March S3, 1895. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
227 
bird was in a bad fix, with a double-barrel hammerless 
gun each side of her and two pieces of statuary in dog 
flesh behind her. I said ' 'Trot out your bird and we will 
attend to her," but no bird showed itself. Then I tried to 
start up the dogs, but you might as well have tried to 
start the stone wall I stood on. After a while, I heard 
her start close to the wall at the east end; I quickly 
pointed two barrels just over the top of the bushes, which 
grew only about three feet higher than the wall, but I 
ne^er saw that bird ali ,T e I don't think she got more 
than six inches above the wall before H. A. let her down 
bank where she starte l from. Don upon being told to 
"fetch" brought her out where we could inspect her at 
our leisure. 
As there were three birds started, and we had only shot 
two, the other one must have gone clear over into the 
next co-^er: as it was some dstance over there, we decided 
to go back and attend to the bird that we left in the 
corner. I take Duke and go inside, and H. A. takes the 
outside; we find the bird very near where we expect to; 
Duke points her and as it is too thick for me to think of 
shooting, I smash in and flush her out, but, hearing no 
report from H. A. come out to find that he did not °-et 
quite far enough ahead, so lost a shot. We follow but 
fail to start her again, so turn about and go back to 
where H. A. shot the one behind the wall; look the 
country over and decide where we think the third one of 
the three started together would most likely be. We 
decide to try the first cover to the right; a little way in 
this cover there is an old wall and we naturally expect 
to find our bird beside this wall, but neither dog shows 
the least sign of. game although they hunt it all through. 
Beyond, across a small piece of pasture, there is another 
cover, and we start for that. 
Out in the pasture there was a large stone, and on the 
further side a few bushes, a little further' along there 
was a clump of laurel, with a few maple trees scattered 
through it. This laurel grows from three to six feet high. 
I was standing in the open just west of the large stone, 
Duke just west of me, H. A. southeast of the stone with 
Don just in front of him, when he exclaims, "look at 
Don." I looked and Don was pointing straight at that 
large stone; I turned to look for Duke and he was back- 
ering Don and standing directly at right angles to him. 
Don did not move, but Duke commenced to work around 
behind him, never taking his eyes off of Don for an in- 
stant, until finally he came up close behind him. I sup- 
posing the bird was behind that stone, stood still expect- 
ing every instant to see him get up, pretty quick. Don 
commenced to move forward' Duke keeping just his dis- 
tance behind, they drew around the west side of the 
stone by inches, seemed a little surprised to find that the 
bird was not there, then drew on down through the small 
bushes along the side of the bunch of laurel about half 
way. What a picture! I have it photographed in mem- 
ory, but would give a good deal to have it on canvas. Don 
was slightly in advance, left forward foot up, leaning for- 
war 1 as far as possible without taking another step, al- 
most a straight line from the tip of his tail to the end of 
his nose, eyes bulging as though they would burst from 
their sockets, mouth slightly open, with the saliva drip- 
ping from between his lips, and drinking in that scent 
which had frozen him in that position. Duke stood at an 
acute angle to Don, with his head held very high, his nose 
slightly over Don's hip; he was getting the scent direct, 
but showed his good manners by keeping his position. 
We should have liked to stay there and take in that 
picture more fully, but just then the grouse jumped up 
and we had other things to attend to. I was just one- 
tenth of a second too late; the bird belongs to H. A He 
tells Don to "fetch," and after a great deal of trouble of 
getting in and out of the laurel, the dog holds up the bird 
to his master. Now, the man who says that he had 
rather sneak around on the still hunt and shoot his birds 
sitting on a wall than over a good dog, is sadly lacking 
in experience. This was an extra large bird, and after 
looking him over and smoothing out his feather he is put 
away in the game pocket, and we go on down the run 
when H. A. bags another, and I miss a couple of good 
shots. Then we return to the team, get a bite to eat, and 
drive about a mile to another run. 
H. A. soon bags another here. I flush one wild and 
mark hdr down, way down across the brook and beside 
the public road where there is scarcely any cover. I tell 
H. A. where she has gone, send him around into the road 
then come up behind her with the dog, who very-soon 
locates and points, and we have her right down pat be- 
tween us, without a tree or bush in the way. I walk 
slowly up until she starts up to go across the road, but 
Then she sees H. A. she towers, and we both wait until 
she turns to come back over me, then we put the con- 
tents of four barrels after her, then stand and see her go 
sailing over the tops of the trees on the hill back of us 
Another grouse jumps up and starts after the first one' 
H A. has the shells in his gun, and I have only time to 
put m one but we give her three salutes, and she °-oes 
over the tree-tops after the other one; then two wiser and 
sadder men return to the team. 
