Oct. 8, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
287 
The Lmnaean Society of New Yofk. 
Regular meetings of the Society will be held in the 
American Museum of Natural History, on Tuesday 
evenings, Oct. II and 25, at 8 o'clock. 
Oct. it. — L. S. Foster, "A Black-capped Petrel from 
Cavuga county. New York." William Dutcher, "Ex- 
hibition of a Series of Red Phalaropes, Illustrating 
Changes in Plumage." Postponed from the meeting of 
May 24, 1898. Preliminary reports on the past sum- 
mer's work by members. 
Oct. 25.— Frank M. Chapman, "The Bird Rocks of the 
Gulf of St. Lawrence." Illustrated by specimens -and 
lantern slides. Walter W. Granger, Sec'y. 
fcwf^ i§ m * 
Proprietors of fishing and hunting resorts will find ft profitable 
to advertise them in Forest and Stream. 
The "Brief's" Pictures. 
The illustrations in the current edition of Game Laws in Brief, 
Mr. Charles Hallock says, well represent America's wilderness 
sports. The Brief gives all the laws of the United States and 
Canada for the practical guidance of anglers and shooters. As 
an authority, it has a long record of unassailed and unassailable 
accuracy. Forest and Stream Pub. Co. sends it postpaid for 25 
cents, or your dealer will supply you. 
Adirondack Deer and the Laws. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
The letter of Mr. J. B. Burnham in Forest and 
Stream of Sept. 24, concerning Adirondack deer hunt- 
ing conditions, invites a response; and as I have had 
some opportunities for observing these conditions and 
the effects of the laws which have been put in operation 
during the past few years, I am impelled to speak of 
what I have seen and heard. 
It is true, as Mr. Burnham says, that the natives have 
never had a deer law to suit them, for, although there 
have been all sorts of laws, no one of them could, in 
the nature of things, be satisfactory to all. 
"No man e'er felt the halter draw, 
With good opinion of the law." 
The best protective law ever passed in this State was 
the one which prohibited the shipment of carcasses un- 
accompanied by the owners, thereby making it un- 
profitable to kill deer for the market; but throughout the 
length and breadth of the Adirondack wilderness a howl 
of protest went up from a class of men who complained 
that a legitimate source of revenue had been closed to 
them. We hear very little about this law now, be- 
cause even the ignorant and prejudiced realize that it 
was wisely enacted. When hounding was shortened to 
two weeks there was a wail from the guides and hotel 
men, and when it w,as altogether done away with and 
larking was made illegal they gloomily prophesied that 
there was an end to prosperity for them. What have 
been the results so far, and what are the indications 
for the future in this respect? 
Last year, at a place where I have frequently made 
my headquarters, over sixty deer were killed by still- 
hunting— a considerably larger number than had been 
killed there the year previous, when both hounding and 
jacking were allowed. The guides made as much and 
the hotel proprietors more than during the season of 
'96. This doesn't seem to indicate that ruin is staring 
them in the face. I can see nothing but ultimate good 
for both hotel-keeper and guide under the existing law. 
Formerly most hunters waited for the hounding season 
before going to the woods, and while this short period 
was a busy and prosperous one, it was preceded and 
followed by a dearth of patronage. Now the hunting 
season, beginning Aug. 15 and ending Nov. 15, gives 
one a wide choice as to the time of visiting the woods. 
He may go in August for his summer vacation and get 
some fishing, as well as hunting; he may go in September 
and October and enjoy the delights of the forest in 
autumn; or he may go in November and track deer on 
the snow Thus the season is prolonged and equalized 
for all. Unwillingly, at first, perhaps, both natives and 
visiting sportsmen turn from hounding and jacking to 
still-hunting, only to find that the latter is the most 
satisfactory and sportsmanlike method of getting their 
deer. Moreover, as the deer are increasing under the 
present laws — I mean where these laws are lived up to — 
the chances of success are continually growing better. 
