42B 
mtfe ^Hg mid %wt. 
Proprietors of fishing and hunting resorts will find it profitable 
to advertise them in Forest and Stream. 
The "BriePs" 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. 
A Red-Letter Day. 
In telling one's experience in the field, it must naturally 
afford greater satisfaction to the narrator to describe 
successful trips than to try to give entertaining descrip- 
tions of unsuccessful outings. As a rule no trip in the 
open air is entirely disappointing to me; yet some 
prove dry in the telling. 
While my undying hobby is for boats (constructed on 
Forest and Stream ideas) and the water, circumstances 
make it impossible to indulge that propensity. Next to 
yachting come forest, stream and field. A permanent 
residence in the country affords me ample opportunity 
to spend many days and half-days with gun or rod. 
Measured by the amount of game or trout secured, most 
of these trips could be set down as failures. Yet, game 
or no game, fish or no fish, I derive great satisfaction 
and pleasure from such rambles. I shall tell in this 
paper of one of those red-letter days when all the ele- 
ments were propitious for a day afield. 
It was one of those clear October mornings when all 
nature seems to rejoice, and men are thankful to be 
alive. Out of the rosy east the morning sun sent long, 
mellow shafts of gold aslant the autumn tinted fields, and 
reflected countless glittering sparkles from the frost- 
jewels that lavishly scattered on every hand. The foliage 
of a bunch of young maples, alders and white birches, in 
a nearby swamp, burned under a bewildering profusion 
of colors. The hills, clothed from foot to summit in 
raiment whose colors rivaled the choicest hues of the 
rainbow, formed a fit frame for the glorious panorama 
that stretched from their feet. The crisp, life-giving 
air was sweet to breathe. 
Such a morning was it that greeted Sam and me as 
we stepped from the old farmhouse into the open air, 
bound in quest of gray squirrels. Climbing 'over a 
rickety rail fence, we entered a field which had been 
sowed to rye a month or so before, and had sprouted 
in such luxuriance as to assure a heavy crop the next 
summer. Keen flashes among the green blades were 
thrown out by the frosty diamonds, and the frozen 
vegetation scrunched musically underfoot. Clambering 
over an old stone wall, and passing through a field of 
corn stubble, we reached a marshy place, densely covered 
with small trees, underbrush and greenbriers. So thick 
was this tangled vegetation that it was almost impossible 
to penetrate it. We fought our way through for a 
mile, however, and finally emerged into a huckleberry 
pasture, where a number of old apple trees were grow- 
ing. 
We had half-crossed the field when an animal ran 
skurrying over the ground and up the side of a dead 
tree, and we saw that it was a large gray. I stayed 
where I was, while Sam worked cautiously in the direc- 
tion of the tree. As soon as in range he slowly raised 
his gun and I was anticipating its report, when the 
squirrel suddenly vanished back, of the tree. Sam ap- 
proached the tree and I walked to where he had stood. 
He had hardly reached a point where he could see the 
back of the tree, when there was a quick flash of gray 
and the squirrel appeared on my side. I was not quick 
enough; the sly little rascal observed my movement and 
slipped to the other side. Sam's gun spoke, and as the 
echoes reverberated among the painted hillsides he 
picked up the first squirrel of the day. 
We entered another lot, and had nearly reached a 
corner formed by a stone wall and woods, when a black 
object dashed out of the grass ahead. Like an ebony 
streak it made for the wall, and as it gained the top two 
reports rang out as one, and the animal disappeared 
from view. We ran to the wall just in time to see a 
cat scurry for dear life across the next field. I climbed 
over the wall and picked from among the fallen autumn 
leaves a headless gray squirrel. It was still warm, and 
we had surprised the cat at breakfast. I dropped the 
squirrel into my hunting coat pocket, and we moved on 
into the patch of woodland. 
We had hardly gone iooft. into the woods when a par- 
tridge whirred almost from underfoot. Sam didn't offer 
to raise his gun, but as a streak of brown flashed across 
a golden bar of sunlight, my gun instinctively flew to 
my shoulder, and I pulled the trigger with no hope of 
success. Indeed, I aimed in a vague manner, for with 
the exception of that momentary flash of brown I could 
see no bird. Far away we saw a swiftly-moving object 
tower high above the painted leaves, then there was a 
thump, and all was still. Sam gazed in open-mouthed 
amazement for a moment, then exclaimed: "That was 
the best shot I ever saw." and away he scampered 
through the underbrush to where the bird had fallen. 
We searched long in the underbrush, and were on the 
point of- giving up when my eyes rested on a stunted 
bunch of laurel. On the ground, directly in the center 
of the laurel, lay the partridge, stone dead., I quickly 
reprieved the bird, and upon examining it was surprised 
to rind only one shot mark. That shot had entered the 
eye, and penetrating the brain had caused instant death. 