From there we drove some three miles, put up the horse 
at a farmer's and ate our lunch. I shall only give our ex- 
perience with two birds that afternoon. We started a 
bird not long after we entered the woods at the end of a 
meadow; this one started very wild, and flew into some 
pmes; after a lot of pounding on the trees we succeeded 
in driving her out, and she flew down into some birches 
Just as the dogs began to wind her here, she started for 
the third time, and we marked her in some large woods- 
knowing how this woods lay, I called Duke to heel and 
went around to the upper end and waited for H A to 
drive her out. I did not have long to wait before out 
she came and gave me a good shot, which I beautifullv 
missed. On we went after her, and after a while H A 
got a shot and knocked some feathers out of her but she 
went sailing up on the hill side, so we followgon and I 
soon start her once more, but am unable to get a shot 
She went up into a pasture where there were bunches of 
pines with small openings, started her from bevond a 
pine tree, and she went down the hill on the other side 
this made seven times that we had started her but 
as she was going the way we wished to go we kepton a 
after her r 
As If was going through one of these small openings 
with Duke slightly in advance, suddenly he stopped, 
turned to the right, drew into the pines just a little way 
and pointed. I could see his hips and tail, but his head 
and shoulders were out of sight behind a pine tree. H. 
A. was above me in the pines and not more than twenty 
yards from Duke; he motioned Don to heel, and we both 
stood waiting for the bird to get up; but nothing started, 
and as I could not find a stone anywhere to throw in, I 
decided to go inside and take chances of shooting her m 
the pines. When I got in where the dog was I found he 
was pointing up the hill a little to the right of where H. 
A. was standing. There was nothing that I could see for 
a grouse to hide under, only short grass and three small 
branches of running hemlock. I stepped ahead of Duke 
and looked the ground all over, but could not see anything; 
talked with H. A., and he looked all around but could 
not discover anything at all. We did not try to be quiet, 
but talked back and forth, and still nothing started, so 
I shoved my foot along in the grass ahead of the dog, and 
up jumped a grouse right under my foot. I pulled on her 
just before she went out of sight in the pines, and had 
the satisfaction of seeing her come down, but she imme- 
diately went up again about six feet, then came down 
and run "to beat the band!" I told Duke to "fetch." 
and after her he goes, but H. A. thinking she might get 
away sings out "whoa," and Duke stops, but I say "let 
him go," and go he does. Talk about running. That 
grouse went around the trees, up the hill, then down the 
hill, came dowm past me where Duke caught her, and 
brought her to me. Just as I was taking her in wy hand 
she gave a flutter and away she went down the hill again. 
I told Duke he would have to catch her again, and he very 
soon returned with her. I was careful to have a good 
hold of her before I told him to "drop her." Found on 
inspecting her that I had only just tipped one wing. Why 
one grouse should be so wild and the other lie so close is 
beyond me, as well as are many other things they do. 
Just think of the fun we had with that bird, without a 
dog she would have let us go right by, and we never 
would have started her at all. 
We started down the hill, and very soon Duke pointed 
the old wild one we had been chasing and had started so 
many times, and although he had to chase the last bird 
so as to catch her, when this one flushedhe never moved or 
stirred. I pat him and say "good dog," and we make for 
the team, and our last day's grouse hunting in 1894 is over, 
but the memory of the days we spent last fall after this 
noble game bird will go with us until next season comes 
around. Omar. 
A COON HUNT IN TEXAS. 
Last Autumn I spent a few weeks with a couple of 
genial fellows, Phil, and Tom Buntline, in a little Texas 
town, enjoying the delightful climate and the open hos- 
pitality of my friends. 
One afternoon, Tom, who was always suggesting some 
thing for my amusement, proposed a coon hunt; as it 
was a novelty to me, I at once signified . eagerness to go; 
so without more auo we mounted our horses, and strap- 
ping a couple of heavy blankets behind the saddles, set 
out for the cabin of an old negro, who Tom said, was a 
great coon hunter. 
