Nov. 14, 1896.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
388 
All around the peak was forest, reetions of spruce alter- 
nating with the more open aspen trees, and all per- 
meated by a maze of open otladea, or "parks," of all sizes 
and shapes, and connected more or less. The air, rare- 
fied by our near approach to heaven, and perfumed with 
the fragrance of evergreens, was a constant cocktail; and 
the sun, through that clear atmosphere, had a radiant 
glory which made one want to shout and sing. I found 
no disagreeable symptoms result from the great altitude, 
except that one couldn't stop breathing, say to whistle a 
bar, without having to gasp a little to catch up with his 
supply of oxygen. The stimulating air made one feel 
equal to any exertion, but experience showed that uphill 
work -^ust be taken slowly to avoid extreme though 
temporai'y exhaustion. 
A good supper and the heavy and dreamless sleep of 
fatigue made another man of me next morning, Baxter 
himself was assigned to take charge of the tenderfoot 
and insure him a shot. There was an inch or so of snow 
on the ground when we started, though it did not lie there 
long. Following the stream downward for half a mile, 
we turned to the west, climbing the mountain through a 
succession of beautiful little parks, Not a mile from the 
camp we came on the first game, a blacktall doe and fawn 
cropping the grass at the edge of a little glade. The 
breeze blew from them to us, for one must hunt up wind, 
and we stood for two or three minutes and watched the 
pretty things at not over 50yds. off, and the clearness of 
the air made them seem much nearer. I do not shoot 
does myself, and even a less scrupulous hunter would have 
found it hard to pull trigger at that family party; so, after 
having gazed our fill, we started them with a shout, not 
a shot, and they bounded off none the worse for us. We 
kept on into a heavy spruce forest, and I soon lost all 
sense of direction, and followed blindly in the guide's 
footprints. Soon he began to seem interested, but said 
nothing, which was one of bis habits, till he beckoned 
me up, pointed to the left and said, "There's an elk. 
Shoot it." I could not make out anything that looked like 
an animal in that chaos of tree trunks and fallen logs, all 
gray and brown, but strained my eyes in the indicated 
direction and finally made out that a grayish-brown 
ridge, just showing over a fallen tree, was the back of a 
eow elk, and that a dark knot just beyond was an eye 
turned full on us. The rifle went to my shoulder; I took 
one step to the left for a clearer view; the ridge and knot 
vanished ; there was a tremendous crash in the timber, 
and I had missed my first chance. How I did mentally 
kick myself all the way back, for we saw no more elk, 
nothing but blacktail does and fawns, and that day's hunt 
was a failure. It was some consolation, however, to find 
that the others had done no better. 
The next day the guides took care of the other two 
hunters, and I only tramped round near the camp, trying 
to catch some trout out of the little stream, which falls 
below prevented, as I afterward discovered. Within half 
a mile of home I saw a dozen or more deer, all does and 
fawns, for the bucks were lower down, as we found later, 
The day after was one of great experience. Baxter and I 
traveled over nearly our former course and struck the 
trail of quite a band of elk. I was sent off to one side, 
leaving my horse with the guide, while he followed the 
trail. Presently came the crash among the trees, and a 
whole band of elk passed me at about 100yds. off, giving 
no chance for a fair shot. I determined not to let them 
go without an effort, and started to follow the trail, which 
was very distinct, and led me down the mountain for a 
mile or so through dense forest. This ended at a little 
brook at the foot of the slope, bordered by a wide park, at 
the other side of which I made out a solitary cow elk. 
There was no cover for a stalk, and I had to try the shot, 
though the distance was fully GOOyds. ; and I made a clean 
miss. Now. with all the confidence of a greenhorn, I 
determined not to again climb the mountain, but to fol- 
low the little stream until it intersected that on which 
our camp was located, as I knew it must, and then 
follow the latter home. This was well planned, 
but I did not know that the two streams ran 
nearly parallel, divided by a ridge, and came 
together five or six miles below the camp; so I started 
down the valley. It was a delightful walk through a 
Buccession of parks, but began after an hour or so to seem 
pretty long, and I anxiously looked out for the home 
stream. Suddenly, from among some fallen timber to 
the left and above my trail, there sprang to his feet a 
splendid buck aroused from his day sleep, and stood look- 
ing straight at me. In an instant the rifle was swung 
into position, and at the shot the buck simply let go 
everything and dropped in his tracks. It did not take 
long to cover the 80jds. of hill that lay between us, and I 
found him stone dead, with the buUet mark just between 
his eyes. It took some time to bleed him and tie a white 
handkerchief in a conspicuous place to find him by, and, 
when I had got started again and finally found the stream 
sought for, daylight had nearly gone and a strange coun- 
try was all around me. It was evident that to get to 
camp in the dark was practically impossible, so reconcil- 
ing myself to the inevitable I picked out a knoll where 
there was a supply of fallen aspen timber and prepared 
for a soUtary camp. The first requisite was a fire, and I 
found only two matches in my box. These must be made 
to do the work. So I got together a lot of dead wood, care- 
fully cut shavings and arranged the pile, lighted the first 
match with the greatest care, and made a success at the 
first try. 
