madrid, Mo. Here we 
took wagons for what is known as Highland Campground, 
on Little River* in New Madrid county, Mo. The water 
in the river was nearly all gone, and we saw at a glance 
that our prospect for duck shooting was a slim one. The 
section is specially favorable for that sort of sport when 
there is anything like a favorable stage of water. But 
the season had been so dry that the whole country was 
dusty, and the wagons drove across the bed of the river 
as if it had been the public highway. We struck camp 
about sundown, and while part of the crowd was putting 
up the tents and looking after supper, three of them were 
detailed to see what about the fishing in the hole of water 
near by. We had a trammel net with us, and as the 
quickest way to get fish for supper the boys undertook to 
set it and make a drive. But imagine their surprise to 
find before they had the net more than half out it was so 
full of fish they could hardly handle it. They soon took 
out enough for supper, and the next day we found that 
the great quantity of fish usually in the river had been 
compelled to get into the holes left by the dry weather, 
and they were actually so thick in these holes that they 
were hardly fit to eat. Nice perch and bass were there in 
great abundance, but the vast number -of them rather dis- 
gusted the crowd, and wo gave but little attention to them 
after the first day in camp. 
On the morning of the first day in camp several of the 
party went to the woods, and others up the river, pros- 
pecting in both directions, to see if there was any game 
on land or water. Lhe woods were all ablaze with forest 
fires, and the game could not be expected to be very plen- 
tiful under the circumstances. But at the close of the 
day we had one quail, two opossums, four coons, six 
squirrels, six ducks and seven turkeys. This gave us 
plenty of eating, and we were in good spirits for the camp 
chat that night. 
The next day the luck was dull, however. A few 
ducks and squirrels was all we had to show for some 
very hard and faithful hunting. It had been fully de- 
cided that there were no deer of any consequence in 
that immediate neighborhood, and as a part of the club 
wanted to get some deer, they decided to move down 
the river about fifteen miles to a place called Clay Root. 
So on Monday morning early fourteen of the twenty 
started to the new quarters. They got into camp in good 
style before night, and early Tuesday morning they 
began to see what was in the country, and before noon 
they had four nice deer hanging in camp. They re- 
mained there three days and got seven deer and nine- 
teen turkeys. They had a good hunt and found game 
reasonably plenty, considering the dry weather and 
widespread fires. Those who remained in the camp at 
Highland left in a day or two for home because there 
were no ducks or other game to shoot. The morning 
they started out they went out early and killed thirty- 
two squirrels in about an hour's time. 
We were in a fine section of coutry for hunting if we 
had had an ordinary season for it. But the dry weather 
had dried up the lakes, rivers, ponds and everything 
until there was no water for either ducks or geese. 
We saw millions of ducks passing over us, going in 
quest of feeding grounds, which shows that this territory 
is in their line of flight, and if there had been water and 
feed they would have called on us. But there was noth- 
ing to stop for and they didn't stop. 
One of the members of bur club, Mr. T. Brent, of Cairo, 
111., is fitting up a boat that will carry about twenty -five 
hunters comfortably and he proposes to take us on our 
next outing. His plan is to run from Cairo to the mouth 
of the St. Francis River and then coast up that river 
till the crowd says enough As the St. Francis River is 
one of the best in the land for fish and ducks, we are 
sure to have a good time. Along the shore of the river 
are large canebrakes and splendid deer woods, and such 
of the party as wish to kill deer will be accommodated in 
the best style. We can hunt all day and sleep on the boat 
at night. 
While on this outing I heard of a man who has in" 
vented a duck net, with which he catches thousands of 
ducks every day. He feeds a small territory for several 
days until he gets the ducks to using there in large num- 
bers and then he has his net so arranged as to throw it 
out in the twinkling of an eye and get as many as 275 at 
one drive. It won't take long to dispose of the duck 
question at that rate. The shooters of that section are 
kicking on the netting business vigorously and it is hoped 
will stop it. 
There are some laws in Missouri against foreign hunt- 
ers that might sometimes give parties trouble. These 
laws are practically a dead letter, however, as the people 
themselves do not favor them, and any officer who thinks 
of prosecution under them is regarded by the people 
as a hard man. We had no trouble, though we had some 
natives with us who hunted with us all the time. 
J. N. Hall. 
BOSTON AND MAINE. 
Boston, Dec. 9.— Mr. E. Frank Lewis, of Lawrence, 
Mass. , is a great lover of fishing and hunting. He is a 
member of the celebrated Monomoy Brant Club, and his 
record each spring is a good one. He has made a very 
successful deer hunt in Maine this fall, going in to the 
vicinity of the Ktahdin Iron Works, I believe. He 
secured his one or two deer fairly and squarely. No dogs 
were used, though it was early for still-hunting. 
