582 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 22, 1894. 
we were almost paralyzed at the sight of a grand old bull 
caribou close behind the cow and followed by two other 
tine cows. They were all, after the manner of caribou, in 
a rush to get somewhere. How we ever got through the 
hard-hacks and over the bog holes in time to intercept 
the drove is a mystery to us all. We had just reached a 
small opening in the firs, when the first cow caribou ap- 
peared in front of us, about 75yds. away, and wheeled to 
the right. "Wait for the bull I" was all Henry had time 
to say, when the royal animal came in view. Fred's 
favorite Marlin (.45-85) and the old Martini (.45-95) woke 
the echoes together, and the buck leaned up against the 
bank as though hit hard. Fred has a great habit of 
keeping the air full of lead as long as anything is stand- 
ing. He fired three times in rapid succession and then I 
let the Martini loose once more for good measure. The 
caribou took two steps toward us, but his tide of life was 
ebbing fast and he fell forward and into the brook, driv- 
ing one of his horns 3ft. down in the boggy bottom with 
the force of his fall. Four bullets had pierced his breast, 
any one of which should have been fatal. While the 
f usilade was going on the cows jumped away through the 
bush and we saw no more of them. 
A drizzling rain set in one morning as we prepared to 
take a cruise up Pocket Lake, and I was greatly minded 
to surrender my chance for glory to Henry and Fred and 
remain in camp with Jack. However, at the last minute 
I decided to go, and the three of us put in a long, wet and 
profitless day. On returning to the camp Jack showed us 
where a big moose had, during our absence, come within 
40yd8. of the camp and stood for several minutes watch- 
ing him. Jack had made frantic efforts to find a ball 
cartridge for the shotgun, but during the operation the 
animal calmly walked away. I kicked Fred, Fred kicked 
Henry, Henry kicked me, and then we all kicked Jack. 
"I cal'late he was the most terriblest big moose with 
the most tremenjus pair of horns I ever did see," was the 
comforting assurance we received from Jack. Sufficient 
unto the episode is the cussedness thereof. 
One evening when the uncanny laughter of the loons on 
the lake had died away, and we had snuggled ourselves 
down nicely in the blankets before a fire that sent the 
sparks in myriads up into the frosty air, we heard the low, 
deep, subterranean grunt of a moose apparently within a 
rod or two of the camp. There was an upheaval of 
blankets, arms, legs and guns and an avalanche of 
dramatis persona} poured through the doorway into the 
outer gloom. A silence so dense that it seemed to weigh 
a ton set in as we stood there peering into the shadows. 
We walked softly around the camp and down the path 
that led to Pocket Lake, but nothing could we see. We 
returned to our beds, when again we heard the grunt, and 
again we tumbled through the door. This time there 
were several grunts, and a sound as if our visitor was paw- 
ing up the ground, but the night was black as ink, and we 
could not locate him. Henry rigged up a birch bark 
torch, but all our efforts were in vain. In the morning 
we made a thorough investigation and found (so delusive 
as to distance is the grunt of a bull moose), that, instead 
of being close to the camp, he had been digging up the 
barren fully a quarter of a mile away. 
On another occasion when we had been cruising all day 
without result, we returned to the canoe and found that 
a big moose had been there and mussed the place all 
up. "It all belongs to hunting," was Henry's comment 
when episodes like these occurred. 
There came a day at last that will never fade from our 
memories. Henry and Fred launched the dug-out, landed 
at the head of the lake and then climbed a mountain en 
route for a little lake where the guide thought they stood 
a chance for moose. Jack and I paddled off in the op- 
posite direction on our own hook. When the little lake 
was reached Henry gave a call, and was at once answered 
by a hoarse grunt from the woods on the opposite shore. 
There was no mistake about it this time. Other grunts 
followed and they heard the antlers colliding with the 
trees. They rushed down the shore so as to be opposite 
the spot where they thought the moose would appear. 
Before they reached it, a big set of antlers loomed up, 
pushing their way through the firs and hard-hacks. 
"Wait till he comes out!" said Henry. As Fred took the 
kneeling position, the noble animal stepped out in full 
view about a hundred yards away. He looked straight 
across the water at them, and with every hair in his 
mane standing on end, said as plain as language could 
speak: 'What in the devil are you doing there?" As Fred 
fired at his breast he started off among the alders and firs 
that lined the shore. At every jump he took Fred let go 
at him with the Marlin. He disappeared from view in the 
firs, and they ran around the head of the lake after him. 
Fred came on him suddenly, broadside on, not 20ft. away, 
as defiant and kingly as ever, but breathing his last. As 
Fred gave him the finisher he came down all in a heap. 