I admit that for cripples and lazy men sitting on a 
runway may be preferable to the more active work of 
still-hunting, but I have yet tojind the real sportsman, 
who, having tried all methods, does not declare in favor 
of still-hunting, with its ever-changing scenes, its robust 
exercise, its wide opportunities for observation, its les- 
sons in woodcraft and its manly requirements of pa- 
tience, tenacity and skill. Furthermore, those who have 
either a disinclination or incapacity for much physical 
exertion should remember that by no means the least 
successful way to secure a shot is to sit quietly on a 
iog or rock and allow the deer to do the hunting. I 
find an ever-increasing proportion of hunters who hold 
these same opinions, and I am inclined to question 
the statement of Mr. Burnham that "the non-hounding 
law is contrary to the sentiment of the great majority 
of men living in the Adirondack's who hunt." Most 
of the intelligent guides whom I have men during the 
past two years are reconciled to the situation, and I 
doubt not that they will all be so when the men who 
hire them take up still-hunting in earnest, as they in- 
evitably will. 
I think the author of the letter I refer to takes too 
narrow a view when he assumes that game laws have 
been framed in the interest of the "city guests, business 
and professional men, college students and the like." 
The good effects of this legislation are ample vindication 
of it, and if an increased supply of game is good for the 
visitor it is equally good for the permanent resident. 
"The profit in killing deer" is not to be measured by 
the value of the meat for home consumption, or the 
price it brings in the markets. Throwing aside all 
sentiment, and viewing the subject from a purely com- 
mercial standpoint, the prosperity of the Adirondack's 
as a hunting resort depends very largely on these very 
"guests, professional and business men, "college students 
and the like," who would never go to the North Woods 
if the deer had been killed off to furnish a profit to a 
few native butchers. 
Suppose that this army of sportsmen, who spend 
hundreds of thousands of dollars annually, should de- 
cide to stay away from the Adirondack's. Could any 
change of the game law be a compensation for this loss 
in hard cash to the native population? I think not, 
even though the price of hounds has depreciated from 
$15 or $20 to $4, and Winchester rifles are a drug on 
the market in Mr. Burnham's locality. 
In spite of salt licks, shooting out of season, and 
evasions of the law as regards jacking — all of which are 
more in vogue than is generally known— I believe 
there are more deer in the Adirondacks today than 
there were five years ago. They are there . for the 
native hunter as well as for the city guest, and if these 
men do not know how to get them it is the fault of 
neither the law nor the deer. By the way, while pitying 
the poor hounds that are kept in chains, why not shed 
a tear of joy for the deer that are no longer run to 
death ? 
I spent some time this summer traveling about Frank- 
lin county, which includes some of the best deer country 
in the Adirondacks, and wherever I went I found evi- 
dence that deer -were plenty, and that the efforts of the 
still-hunter were being crowned with success. . At Ma- 
dewaska, where Joe Alfred's resort is located, many deer 
were brought in, and they were big ones too. On the 
Bog River a, large party, some of whom I am acquainted 
with, had all the luck the law allows. At Tupper Lake 
and on the Racquette River no one was going hungry 
for lack of meat. At Ampersand Pond friend* of mine, 
who had the right to hunt there, took as much venison 
as they needed, and at McCollom's, seven miles from 
Paul Smith's, I myself saw eight deer in four days, and 
secured shots at two. The latter place was formerly 
famous for its hounding advantages and will soon be 
equally well known as a still-hunter's paradise. A friend 
whom I advised to go there has just written me that he 
has met with good success there, and could kill more 
deer if he wanted to. (Perhaps McCollom's is the 
only place in the woods where a man may see deer 
tracks on a gold ground!) 
In all these localities success was had without the 
aid of jack or hound, and this too at the poorest season 
for still-hunting. 
Does it not seem, therefore, that the present laws 
are all right, that the season is neither too long nor 
too short, and that conditions are rapidly shaping them- 
selves to the advantage of all concerned? 
I sometimes hear or read that the deer are rapidly 
disappearing from the Adirondack's and that the hunt- 
ing there is no longer worth the trouble and expense 
it involves. It is probably true — as it always has been— 
that one cannot shoot deer from the porches of the big 
hotels, or successfully hunt them with a brass band: but 
it is equally true that there are deer enough in the woods, 
and that the man who knows how to still-hunt or is will- 
ing to learn can find plenty of use for his Winchester 
and should not dispose of it at a sacrifice. 
