410 
PDHEST AND STHfiAM, 
Proposed New Toi-k Ganie Sale Seasons. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The New York (city) AaBociation for the Protection of 
Game have met with the president of the Marketmen's 
Association and have drafted a law to suit both parties. 
The main features are; Leaving the seasons of killing 
game as at present; extending the season for having 
quail, grouse, woodcock, venison, rabbits and hares and 
squirrels until March 1; permitting sale of plover and bay 
birds all the year; of wildfowl from Sept. 1 to April 1; 
and sale of quail in addition during the month of October. 
All possession after the closing of the open sea- 
son to require proof of lawful killing during the 
o;^en season or without the State; The restricting 
of the spring wildfowl selling to April 1 is a gain of 
a month, if the open sfeason can be restricted also, as it 
should be, The marketing of qual in October, in my 
opinion, ought to be followed by permitting the shooting 
within the State from Oct. 1 to Dec. 31, otherwise our 
birds will be killed and marketed before lawful sports- 
men can go after them. The repeal of Section 249 is 
what we get for these concessions, and I think it a de- 
cided step in the right direction. It will be a great gain 
to have the marketmen with us. Manhattan. 
MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 
A Justice of the Peace who Breaks the Law. 
East Hampton, N. Y., Nov. 12.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: May I ask if it is legal to ship quail, partridges, 
rabbits, gray squirrels, etc., from here to parties in New- 
York city. Game such as above is being shipped almost 
daily. One party in town, by name of A. M. Payne, is 
shipping. Also one of our (worthy?) justices of the 
peace, John Mulligan, is shipping. Mulligan shipped a 
box yesterday afternoon to a certain commission house in 
New York city. 
As I'm in business, I don't care to have my name in 
this. But I do think they ought to be stopped if it is 
against the law, as I think it is. 
Any of this you' may publish if you wish, but not my 
name. 
[It is against the law to ship quail and partridges un- 
less they are accompanied by tne owner. We have ad- 
vised our correspondent to communicate with Chief 
Pond.] 
Currituck. 
New Yobk, Nov. 5. — A few lines in regard to reports 
from Currituck may be of interest. The outlook is sim- 
ply immense for wildfowling. Letters to hand from Leon 
White report the ducks and geese in large numbers, with 
a good many of the different clubs' members down enjoy- 
ing the sport. Jacksnipe have been unusually plentiful, 
also wood duck, while the bay birds, principally winter 
yellow-legs, are still with them — later than usual. White 
has an entire new outfit of live decoys and says they are 
acting well. He reports over 500 geese since the opening 
of the season, and other letters from natives confirm this. 
I am getting anxious to be there. Have four already for 
my party and want two more. Are there not two read- 
era of Fobest and Stream who will join me? I will 
gladly give any one all information and guarantee them a 
royal good shoot. We propose to start Dec. 10 to 15, so as 
to De late enough for the swan. W. E. Sawyer. 
Barneget Bay Ducks. 
Tom's River, N. J,, Nov, 13. — Gunning in Ocean county 
is excellent. Old-timers say that never in their recollec- 
tion were there such large fiooks of ducks on Barnegat 
Bay as during the i)ast week, A sail boat would make 
them rise from their feeding ground in great clouds. 
However, but little luck attend the gunners, as the fine 
weather allows the birds to stay in the middle of the bay, 
where they are comparatively safe. Large flocks are also 
Been in the ocean, outside the surf line. 
Some very good bags of quail are made by the gunners 
of the island, the largest being made by Longstreet Irons, 
of Jersey City, who bagged twenty-seven in half a day's 
outing. Eabbits are also very plentiful. 
South Carolina Quail. 
Rock Hill, S, C, Nov. 1.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
I notice in the office of the Carolina Hotel a placard 
reading: "Report your luck to Forest and Stream." In 
compliance with this request, and for the information of 
those who are fond of quail shooting, I beg to say: I left 
the hotel about 10 o'clock on the morning of the 4th and 
reached the hunting grounds about 10:30; found birds 
plentiful and bagged thirty -five, returning in time for 
supper. I would have had no trouble in making a bag 
of fifty had I been on the grounds in time for the morn- 
ing shooting. RoBT. B. Jones. 
Some New Jersey Covers. 