Soon there was a fine crackling fire, and it was good 
company as I perched on a pile of bush and began to 
figure things out. Here we were a long way from camp, 
but on the right stream, and able to get home when day- 
light came again. Good, There was no supper, but a 
couple of cigars were still on hand, and the buck would 
make a good breakfast, after which I was sure camp 
could be reached all right. Good again. There was 
abundance of fuel, and a big pile was soon gathered, a 
lot of bushes cut and piled for a bed, and into a mound 
to keep off the wind, and I settled down for the night. 
The sun went down and the stars came out, and there is 
no denying that it was lonesome, and that there seemed 
to be a great deal of space all around me. One could 
not help thinking that his proper place was in civiliza- 
tion, and what a fool he had been to travel 2,000 miles 
just to get lost in the Rockies ; but the thing was done, 
there was no help for it, and one must just make the 
best of it. The hours crawled along, and the fire made 
me drowsy, so that somewhere about 11 o'clock I 
was at least three-quarters, possibly entirely, asleep. A 
little distance up hill from me ran a deep-trodden game 
trail, and suddenly I was started broad awake by a loud 
"Woof" from that direction. Nothing could be dis- 
tinctly made out. but a big black mass a few yards away 
gave another "Woof" and then made off into the shad- 
ows. Did I investigate him ? Not much I I hugged my 
rifle and my fire, and was only too glad to give him the 
rest of the State, and thankful that the grizzly did not 
need me also. 
It was only a little while after this that I heard a rifle 
shot far up the valley and answered it; before long there 
was another and it was again answered, but when the 
third came, now not more than a mile away, my hammer 
clicked idly, for the cartridges were out. This was the 
lonesomeat thing of all, but it was not long before my 
friends got within shouting distance, and Baxter and 
Percy arrived with horses and took me back to camp, 
which we reached somewhere about 3 in the morning. 
It might only be tedious to describe the succeeding 
days, though they were far from tedious to us, being most 
delightful and fairly successful, both with deer and ante- 
lope, though we were soon met with the difflculty that 
we had all the venison we could use, and that killing any 
more meant useless slaughter. So, though the deer fairly 
forced themselves on our notice, we stopped killing them 
and devoted ourselves to the greater and rarer game. We 
were not lucky in striking elk for several days. Finally 
Wallace, Wolcott and I had climbed the mountain and 
were circling the peak when we heard a bull whistle below 
us and not far away. Instantly we were off our horses, let 
the reins trail on the ground and started on foot toward 
the sound, finally coming to the edge of a little park, 
when I heard Wallace give a sudden low call. 
Just in front of me was an opening like a port-hole 
through the last trees, and through this I sud- 
denly saw, standing still in the middle of the glade, 
and under the full light of the sun, the most mag- 
nificent thing I had ever beheld. Imagine an animal 
with all the grace and beauty of a deer, and five or six 
times as big. He had heard a strange noise and was stand- 
ing at attention, every muscle tense, and his head lifted 
until his splendid antlers seemed, allowing for excitement, 
to touch the sky. I did not stop long to admire, and my 
rifle boomed the instant the white bead showed against 
his shoulder. The smoke hung in the foliage so as to con- 
ceal everything in front, and I heard a second shot as I 
dashed through it. There was the elk in full run straight 
away from us, with our dog Queen close at his heels; but 
before I could shoot again there was another shot close 
beside me, and the great bull came down on his haunches, 
the ball having struck the spine and paralyzed the hind- 
quarters, The dog leaped at his throat, and he struck at 
her with his forefeet and antlers. I do not know exactly 
how we got there, but just as we arrived the splendid 
head went down and the grand animal was dead, my first 
shot having struck just back of the shoulder and gone 
clear through both lungs. That was a grand moment; 
and, by the way, the very best seat in the world is the 
flank of a bull elk which you have just killed yourself, 
and the first one is much better than the second. 