While they were at lunch, after the animal had been 
skinned and dressed, and four bullets dug out of his 
carcass as mementoes of Freddy's deadly aim, they heard 
away down the lake, five or six miles off, a few remarks 
from the old Martini and rightly judged that something 
had happened to the Prowler. 
After Jack and I landed at the foot of the lake we went 
back over the trail for some distance, but beyond chasing 
a moose calf which we never could get our eyes upon, met 
with no incident worthy of mention. Returning to the 
canoe, we bad our lunch and started to paddle our way 
home leisurely by the northern shore. As we approached 
a rocky point we suddenly saw a small cow caribou, with 
limbs as delicate as those of a deer, and behind her a fine 
old bull, stepping daintily and softly around the turn. 
Our canoe at the time was heading straight for them, and 
the wind was blowing precisely in their direction. They 
were about 150yds. away, but the wind drifted us toward 
them quite rapidly. From the motion of the canoe it was 
impossible to get a steady aim. My first shot at the bull 
took effect, however, the bullet passing through his neck. 
He turned a trifle and faced out into the lake, as though 
somewhat confused. Neither of the animals seemed to 
pay the least attention to the crash of the rifla. My sec- 
ond shot went through the bull behind the shoulder, and 
he dropped in the water without a kick. The cow turned 
her head placidly around and took a casual glance at the 
dear departed, but showed no sign of concern. I fired 
then at the widow, but I think only inflicted a slight flesh 
wound, for she jumped over the bank like a flash and dis- 
appeared in the woods. I do not suppose there is a man 
on earth in these degenerate days more saturated with 
sanctity than my friend Jack Best; yet I am fain to con- 
fess that .the remarks he raa4e when trying to skin that 
tough eld bull, knee-deep in the water, with a dull knife, 
would have reflected credit even on the unrepentant 
Laziboo, 
During the remainder of our stay at the lake we tried 
to atone for our neglect of the black duck but they were 
very coy and shy. We found the broadbills and many 
other varieties of sea duck plentiful in Half Moon Lake 
and bagged a large number. At Two Lakes Fred and I 
were lucky enough to knock over a cow caribou in the 
thoroughfare at a range of about 400yds. Just at the foot 
of Louis Lake, while lugging a load of horns down the 
trad, Henry saw a large cow moose swimming across one 
of the inlets, evidently bent upon escaping from her male 
companion. We saw an exciting race' at daybreak 
between a blue hawk and a partridge, in which, much to 
our delight, the hawk came out second best. 
On Oct. 15 Laziboo and the bull moose arrived on 
schedule time at Pond's Camp. He and I went out to the 
settlement with the trophies of the trip, making thirty 
miles over the "portash" that day. Fred decided to re- 
main in the woods a fortnight longer. It was five weeks 
before the party emerged, Henry having built a log canoe 
and brought them down the Clearwater. When the snow 
fell early in November they tracked a herd of five caribou 
and Fred bagged three of them before they could run 
40yds. Along the Crooked Dpadwater and at the head of 
Clearwater they saw many signs of moo3e but failed to 
connect. Fred was much pleased with his cruise and we 
were all much pleased with Fred. We have planned 
another trip for next season, which I am not without 
hopes will be set forth in the comely pages of Forest and 
Stream by a much more facile pen than mine. 
fbkdericton, n. b. Prowler. 
DUCKING IN DECEMBER. 
The season had opened well, and black duck and shel- 
drake had been plentiful, while one flight of geese had 
struck in and been fairly accounted for by one or two 
fortunate beings. Our luck had been good into Novem- 
ber, and the score on the Skipper's boat-house door 
showed a goodly record. December opened cold, and the 
harbor was frozen over for the firat time during the sea- 
son. This made getting out to the reefs well nigh impos- 
sible, and we rather languished for a chance at our 
favorite sport until the middle of December, when a 
thaw set in, and the ice, assisted by a blow, broke up and 
left the harbor open. The weather was so much warmer 
that the Skipper proposed a trip along shore for a day or 
two of duck shooting. I jumped at the proposal and 
inside of three hours was at the creek where lay the 
Gypsy, a cabin catboat, 22ft. long, an able boat and no 
laggard. I found the Skipper busily engaged in stowing 
dunnage and provisions in the Gyp3y, while his man was 
bending on the small mainsail, which was made for our 
use during the fall season. I turned in and helped to 
stow the bedding, provisions, oil-skins, etc. 