Mr. C. J. Bateman is another enthusiast concerning 
fishing and Bhooting in Maine. He visits the Upper Dam 
nearly every spring, where, with his friend Patrick Kel- 
ley, he makes a good record. This year he could not re- 
sist the temptation to try for a deer. Soon after the first 
snow he started for Rangeley by rail. But here his trouble 
begun. The lake steamers were not running. With 
Frank Philbrick as guide he hired a team to take him 
around by land to Haines' Landing. Here he staid over 
night, for no steamers were running on MooRelucma- 
guntic, and there was danger that the lake would freeze 
over every night. With a boat and four oars they rowed 
down the lake to the Upper Dam, the point Mr. Bateman 
desired to reach. Here he found that but little hunting 
had been done, and that the woods were about as full 
of deer as one could well imagine. Mr. Rowell, 
so many years the manager of Sam Betton's 
steamer, was hunting with a son of John Chad- 
wick, and they had obtained one or two deer. There 
was a miserable crust over the snow, which, in the terms 
of the hunters and guides, makes a "crunch, crunch," 
and deer hunting was extremely difficult. Mr. Bateman 
says that the number of deer in that part of the country is 
something remarkable. The snow was covered by tracks, 
and it was easy to find the deer; but the "crunching" of 
the snow crust made it impossible to do anything else than 
"jump them." Snap shots were tried without success. 
He hunted for several days, till at last his efforts were 
crowned with success. He shot a deer that dressed llolbs. 
Then he desired to get home. But the lake was partly 
freezing every night, and it would be folly to attempt to 
get out with a boat. The only way was to wait for the 
lakes to freeze, much as he desired to get home for Thanks- 
giving. At last the lake below the Upper Dam seemed to 
be solid, and with the deer on an improvised jumper some 
8ft. long, one guide on skates to draw the jumper, an- 
other with a hand sled to draw Mr. Bateman's baggage, 
they started on the fourteen-mile trip down Richardson's 
Lake to the South Arm. The reader acquainted with 
that locality will remember that there are no roads to the 
Upper Dam, the only means of communication being by 
way of the lakes, either by boat or on the ice. 
They fouud the ice all the way from 1^-in. to 4tn. thick. 
Mr. Bateman had no skates, and often the guide ahead of 
him would pass over a section of ice so thin as to bend 
and crack beneath his weight. He would shout to Mr. 
Bateman to "take care!" and that gentleman would go 
around the dangerous spot on the shore or so near to it as 
to be comparatively safe. Once the ice actually broke 
under one of the guides as he skated over it. He threw 
himself headlong, so as to bring his body lengthwise on 
the ice, and managed to crawl to where the ice held. He 
got a little wetting, but considered himself fortunate, as 
the water was very deep where the ice begun to break. 
At last the South Arm was reached, and Mr. Bateman 
was fortunate enough to fall in with one of Thomas's 
teams, and to get passage to Andover. He reached Bos- 
ton last Monday, with his deer all safe, and greatly 
pleased with hunting and adventure in Maine. 
Mr. Harry B. Moore has just returned from New 
Orleans. His business was ostensibly to look after cot- 
tonseed meal, but he never loses an opportunity to try 
the hunting and fishing wherever he may be. Invited 
by Mr. Adams, of the Marshall Shooting and Fishing 
Club, they went up the Louisville & Nashville Railroad 
thirty-six miles to Pearl River, which is really one of the 
outlets or Rigolets of Lake Ponchartrain. Arrived at the 
club's preserve they went fishing. They were to catch 
"green trout" and "speckled trout." Soon they had a 
"green trout." It gave a few dull flops and gave up the 
fight. Harry had to laugh when he landed only a big- 
mouthed black bass with a slight greenish tinge of color. 
Next they caught a "trout" or "speckled trout." But 
this proved to be nothing but a weakfish. It was a rather 
poor sample of trout for one who has landed an 8-pound 
Rangeley trout at the Narrows of Richardson Lake and 
has loaded his 4-pound Moosehead Lake speckled trout 
with railroad spikes in order to beat the minister, who 
was high fine up to that time. Excuse Mr. Moore if he 
considers the Southern trout fishing a little tame, though 
the weather, the scenery, and Mr, Adams's entertain- 
ment was all a Northerner could ask. 
Some monster moose have lately been taken in Maine. 