Arthur F. Rtck. 
A Prairie Chicken "Hot Corner/' 
During a visit to friends in southern Illinois a"~few 
years ago, I was seated on the pprch smoking an after- 
dinner cigar, when my attention was attracted by a man 
approaching the front gate carrying a gun. 
The combination of a gun and man operating through 
the optic nerve on that corner of my intellect that 
directs and controls my sporting proclivities always 
causes a sensation of greater or less proportions to per- 
vade it. I want to know where and what after, if he is 
going hunting; and where he has been, and what his 
bag is, if he is returning. 
I want to know the make, weight, gauge, length ot 
barrel, drop of stock and general shooting qualities of 
his gun; and what weight loads and brand of powder 
he prefers. An old maid is not more interested in her 
next-door neighbors, that have moved from a place she 
never heard of, than am I in every gun and gunner that 
crosses my path. , 
The soporific effect of a good dinner and cigar, com- 
bined with the heat of a late August sun, made my 
interest in the approaching man with a gun almost 
passive. 
It is , 
"When the frost is on the pumpkin, 
And the corn is in the shock" 
that my enthusiasm rises to the highest pitch. 
Then I cannot meet a country boy with an old 
delapidated musket without stopping to hear his story 
of how he "Crippled a rabbit, but he got in a hole; and 
killed two pa'tridges, but lost them both in the thick 
weeds an' briers"— the same old story that we told a few 
years ago, and that we do not 'improve on now with 
our scientific modern lie. And then I like to take the 
old gun, look it all over, put it to my shoulder and 
sight it, wondering if it kicks as viciously as some old 
fellows 'that I knew and swore by when a boy. while its 
owner beams with pride at my interest in his treasure, 
and tells me of the marvelous shots it has made. 
If the man with the gun had passed on by, he 
would hardly have stirred me from . my perfect ease of 
body and mind that warm day, but as he entered the 
gate and came right up to me, and proved to be a young 
man that I had hunted with on several occasions during 
former visits, I shook off my lethargy and proceeded 
to welcome him. 
He explained that he had heard of my arrival, and 
had intended calling at once to arrange for a chicken 
hunt, the season being open and a few birds near by, 
but had been prevented until that afternoon, when he 
was told by a farmer friend, who had just driven to 
town, of a small flock of prairie chickens that he had 
seen light in a field of grass choked corn, not more 
than a half-mile from town, so was compelled to drop 
everything and go after them, and wanted my com- 
pany. He said he knew I would have my gun, but Per- 
haps no shells, and had provided enough for both, so 
there was nothing to do but get into my togs and 
come on. As little as I had thought of the possibility of 
going hunting ten minutes before my friend's arrival, I 
was now as full of eager enthusiasm as though I had 
been planning the trip for a month. 
I was soon ready and we started at once, fearing 
that some one might happen to walk through the field 
before our arrival and drive the birds out. 
lie had come direct from his place of business, so we 
went by his house, which was on our way. to get his 
clogs. He had three as good common stock dogs as I 
ever shot over, though not one had even a rumor of a 
pedigree. The steadiest and best of the lot was a 
dropper bitch called Nellie, partaking most strongly of 
the setter ancestor, both in appearance and characteris- 
tics. 
We reached the cornfield where the birds were said 
to have lighted, and as my friend's informant was 
thoroughly reliable, and we could see no signs of any 
one near who might have flushed them, we felt pretty 
certain of getting a shot. Sending the dogs over the 
fence, we seated ourselves on the top rail to watch" for 
the first signs of striking scent. 
The field had been planted in corn which had not 
been worked properly, and the grass and weeds had 
caught it and so choked it out that it was but little high- 
er than the weeds. It nowhere' in the field ercw high 
enough to interfere in the least with shooting, which 
was rare good luck, as most of the shooting done at 
chickens at that season was in the high green corn, 
which made the results very uncertain. The field was on 
a gentle slope, and the, high grass soon made it so diffi- 
cult to see the dogs that we dropped down from the 
fence and followed them. I was on the upper side of 
the slope, while my friend was abreast of me some 
30 or 40yds. down the hill. When we approached the 
dogs, we found them all three on scent and working 
beautifully. They had evidently found where the birds 
had been running about feeding, and were now trying 
to unravel the maze of tracks and get their direction. 