After a brisk ride of a couple of hours, we arrived just 
after sunset at a little two-roomed, boxed-house from 
which a troop of little darkeys came running out to the 
fence, blinking and grinning their big, black eyes to see 
who we were. My friends were recognized at once, and 
greeted with a chorus of welcome exclamations: "How- 
dye-do, Mass' Tom?" and "How is you, Mass' Phil?" 
sounded from all sides. These grinning little imps with 
glistening white teeth, took charge of our horses, and we 
went into the house where we found old Aunt Scinda Ann 
(all the old negro women in the South are called Aunt, 
and the old men Uncle) a "bustling old negra woman who 
had belonged to the Buntlines' "fob de wah," and had 
"nussed" both my young frienes when they were "chil- 
lun," waiting to receive us. She was overjoyed to see 
both Phil and Tom, and asked a hundred questions about 
'her white folks;" but her curiosity was at length satis- 
fled, and she set about getting our supper, while we chat- 
ted and smoked before the big open fireplace, in which a 
couple of hickory logs were blazing and crackling. 
We were soon called into the next room to supper, there 
we found everything scrupulously clean. A.unt Scinda 
Ann herself was standing near the table ready to serve us, 
and woe to the unlucky little darkey who dared show his 
face in the room^during the meal; he immediately disap- 
peared amid a torrent of abuse and threats of future pun- 
ishment. Our ride had given us a keen appetite, and we 
did ample justice to the dusky cook's fried chicken, hot 
biscuit, butter and, coffee. 
In the meantime, Uncle George, Aunt Scinda's "ole 
man, accompanied by two strapping negro boys, came 
;n from the field. He, too, gave us a warm welcome, and 
was delighted when he learned the object of our visit. 
Soon afterwards, we were ready to start. The two 
negro boys carried sharp axes. Uncle George himself had 
a rusty old army musket, and the little negroes carried 
long torches of fat pine. A blast or two from Uncle 
George s horn set all his own dogs, of which there were, 
several, and all the others for miles around, to barking 
and hovvling. The woods was comparatively open at first, 
and with the aid of the torches we made fair progress, 
Uncle George stopping occasionally to cry "Hi, there, 
Buck! Hunt 'em up Trailer!" or some other words of 
encouragement to the dogs, but we tramped and tramped, 
without the least sign of success until I was weary and 
toot-sore. My hmbs ached, and inwardly I cursed my 
luck tor ever coming on the expedition, though I did my 
best to show no signs of fatigue. At last, when I seemed 
just ready to drop from exhaustion, old Blue, one of the 
lead dogs, set up a bark which was instantly echoed by 
all the other hounds in the pack. This seemed to put 
new life into our whole party. We paused a moment to 
see what course the dogs would take, and then started 
after them. Away we went pell-mell through the brush 
and thickets, over briers and brambles, and into gullies 
and ditches, out of which we managed to scramble 
somehow, bent on the headlong chase. 
At length we came up with the dogs. They had treed 
the coon up a big red oak. Fires were soon kindled 
around in a circle about fifty yards from the root of the 
tree, and then one of the little negroes, who seemed as 
nimble as a squirrel, prepared to climb up and shake 
lum out, but, after three or four unsuccessful attempts 
to reach the lower branches, he was forced to give up. 
Next, the negro boys tried to call the coon down by 
rustling the dead leaves at the foot of the tree, at the 
same time making a peculiar guttural noise resembling 
the growl of the coon, but master cooney was not to be 
lured from his retreat. As the axes were brought into 
play, and while Phil, Tom and I sat smoking our pipes, 
the negroes made the big chips fly, and soon the mighty 
oak came crashing to the ground. Away went the dogs, 
barking and yelping while the negroes yelled at the top of 
their voices; but in the noise and confusion, the coon 
made good his escape. His trail was soon found, how- 
ever. The dogs were in full cry after him. and he was soon 
forced to take another tree, but this tree was not so large 
as I he first one, and Uncle George, taking a large pine 
torch, began to walk around it. At length he shouted 
that he had "shined his eyes." We all ran to see, and 
after scanning the tree closely in the direction indicated, 
I finally perceived what seemed to be two small balls of 
fire gleaming among the branches. These were the coons 
eyes, and Uncle George, handing me the gun, told me to 
"fetch him out." 
Although was somewhat distrustful of the ancient fire- 
arms, I raised it and fired, when down came the coon al- 
most on top of us. It was only slightly wounded with 
small shot, but the dogs instantly covered it and then be- 
gan one of the fiercest rough and tumble fights I have 
ever witnessed, dogs, negroes, and coon all rolled on the 
ground together. The coon, throwing Jiimself on his 
back, used his sharp teeth and claws with such fearful 
dexterity that more than one dog was sent back out of 
reach bleeding and bowling; but he was at length dis- 
patched and placed in a sack car ied for the purpose, and 
we started for Uncle George's cabin. 