I have already told of the much larger head which 
fortune sent to me at the very end of our vacation, and 
will not try to give further details of our experiences, 
though I might go on indefinitely with tales of our later 
doings. How we chased the antelope over the plain, 
which is rather barren amusement; how I stalked a big 
buck, and he saw me through a hill and a grove of aspens, 
spoke contemptuously of me in antelope language, and 
cut his stick. How some bear hunters camped below us 
without advertising their presence, turned their yellow 
burros into the timber, and I took one for an elk, shot it, 
and had to pay for it. How the bronchos bucked when 
we came to break camp and of the means taken to sub- 
due them. How we went down into canons so steep that 
the horses had to sit down and slide, and how we climbed 
out again. How we fished the Yampa at Steamboat and 
got back to civilization. But all these details I spare the 
unfortunate reader, only urging him to go and try it all 
for himself. 
I claim for this history the one merit that it is free 
from fine writing and poetry. The subject deserves 
them both, but is too large for any one but an essayist 
and a poet. If you doubt me, go and see. 
A. St. J. Newberry. 
Clkvkland, O. 
It 
OREGON NOTES. 
Portland, Ore., Oct. 20 —There is sorrow in the For- 
est AND Stream household. One of its brightest and 
most beloved members has passed over to that unknown 
and silent shore from whence no traveler has ever re- 
turned. 
Osmond O. Smith and the writer were warm personal 
friends for many years and that friendship had ripened 
into an almost brotherly love. 
On two different occasions he had gone far out of his 
way to spend a few weeks with me, and no one can now 
deplore his sad ending more than myself. I had been 
cognizant of his serious condition almost from the first 
and had urged him to come to Portland, where possibly 
he might have better medical treatment and the unselfish 
care and attention of those who loved him. But Smith 
was a very peculiar man and preferred to bear his bur- 
dens and distresses alone. And yet he was not alone, for, 
as I am glad to say, since his demise I have learned that 
there were those near him until the end came that had 
learned to know him and therefore to love him. 
O. O. Smith was one of the most conscientious, honor- 
able, manly men it has ever been my good fortune to 
know, and as a sportsman we must all concur in the sen- 
timent of Forest and Stream's editorial estimate of him: 
"He came as nearly as did any one we ever knew to the 
actual winning of what is best in field sportsmanship." 
Years ago I knew all about the salmon and trout of the 
Pacific coast, in my own estimation. I was spoken of by 
my admiring sporting friends as "an authority" upon 
all such matters, and I almost felt that I was entitled to 
the distinction. I was always ready with an opinion 
backed up by quotations from all the best authorities, and 
particularly with copious references to the reports of the 
United States Fish Commission. But the boys commenced 
o ask me hard questions, and thpy seemed to derive so 
much satisfaction from my discomfiture that they have 
kept it up until I have about concluded that I don't know 
anything in particular, in fact, that I haven't even fair 
horse sense concerning these matters. First they embar- 
rassed me with this interrogatory: "If all the various 
kinds of trout become salmon trout when they get intp 
salt water and the salmon trout grow into steelheads, 
have we any true trout?" Then they wanted to know why 
it was that we caught lib, and 60lb. salmon out of the 
same pool on the same day at Willamette Falls if they all 
matured at two years and then returned to fresh water to 
spawn and consequently to die. 
Now Mead is asking me to explain why it is that among 
the rainbow trout of exactly the same size in Waldo Lake, 
on top of the Cascade Range, part are white-meated and 
part red or pink. Will Judge Cheney kindly come to the 
rescue of my fast fading reputation and answer Mead's 
question, and oblige? 
After more than a dozen years of good, honest, consci- 
entious attention to business my poor old dog Mike has 
gone the way of the world. 
He had become nearly blind ani deaf, was a rheumatic 
sufferer, and a burden to himself. So his old friend Billy 
Newman took him out among the hills he loved so well 
and shot him. I couldn't. He was a good dog, and I fear 
that no other can ever take his place in my affections. 
It does beat all how close an attachment will grow up 
between man and a faithful dog, to be augniented by the 
rolling years and cemented by death. 