The dropper Nellie was up near me. a large red Irish 
setter, called Burt, about half-way between my com- 
panion and myself, and the other dog down in front of 
him. 1 had not shot chickens for two seasons, and 
had never shot them much, or where big bags were 
made. They were big game to me. and I was not a little 
excited as I saw the dogs working close and cautiously 
on a warm trail. Back and forth they swung, each dog 
trailing .carefully, stopping every moment or two, to 
see if any other dog had come to a stand. With guns 
at ready we slowly followed in the rear, expecting 
every moment that the dogs would come to a stand, 
or thai the birds would (lush without lying close, as they 
sometimes did when they had been recently shot at or 
were pressed by the dogs. 
My dog had gone down the slope a short distance 
on a. trail, and I walked forward a little faster for a few 
steps to get abreast of my companion, who had drawn 
a little ahead of me, when I literally kicked out of the 
grass a full-grown, strong-flying chicken. He was by 
110 means unexpected, but was none the less startling, as 
he burst out of the grass. The suspense of continued 
expectation had wrought me up until my nerves were 
anything but steady. Before the bird was much past 
the muzzle of my gun, I fired the first barrel wildly 
in the general direction of his flight. This amateur 
performance brought me to my senses, and I got down 
to business with the second barrel, stopping the chicken 
nicely. Not pausing for an instant to enjoy the pleasure 
of my first bird, and hoping to get ready for another 
shot at the covey, I crowded in fresh shells, and was 
ready just as another single chicken flushed about half- 
way between us, a few feet from the Irish setter Burt, 
who had — with the other dogs — dropped to my shot. 
Not entirely steady, I fired too quickly at this bird, 
which was by rights my companion's shot, and missed. 
He proceeded to' "wipe my eye," as I deserved, killing 
the bird with his first shot. 
At the crack of his gun another bird flushed near 
him, wdiich gave me immediate reyenge, as the per- 
formance on the bird just killed was exactly reversed, 
he missing and I killing. Crowding in shells, I was 
barely in time for another bird that shot out of the 
grass near me, feathering him with the right and throw- 
ing him safe and quiet with the left; while my companion 
made a pretty double right and left on a pair that flushed 
near him. 
The next bird rose near me, and flattered me by 
flying straight at my friend, so low as to prevent my 
shooting without danger of raking him. 
He let the bird pass him, turned on his heel and killed 
it decently and in order. 
Then we both killed one that flushed between us, and 
was anybody's bird, the two shots sounding ^is one, and 
the bird drifting down in a cloud of feathers. Up to 
this time we had not moved out of our tracks since the 
fust bird flushed, and there had been a bird in the 
air all the time, and a steady serving of the guns. 
Now we both got loaded, there was a short pause, and 
then another bird, the last one left of the little covey, 
flushed at my friend's very boot leg. I dropped my 
gun over my shoulder to watch his graceful work on 
the easiest shot yet. Deliberately he drew on the 
steady 'straight-away shot, fired, and missed entirely; 
drawing carefully clown with the close choked, hard- 
shooting left barrel, he again made a beautiful miss, and 
then stood looking in the most surprised manner after 
the vanishing bird, too much astonished at the lack 
of result on the easiest shot of the whole hot corner's 
shooting to reload his gun; but as the cover was 
shot out, he had nothing more to lose by not being 
loaded. Moving around for a few moments, and finding 
no more live birds, we put out the dogs with a general 
order to "seek dead," and they quickly piled up at our 
feet eight chickens, which made us a pretty bag. The 
covey had consisted of but nine birds, and only one 
had escaped. My companion was an experienced 
chicken hunter, but frankly confessed that he had never 
known, in all his experience, such a pretty bit of shoot- 
ing or such a considerate lot of birds. " 
"They flushed just as we needed them," said he, "and 