Mr. G. E. Crocker, of Fitchburg, Mass., has lately taken 
one of the biggest moose on record, at the Oxbow, in 
Aroostook county. The animal is estimated to have 
weighed alive l,4U01bs. The horns spread over 5ft., with 
palms 13in. wide. There are 14 perfect prongs on each 
side. The Boston & Maine railroad is also showing a re- 
markable moose picture in the window of its Boston 
office. It was taken at the North Twin Dam. 
In the town of Stoneham, Me., according to the papers, 
forty -seven deer have been killed this fall. In Bethel, 
Gilead, Mason, Newry and Grafton, 150 deer have been 
taken this season. The above may be added to the esti- 
mates I made last wpek, making nearly 200 more. The 
record is most remarkable. The above towns I remember 
as a boy. Thirty years ago the killing of one deer in 
either of these towns would have been considered remark- 
able. 
A Waterville, Me., dispatch says that on Sunday j Nov. 
25, the town of China was thrown into excitement by .the 
appearance of a deer being dogged into the lake close to 
the village. A couple of hunters were following, and 
many of the village men and boys also turned out. The 
deer was killed, a handsome buck. But the authorities 
got hold of the story, and Constable Pollard arrested the 
hunters, Messrs. Pease and Butterfield, took them before 
the Municipal Court, where they were fined $4,87 each, 
for hunting on Sunday. Judge Philbrook, before whom 
they were tried, does not seem to have taken any notice 
of the fact that the hunters were illegally dogging a deer. 
Special. 
RUNNING DOWN SOMETHING ALIVE. 
An Episode from the Texas Book.* 
Goldsmith's "Sweet Auburn" iB Texana. This place 
contains the ruins of twelve or fifteen houses; some only 
slightly out of repair — a door or window gone — others 
ready to fall at any moment, and still others in a state of 
collapse. We took a stroll through the forsaken streets, 
and entered nearly every building. All were unoccupied, 
and our voices echoed and re-echoed through the rooms 
with such a hollow, distressing sound, that we uncon- 
sciously refrained from talking while within them. 
We examined every house, shed and hen-coop; explored 
every street, alley and door-yard, but not a sign of life 
could we find about the place. 
"Now, I'll be dog-on'd," said my partner. "This is the 
deadest town I've struck yet. Here's houses enough for 
forty. I'd like to see some soul stirring about, if 'twa'n't 
more'n a dog." 
"Why are you so anxious to see somebody?" 
"I want to see something with life in it, and if I caught 
glimpse of a man I'd run him down if it took a week. 
What's that!" 
"What's what?" I asked. 
"I seen a pair of nigger heels flip around the corner of 
that shed there. Hey, you black devil! Come out of 
there!" 
Priour dashed off in the direction he had pointed out, 
and I soon saw a negro rush up one of the streets, fol- 
lowed closely by my comrade who continually shouted: 
"Hold up! hold up there! Head him off, you fool!" 
The race was an exciting one — across streets, through 
sheds, over wood-piles, under fences, and around housps. 
Absalom kindly lent his assistance in the chase, and fol- 
lowing close to his master's heels, he occasionally stopped 
barking, long enough to seize the pair of legs in front of 
him, and strip off a piece of breeches. 
The dog knew something was up, but didn't seem to 
know what nor whom to assail; and being better ac- 
quainted with his master than with the negro, he vented 
his rage upon the former. 
This was displeasing to Priour, and several times when 
almost within grabbing distance of the runaway, he had 
to stop and administer a kick or two to the animal who 
possessed such a "wonderful memory." This punishment 
had only a temporary effect, and the intelligent canine 
would soon be as interested in the charge as before. The 
negro was running as for his life, and as I saw him enter 
a building which had no visible opening save the one 
where he had gone in, I believed the chase to be at att 
end. But not so. The fugitive was a butter, and as 
Priour entered the opening, the negro's head crashed 
through the other side of the house, and mid the flying 
boards and shingles he made his exit into the world again. 
Priour soon followed by the same butted opening, and the 
running contest was in order again. 
I made it my business to move about just enough to 
keep the men in sight, and several times I wished myself 
on the top of some chimney, where I could have an unob- 
structed view of the struggle. I had no interest at stake 
on the result, and I didn't care to "head him off." I was 
too much afraid of that head to try and intercept it, 
for I had already seen what it was capable of going 
through. 
In the end Priour proved to be the better runner, and 
after the fleeing negro had carried away several sections 
of rail fence, lost his hat and shoes, and hung his clothing 
in various places about the town, he was my partner's 
captive. Both were now panting for breath, and as I 
approached they seated themselves face to face upon a 
pile of boards. 
I hadn't the slightest idea of what Mr. Prion r's object 
*A Mau from Corpus Christi. The adventures of two bird hunters 
and a dog in Texaa bogs. Forest and.Stream Pub. Co. 