On the way, the fierce barking of the dogs announced 
fresh game, but it proved to be a large opossum which 
was having a midnight feast on the luscious fruit of the 
persimmon. One of the little darkeys quickly climbed 
the tree, and by vigorously shaking the limbs, succeeded in 
dislodging the possum, which came tumbling down, but 
there was no fight this time. On touching the ground the 
possum instantly "sulled" or feigned death, and all the 
shaking and worrying of the dogs failed to provoke the 
least resistance from him. 
While I was examining the opossum, the little negroes 
cut a pole about four feet long, then splitting one end of 
it, the possum's tail was drawn through the split and 
curled around the pole which one of the negroes placed on 
his shoulder, leaving the possum dangling from the end, 
as a tramp cariies his bundle. 
We reached the cabin without further adventure, and 
there, wrapped in our blankets, slept soundly till morn- 
ng, then, bidding the colored folks adieu, returned to 
town, well pleased with our hunt, and bearing the coon's 
skin as a trophy. Charley Noble. 
Pickerel Ice-Fishing. 
Boston, Mass. — While pickerel fishing on the Charles 
river recently, we hooked some black bass. 
We had twenty-two pickerel to our credit at the end 
of the day. A very small catch to be sure, but some 
others who were in a cove above us had only seven fish 
for their pains, and they had twice as many traps as we 
had. We fished with shiners, while they had chubs. The 
shiner will not stand as much rough usage as the dark- 
skinned chub, but it is a more alluring bait. 
We had a discussion as to the proper manner in which 
to insert the hook through the shiner so as to injure 
him as little as possiple. Also as to the proper depth to 
drop your lines. We would be pleased to have some 
notes from some of the pickerel men of Forest and Stream 
on the matter. We can always learn something from 
each other.. 
We saw that rapacious rascal the shrike, pursue come 
chickadee among the trees. He captured one and de- 
scended to the ground with him. The piteous cries of 
the little fellow brought us quickly to his assistance. The 
shrike waited until we were within six feet of him before 
he took wing. We were unable to save the hardy little 
fellow, and left the place with his death cry sounding in 
our ears. Jay Pee. 
Mr. and Mrs. James. 
"My husband is a truthful man," said Mrs. James, 
"but he is also an angler. With the first warm sun of 
February his fly-book appears upon my drawing-room 
table. A little vise is screwed fast near it and a collec- 
tion of feathers, floss silk and tinsel upset the tidy little 
room. Then it is yellow hackles and black ant and scarlet 
ibis and Wickbam's fancy. Then it is letters to the 
fly tyers. While industriously tying a fly, James will 
remark that it is a pity he cannot go fishing this year, 
and I dutifully, if hypocritically answer, as I am ex- 
pected to answer, by asking why he cannot go this 
spring. He always is busy, and each year is hampered 
by poverty and the care of the family, and then there is 
the garden, which needs so much supervision. Each 
year the discussion is almost precisely the same, and with 
a subdued chuckle, I follow my partner's lead and play 
into his hand. 
"In April, James remarks that he will not go fishing 
without me — that I really need an outing; that he will 
not leave me behind, and I acquiesce. "When the maple, 
leaves are as big as mouse ears is the time to catch trout" 
quotes James early in May. The maples begin to show 
green through their scarlet and orange blossoms. James 
sorts his flies, examines his leaders, puts his rods together 
to see that they are in proper condition, and packs his 
trunk. About this time he is very solicitous for my com- 
fort, and wonders if I can be kept snug and warm in the 
club-house. 
"The next'stage of the angler's fever is anxiety for the 
home and garden. He ought really to stay at home to 
look after home matters, and he is sure that I will worry 
about domestic affairs if I go. Sometimes I go, oftener I 
stay at home to see that grape vines and fruit trees are 
sprayed, and the garden properly started. 
"After many years' experience, one would think James 
might forgot his little annual comedy, but year after 
year we play our roles as if they were fresh and new. 
"Well, James goes a-fishing in May. He puts on his 
flannel shirt, knickerbockers, heavy scotch yarn stock- 
ings and hob-nailed shoes His rod weighs three ounces, 
his leaders and lines are of the finest, and his flies are 
microscopical. He starts off in the morning early, walk- 
ing several miles up stream in order to fish down. He 