Asbxjry Pabk, N. J., Nov. 14. — I have just returned 
from a tramp through some of old Monmouth's famous 
covers and find game of all kinds fairly abundant. Par- 
ticularly is this true of quail; not in years have they been 
BO plentiful, and all we found were good, strong, well- 
grown birds, tasking the skill of the shooter to the last de- 
gree, as the foliage is too much on tree and bush to make 
shooting easy. Still we secured enough of both fur and 
feather to satisfy the average mortal, not to speak of the 
gloriously bracing effect on mind and body which wood- 
land rambles always bring. Leonard Hulit, 
New York Association. 
Rochester, N. Y., Nov. 12. — The annual meeting of the 
New York State Association for the Protection of Fish 
and Game will be held in the city of Syracuse, Thursday, 
Jan. 14, 1897, at the Yates House. 
I trust that every club will send a good representation. 
If you have any proposed amendments to the game 
laws to secure consideration at this meeting, a copy of 
same must be in the hands of each member of the legisla- 
tive committee on or before Dec. 14. 
F, J. Amsden, Pres. 
Duckins in Wisconsin. 
Chicago, 111., Nov. 11, — Diick hunting at Shawano 
Lake, Wis.j is good. Mr. Theodore A. Thomas, of Mil- 
waukee, in three days this week shot 255 bluebills and 
redheads: weight, 4851b3. W B. K. 
XXI.— Tay-bun-ane-je-gay. 
We named him — Henry Neaville and I. We had to call 
him something to distinguish him from other Indians 
who begged about our camp, and we did not think the 
name he gave as his own, Ah-mik-wash, "a beaver 
house," desbribed him as well as the one we concocted, 
which means: "He takes so much at a mouthful." Ours 
was a perfect fit and before long I'll tell you how he 
got it. 
Mr. James McBride, then living in Potosi, Wis,, but 
now in Washington, D. C, had a contract to subdivide 
some townships in what is now Crow Wing county, Minn. 
The township lines had been run, each township being 
six miles square, and these were to be crossed by lines a 
mile apart mto square miles, with the half miles miarked 
on both north and eaLst lines. The northern line was near 
where Brainerd now stands, the Mississippi River was the 
west boundary and the survey took in the village of Crow 
Wing, which was then an Indian trading post. 
The party included Thomas Davies, now living at 
British Hollow, Wis. ; Pierre Gibba, of Dubuque, la. ; 
Crosby, I think originally from Boston; Henry R. 
Neaville and the writer, both of Potosi. We started by 
steamboat from Dubuque, in September, 1856—1 forget 
the day, but Tom Davies thinks it was the 12th — with two 
horses, wagon, pack saddles, tent and camp equipage and 
a supply of provisions that surprised me: Half a dozen 
barrels of flour, 31bs, pork, a 10-gallon keg of molasses, 
1-gallon keg of vinegar, sugar, beans, rice, grain for the 
horses, and all in profusion. At St, Paul half the pro- 
visions were stored and we took a wagon load, all but the 
driver walking up the big military road that led to Fort 
Ripley, about 100 miles north of St, Paul, Our first night 
out we camped on Rum River and Henry Neaville tasted 
it and said: "Hum! it's nothing but water," From Fort 
Ripley to Crow Wing the road was not so good. Making 
a base of supplies at the trading post, we struck into the 
woods and afterward Tom Davies drove back to St. Paul 
for the food left there. We took camp and grub on our 
backs. At the place to begin work I made camp and 
Neaville went back for more supplies. There was about 
4in. of snow and this lay without thaw or addition until 
we left the woods late in December. 
I had expected to furnish game for camp and took 
my rifle, naturally thinking that this far-off region 
abounded in game as the Bad Ax country, where I 
spent the previous winter, did, I lugged that rifle 
for two months and only killed four ruffed grouse. 
I saw one deer and two rabbits, but did not get a 
shot at them. The country was destitute of game. In- 
dians swarmed all over it. At Crow Wing the great 
trail of Lake Superior crossed the one coming down from 
the Red River of the North, and the trading post was vis- 
ited by scores of Indians every day from each of the four 
branches of the trails. 
It was on the second day out. Henry had returned 
quickly, as we were not yet far from our base, and I was 
baking bread and getting dinner for two, as the linemen 
had theirs with thertf and would not return until night, 
when in walked the American whose name heads this 
chapter. As before stated, that was not his name then, 
but he didn't know it. He squatted by the fire and 
grunted: "Bow jour, Nidjee," a salutation of mixed 
French and Ojibwa that all those Indians used. Henry 
returned his salute and said to him in Ojibwa that he was 
welcome. 
"Where did you learn to speak that?" I asked. 