Three hands made quick work and by three o'clock the 
Gypsy lay out in the channel, with everything aboard 
but the guns. Some time was occupied in filling shells and 
by four o'clock we were aboard, clad in corduroys, reefers 
and hip-boots, and the Gypsy went tearing down the harbor 
with a stiff leading breeze, and doing splendidly. The 
weather was not unpleasantly cold and heavy clothing 
kept us comforabie, while we were in high spirits regard- 
ing the prospect of a good time. 
By five o'clock we were among the islands, after a 
quick run to the westward, and determined to lay up and 
get some decoy shooting, and run further on 'the next 
day. The breeze had freshened considerably, but wo 
were up under the shore and in smooth water, and very 
soon ran into a snug bay, horse-shoe shaped, and dropped 
our hook. Here the Gypsy lay easily, with a good shel- 
ter, and splendid holding ground. We stopped only long 
enough to snug down, and then, jumping into the sneak- 
box towing astern, we pulled into the shore. Here a 
heavy line of sedge and marsh promised a good chance 
for a few shots from the decoys. These we anchored in 
short order, and running the sneak-box into the sedge 
covered her deck with grass and put a handful on our 
hats. 
The night proved a good one, the heavy wind bringing 
the ducks in, and we bagged five in the hour we lay there. 
The Skipper had a very lively chase after a bird that he 
had winged and which fell into the sedge. If that duck 
was winged he made slashing time through the shallow 
water and sedge, and the Skipper fairly earned him when 
he caught him and wrung his neck. 
The darkness made further shooting impossible, so haul- 
ing in the decoys we pulled aboard the Gypsy and pro- 
ceeded to boil a "caulker" of coffee. How good that 
aroma, and how much better the taste of that decoction 
of the fragrant berry! After being cramped in a sneak- 
box for an hour on a winter's night, with every nerve on 
the qui vive, the warmth of the Gypsy's little cabin, with 
its kerosene stove heating a big pot of strong coffee, 
was something to be remembered. We ate a hearty 
supper, pulled out our briers, and between puffs planned 
the morrow's campaign. 
During the night I awoke and thought I heard some 
one walking on the beach, his footsteps crunching loudly 
on the frozen sand. We lay near the west shore, about 
two rods from the beach, and I thought some duck hunter 
might be staying in the old house on the island, and see- 
ing the Gypsy had walked along shore to see who we 
were. Under this belief I poked my head out of the 
cabin and stared ashore, but could see nothing on account 
of the darkness. Ugh, how cold it was! I hailed, but 
got no response, and dodged back into the warm cabin. 
I thought it was not worth while to freeze for the sake of 
finding another duck crapk walking along shore. I found 
the Skipper awake, and his salutation as I tumbled under 
the blankets was, "Who in thunder is that walking along 
the shingle?" I observed that if he was anxious to dis- 
cover he could go out and try to. As for myself, the cabin 
was more congenial than the temperature outside at pres- 
ent. The Skipper's curiosity was aroused and out he went, 
and I heard his ejaculation as the cold wind struck him. 
He also hailed the beach, and got no reply. Then I heard 
him moving about on deck, and presently he crawled into 
the cabin, all in a shiver with the cold, and disgustedly 
remarked that "he didn't see how any one could be such 
a blamed fool as to take the scraping of the sail on deck 
for the footsteps of any one on the beach." I didn't say 
anything, but I fervently kicked myself. Next morning 
we found that a fold in the sail had worked loose, and the 
wind, scraping the stiff canvas across^the cabin j;top had 
made the illusive crunching sound. Neither of us mention 
that matter much. The Skipper said he wouldn't if I 
wouldn't. 
The next day it blew heavily from the westward and 
the Skipper decided that the Gypsy would be full as com- 
fortable by lying in the bay as by staggering under two 
reefs outside, and I agreed with him. We lay around in 
the little cabin all day, cleaning the guns and indulging 
in an occasional game of California. The ducks killed 
the preceding night proved very fat and large, notably 
the one which led the Skipper so lively a chase through 
the marsh. This was the largest black duck I have ever 
seen killed. Before dusk we pulled the sneak-box into a 
line of sedge, set the stool, and managed to get three 
birds during the time there. I also managed to get a 
boot-leg full of icy water by stepping into a small pond 
hole in the darkness, just as we left the marsh. That 
night passed quietly enough, and we heard no more "foot- 
steps." 
The following morning we got under way at 9:30 and 
ran to the eastward ten miles, getting several old 
squaws and two coots, running ''own on them and 
knocking them over as they rose. We had quite a brush 
with a lai-ge oyster sloop, having on board a party of duck 
shooters, but the Gypsy had the heels of him, and he 
could not hold us. We thrashed back to the old berth by- 
four, and shot from the same marsh that night, with no 
luck; misses were in order, and I was disgusted with 
myself at my wild shooting. 