We have been doing a rushing business in albinos in 
this neck of the woods lately. Three pure white crows 
out of a nest of four found near Corvallis, now in a bird 
store here in the city and properly authenticated. Also a 
pure white buck and a pure white fawn, killed in south- 
ern Oregon, and now on exhibition in the show window 
of one of our local drug stores. 
Only fair shooting is reported by our duck hunters, 
except at the Jewett Lake on Sauvie's Island. There the 
shooting has been almost phenomenal and can be traced 
to a generous and judicial distribution of Oregon wheat — 
a temptation not easily resisted by th^ trash ducks. But 
canvasbacks are no longer killed hereabouts. Last 
Sunday at the Jewett three sportsmen killed 190 trash 
ducks, of which J. R. Mead got eighty-eight shooting 
alone. 
Old Forest and Stream is unusually interesting here of 
late, and while every line of it is entertaining from my 
standpoint as an angler, it seems to me that Fred Mather's 
"Men I Have Fished With" is remarkably fine. Permit 
me to compliment Miss Elizabeth Taylor also on "Fishing 
in Iceland" in the last number. It was unique and most 
delightful. S. H. Greene. 
ANTLER. 
Grand View, Tenn., Nov. 4.— The rain clouds drifted, 
dark and heavy, across the headlands of the beautiful 
Grand Traverse Bay, when we boarded the train and 
sped away southward. It rained all the way to Cincin- 
nati, where I at once proceeded to look up the circum- 
jacent Kingfishers. I had not met them for more than 
three years. I hoped last summer to "hear their faithful 
steel clash once (or more) around the board," but the fates 
were against it, and I submitted as gracefully as possible. 
Then I had the further pleasure of shaking bands with 
other good fellows, including Br'er Starbuck, Ned, Capt. 
Tinker and Dr. Dewey, whoee consummate skill as a 
naturalist and taxidermist of tie first order is well ex- 
emplified in the magnificent collections at the rooms of 
the Cuvier Club; second, as I think, to none outside the 
Smithsonian. 
Well, the boys made me free of the Cuvier Club, and 
would have treated us right royally had we given them a 
chance; but other engagements forbade our longer stay, 
and we were not long in reaching the glorious old Ten- 
nessee hills (mountains, as Old Hickory says of them, if 
one has not climbed the Rockies). 
Eventually we "hived up" alongside our mutual friend 
Antler, who is as fine an example of the old-time hunter 
as one mierht wish to meet. 
Now, Antler is one of the most modest of men, and 
would scarce thank me for saying about him all the good 
things that come to mind. No man is more respected 
than is he in the community in which he lives, and not- 
withstanding his eighty-five years he can still descend 
and climb the steep and rocky sides of a 100ft. gorge 
without assistance, and throw a tomahawk into a tree 
with unerring skill. 
His memory ia stored with a rich and varied fund of 
hunting incident and story, dating back even past the 
time when in the "twenties" he hunted with the old 
Seneca chief, Tanda Jimison, and it was estimated that 
during the first week of our stay here he and I told each 
other about 16,000 stories. 
Mrs. Kelpie, being asked how long since she had heard 
me talk so much, replied, "About forty years." 
She and I, while sitting of evenings before the great 
stone fireplace and listening to Antler's stories, have often 
wished that we could have present the coterie of good fel- 
lows we met at the Forest and Stream exhibit at the 
World's Fair, and who gathered with us around the tables 
at Costa Rica and Brazil. If Reynolds, and Hough, and 
Hofer could only step in, wouldn't we have a jollifica- 
tion! 
Well, we hadn't even, a stenographer, so that 1 fear that 
most of these precious reminiscences will be lost to the 
world, though I may perhaps manage to preserve a few. 
This place is situated on Walden Ridge, a spur of the 
Cumberland Mountains. It used to be a famous locality 
for game, but that was long ago. Deer are rarely seen; 
turkeys are not very plentiful; hares and squirrels seem 
to be the principal game. I have seen but one bevy of 
quail as yet, and hope no one will shoot them. There are 
a very few ruffed grouse here, and why they are not 
plentiful no one seems to know. 
My wife asked Antler if there were many snakes about, 
to which he replied, "No, we've hardly got enousch for 
our own use." Kelpie. 
CHAINED 
\ Ao Business? ® 
W Can't go Shooting? 
M Do the next best thing-' 
W Forest and Stream^ 