"Off up the Wisconsin River with a logging party one 
winter. Why?" 
"Nothing, only I was surprised, that's all. If I'd 
known you spoke it we could have knocked lots of fun 
out of your brother Frank on our fishing trips. But you 
have made this man welcome, and that he will interpret 
to mean free feeding, perhaps all winter, and as I am 
camp keeper, McBride will ask questions if we feed too 
many. He doesn't like an Indian and told me not to 
have them hanging around camp, so don't do this any 
more." 
"All right," said Henry, "I spoke without thinking. If 
there's lots of pork boiled let's fill this fellow up and see 
how much he can hold," 
I told him that I had boiled enough pork for all hands 
to have cold to-night, but if his guest ate half of it I 
would boil more. 
I made all ready, and our aboriginal American an- 
nounced himself as Ah-mik-wash or "Beaver House." 
Henry remarked: "He dift'ers somewhat from a beaver 
house, and aa to the last part of his name I'll bet he hasn't 
washed in ten years." 
"Henry, keep quiet 1'' then tapping my breast I said: 
"Kego-e-kay," and then touching Henry, introduced 
him as Ke-tim-ish-ke (He-is-lazy). Old Beaver House 
grunted, and I served an equal portion of bread, baked 
beans and pork to each. There was enough for Henry 
and me at the first serving, and long before we had fin- 
ished I piled another big chunk on the plate of our guest. 
"Henry," said I, "your friend's doctor has recom- 
mended him to take something for his appetite, and he s 
struck the place to get the prescription put up. Just see 
what he takes at a mouthful, and how he swallows it 
without sticking a tooth in it! I'll limit him to the pork 
and bread, for I'll be dingswizzled if I'll boil and bake 
any more beans." 
Henry thought a minute— he was a meditative man and 
therefore a born angler — and said: "He is filling his bea- 
ver house for the winter, but he can swallow chunks of 
pork that would choke a deerhound. He must have a 
new name. These Injuns don't get a name early in life 
as we do, and when they get one it never sticks through 
as ours do, and we must name him anew. See that last 
chunk go down! Give him what there is left of the pork 
and put the rest away, and let's see him get away with 
what you had provided for six men to-night, in addition 
to what he has eaten." 
I will publicly confess to being a sinner if that Ojibwa, 
or "Chippewa," as his name has been corrupted into, did 
not clean up every bit of the pork. There was no such 
discrimination between the component parts as was 
made by Jack Spratt and his wife. He removed the 
plate from his lap and said: "Koo-koosh, nish-ish-shin," 
or "Pork very good." 
While our guest sat by the fire in full enjoyment of 
Jihysical comfort Henry and I concocted the new name 
for him, and this is the way we fchristened him. , I said, 
leaving out as much of his tongue as possible: "You nd 
Beaver House no more, you Tay-bun-ane-je-gay (He-who- 
takes-so-much-at-a-mouthful). This name, which we 
evolved in a spirit of ridicule, was accepted by oul: sim^ 
pie-minded friend as a tribute to his prowess afteir he had 
scanned our faces and found no trace of levity; and he 
was so known, not only by us, but by his tribe. 
He had caught Henry's name and smiled as miich as ad 
Indian can smile, but seemed in doubt about mine. Per- 
haps my pronunciation was at fault, for "kego" means 
fish, and also is a negative, as "do not," "never," "be- 
ware of saying," etc. Henry said: "We have many words 
which mean the same thing, and so have they. Old 
Swallow-'em-slick is in doiibt. Show him your fish lines 
and he will know that you are a fisherman," 
When our guest had seen my tackle he pointed to md 
in pride at his understanding and touched my shoulder^ 
saying: "Kego-e-kay." Then he proceeded to tell what 
great pike, "kinoj 9," could be caught in a small lake a 
short distance away, and we arranged to try it next day 
after the men hadLgone on the line. 
The ice was not Thick, but would bear us well, for it was 
about the last of September or the first of October in that 
cold country, and this reminds me that McBride wanted 
to know about the winters in that region and asked a 
half-breed who spoke English how the weather was likely 
to be. He replied: "October, he pooty cole; November, 
he cole as de dev'; and December, he col'er 'an — ." I 
had heard the name mentioned as a comparison for heat 
frequently, and wondered what kind of a place the half- 
breed thought it might be. The snow had fallen since 
the lake froze, and we could not see the depth. I asked 
old Mouthful where there were springs and he showed 
us one, where we caught a lot of minnows. 