The next day broke mild, and we jogged up and down 
off shore with a light air from the westward, getting a 
number of old squaws, one sheldrake and a tough old 
coot. This same coot I shot at three times before he 
would let go his grip on life and allow his worthless body 
to be picked up. I chased him in the sneak-box and got 
him, more out of spite than because I wanted a coot. 
We changed our anchorage that afternoon, dropping 
the hook in a creek that made into the shore. Here we 
had better luck; set the stool in a marsh that was full of 
pond holes and was an excellent feeding ground. The 
score was increased by seven $ and we agreed that to- 
morrow we would start the Gypsy on the run home, for the 
next night was Christmas Eve, and the 25th must find Us 
around the festal board, where the time-honored turkey 
should surely be flanked by fat duck with brown gravy. 
During the night the wind hauled into the northeast, 
and the morning was stormy and dark when we roused 
out. Frequent squalls of wind, bringing rain and sleet 
with it, promised an unpleasant run home. The Skipper 
tied in a reef, while I broke out the hook, and the Gypsy's 
head was put toward home. We were close-hauled on the 
easterly breeze, and before we were clear of the islands 
the reef proved none too little, for we had to ease her 
continually as the heavy puffs struck us. With a single reef 
tied in the Gypsy surged ahead bravely, but it was wet, 
cold work. About an hour after leaving the islands the 
boat towing astern parted her painter and got away, and 
we had to come up in the wind, drop the peak and square 
away af ter her. It was no small job to pick Up that sneak- 
box in the weather we were having, witti a heavy seaway 
rolling in from the eastward; but we managed it, and bent 
a new line to her pretty expeditiously. 
The cold, raw wind and spits of rain made handling the 
Gypsy a very tedious and trying job, but we were getting 
on in good time. By 2 o'clock we were off the harbor, 
and ran by the breakwater, over which the sea was 
tumbling gloriously. Here the Skipper got wildly excited 
as he pointed out a dog-seal which had risen abot sixty feet 
to leeward of us. It was a splendid chance, but my Scott 
was in the cabin with the Skipper's, and the seal dove in 
an instant. 
These hair seals are not uncommon through the sound 
and may be seen on the reefs at low water, their hair 
shining like polished steel as the sun's rays fall on them. 
They are of no value, however. 
We found just water enough to cross the flats and avoid 
a crooked channel, and in a short time the Gypsy lay off 
the boat house and we pulled ashore with the dunnage 
and birds. 
Christmas Eve! The bells were just ringing out as I 
reached home, tired, hungry, but at peace with all the 
world. The rain had changed to snow, and already the 
ground was white. But I thought of the boat house door, 
where the Skipper chalked up for the trip fifteen black 
duck, three coots; one sheldrake and several old squaws, 
and I didn't care if it snowed the whole harbor up. 
I have been out in November and February of the pres- 
ent year, but have found the birds exceptionally wild 
and hard to bag. Tacomet. 
Foxes as Tree Climbers. 
Velasco, Tex., Dec. 3.— Editor Forest and Stream: I 
notice some discussion of late in the Forest and Stream 
relative to the ctimbing qualities of the fox. It seems 
odd to a Texan, to hear of any one doubting the fact that 
they climb about as well as a cat. 
Fox hunting is a favorite pastime in the timbered country 
of east Texas. Most of the planters keep packs of half a 
dozen, or in many cases a score of hounds. They usually 
meet at some trysting place on bright moonlight nights, 
and combining their dogs in one grand pack make the 
welkin ring until early dawn after the cunning little 
fellows. 
It requires some skill in the art of horsemanship to fol- 
low a pack of hounds through the dark woods, over logs 
and trees, and through brier patches, but the sport is glori- 
ous. If any one cares to learn more of the habits of the 
fox and its skill as a tree climber when close pressed by 
the hounds, let him write to that veteran of the chase and 
sportsman, Judge L. B. Hightower, of Huntsville, Tex., 
or to Capt. Dick Lewis, of Waverly, Tex., and they may 
hear a great deal of fox lore. O'Brian Shea. 
Let Him Speak Now. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In traveling between Newark and New York by the 
C. R. R. of N. J., I never— that is, hardly ever— see that 
long point which makes out into Newark Bay just south 
of the bridge without saying to myself, "What a perfectly 
elegant point that must have been to stool ducks from in 
old times!" or words to that effect, be the same more or 
less. Is there not among your Hudson or Essex county 
readers one at lease who used to put out his decoys there 
once upon a time in the auld lang syne, and can tell us ot 
his luck? If so, I prythee let him have parlance in these 
columns. J« L « Kearney, 