We cut holes and rigged about a dozen lines with tip- 
ups and waited. The holes froze over and we cut them 
open, but no fish came to our lures. It was noon, and 
not a pike, big or little, had sample/! our minnows. We 
were like "Ye Sunberrye Fysher," our tackle was cor- 
rect, but the fish were either absent or — something else. 
It was time to eat. 
I asked Henry: "Do you think that old Mouthful, as 
you call him in shorthand, has brought us out here on a 
fool's errand? This lake should contain pike, lake trout, 
brook trout or perch, but we get no bites. The water 
is not very cold or the ice would be thicker, the springs 
below keep the ice from getting too thick. Perhaps our 
friend is only playing it on us for his grub," 
"If I was sure of that," said Henry, "I would advise 
that we leave him, and go back and eat ours at camp or 
sit down here and eat, and only give a little bite, so that 
he could not take so much at a mouthful," 
The luncheon was fairly divided. One of the tip-ups 
showed the flag, and Henry jumped and ran for it. The 
hook was bare; a minnow had been taken. Old Mouth- 
ful had probably divined our thoughts, for he arose and 
said: "Kego-e-kay-e-mah," there are fish there. We let 
our lines lower down, but got no fish. It was time to go 
back to camp to prepare for the hungry linemen. Our 
new friend went with us; it was evident that he was 
fond of our company — or our pork — it was not easy to 
tell which. He saw the men come in and eat their din- 
ner, but got no invitation to join, for our chief did not 
wish to encourage Indians to hang round the camp. 
Two such men as He-who-takes-so-much-at-a-mouthful 
would breed a famine in our commissary in a short time. 
They would eat more than our six healthy white men who 
had the abnormal appetite that comes with a life in the 
woods and active exercise in cold weather. The farm- 
er's expression, "I'm as hungry as a hired man," fell 
short of our appetites. 
We had a tin bake oven made in flat sections for pack- 
ing on a man's back, which when set up before a camp- 
fire flared out so as to reflect the heat from top and bottom 
on a bread pan in which we not only baked bread, but 
beans, pork and coons. Imagine a yawning front of 18in. 
sloping to a back of 5in., in the middle of which was the 
pan, and you have the idea. Mixing soda and cream of 
tartar with the flour and then wetting it up — well! If you 
don't believe that I made the best bread that was ever 
baked on this planet just write to my companion du voy- 
age, Thomas Davies. Mark the letter "private," because 
Tom has been married since that time and he might not 
wish Mrs, Davies to see his reply; he is eating her bis- 
cuits now. Married men will appreciate this caution. 
Four men went on the line — McBride, the chief or com- 
pass man; one axe man to clear a place for him to see 
through and to blaze the line, and two chain men. There 
was then an extra man to bring supplies from our base, 
and he was in camp with me a great deal. Henry Nea- 
ville did most of this work, because he was a Very good 
woodsman and could find me when I moved camp. 
Sometimes we stayed several days in a place, and lines 
would be run in all directions. In the morning I would 
get an order to "Keep camp here to-day," or to move it. 
If moved, it might be "two miles east and one mile 
north," and then before sundown I would clang the cow 
bell which we sometimes used on the horses when hobbled. 
We used the horses to pack our camp at first while in the 
country of solid ground, but sent them to Crow Wing 
when we got into the swampy country, where the springy 
swamps were frozen enough to permit a man to travel 
safely without snowshoes, but would not hold the greater 
weight of a horse with its smaller foot. It would have 
been almost impossible to run these lines before the 
swamps were frozen. I saw all the corner stakes set and 
"witness trees" marked, and when the man removed his 
hand from the top of the stake it fell. There were no 
stones to be found for markers; but the trees told the story, 
and the exact place of the stake could be found. 
I can't say when it was that we met a train of Red 
River settlers on their way from Pembina,* perhaps it 
was on our way up, but it was an . event. We heard the 
creaking of their carts for at least ten miles before we 
met. There were eighteen carts in the train drawn by 
* Will the "gentle reader" oblige my educated ear by pronouncing 
this name with the accent on the last syllable, as Pem-bi-naw? I aak 
this because the tendency is to mispronounce Indian words like this. 
If they will favor me in this instance they will never say Man-i-to-by, 
but Man-i-to-5aft, bringing all the force on the ultimate, and they 
can't slur the first three syllables too much for correct Ojibwa eara. 
Why not? That's the way the natives speak these names. 