We passed through the strip of woods, without seeing 
any more game, and entered another lot. Here the 
brush had been cut a year or so before, and the foliage 
of the young growth presented a confused/mixture of 
entrancing coloring. On every hand were "signs which 
told of a thrifty farm in the long ago; probably when 
deer roamed over this section and the nearby stream 
was swarming with trout. Mossy stumps here and 
there showed where the apple orchard had flourished, 
and an old tumbled-down foundation marked the site 
of the ancient New England home which once had stood 
there. The bright bars of sunlight seemed to fall more 
tenderly than elsewhere on these venerable relics of 
bygone days, and as we tarried by the side of the old 
filled-in well, and gazed about us, our minds deserted the 
present for visions of the past. Imagination saw the 
deer, the result of a day's hunt, hanging by the door 
side of the old home, and heard the drowsy hum of the 
spinning wheel. With other thoughts came reflections 
of the seasons of those olden times, and I found myself 
unconsciously repeating those lines of Whittier: 
"The house-dog, on his paws outspread, 
Laid to the fire his drowsy head; 
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall. 
And, for the winter fireside meet, 
Between the andiron's straddling feet, 
The mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples sputtered in a row, 
And close at hand the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's wood." 
We passed through a number of fields without meeting 
game, and the morning was well advanced when we 
came to a point directly opposite a famous squirrel for- 
est on the other side of the mountain. Selecting an 
easy place, we climbed to the top of the cliffs. By 
this time the sun's rays were very warm; and as we 
had been compelled to scramble over loose, jagged 
rocks, and through thick laurels and other underbrush, 
we voted to rest awhile; so we reclined on the edge of 
the cliffs and enjoyed the panorama. Alternating patches 
of woods and meadow extended for miles, and the sun 
cast a mellow blanket over oceans of bewilderingly beau- 
tiful autumn colors. A small stream flowing through 
a meadow resembled a trembling band of silver stretched 
through a sea of gold. A dreamy, Indian summer haze 
hid from view the distant City of Elms and Long Island 
Sound. After an hour's rest we struck off through the 
dense underbrush of the mountain's top, and had gone 
but a short way when a partridge darted almost from 
under out feet. The guns roared simultaneously. The 
bird went on. 
From the western edge of the rock we descended into a 
forest of giant oak, chestnut and hickory trees. Partly 
hidden by the variegated foliage could be seen many 
bunches of dry leaves in the crotches of the trees, far 
above the ground, and we now realized that we had 
reached the most noted place in this section for squir- 
rels, so, selecting seats among the laurels, we devoted 
our time to watching nests and treetops. One by one 
the minutes slipped by. No word was spoken, and 
my neck was beginning to ache from the steady gazing 
into the treetops. Finally I grew lax in my vigil and 
was on the point of going to sleep, when I heard the 
bark of a gray in the top of a tree over near Sam. Then 
a chestnut burr rattled down through the foliage and 
struck the ground. Sam was stirring, and I saw him 
crouching and working through the laurel in the direc- 
tion of the squirrel. Stealthily he approached, and as the 
squirrel's bark echoed once more his stooping form as- 
sumed the perpendicular; he raised his gun, and far 
above the charge of No. 6 cut loose a bunch of brilliant 
leaves to rain down in a golden shower. Down too 
came a big gray, which Sam, with a satisfied chuckle, 
stored away in his hunting coat pocket. I shouted con- 
gratulations, then silence settled over the woods again. 
Exceping the far-off crow of a farnryard fowl, no sound 
could be heard. I had decided that Sam had shot the 
only squirrel abroad, and was on the point of proposing 
that we move on to some other place, when what ap- 
peared to be a shadow glided up the trunk of a tree 
directly in front of me, and not more than 20yds. away. 
I perceived the shadow to be a large gray, and quickly 
brought him to bag. 
As it was now nearly noon we decided to have dinner, 
and agreed that it must be a warm one. So we went to 
the side of a small rill, where the water trickled down 
the mossy face of a large rock into a limpid, icy pool 
at the base. On the emerald carpet surrounding^ the 
pool we built our fire. Each then produced a long, tin 
shallow box. From one of the boxes we took a gener- 
ous porterhouse steak, four potatoes, and some pepper 
and salt. The other box contained tea, sugar, and 
bread and butter. As soon as we had a bed of coals, the 
potatoes were buried, one of the tins was filled from 
the pool, and tea was started. Then, after awhile, the 
steak was broiled on crotches of birch, and we soon sat 
down to a meal fit for a king. The tin boxes answered 
for tea cups. A red squirrel could not have made a meal 
of the scraps that were left. 
Then we took up our watch again under likely looking 
trees. The faintest breath of an autumn breeze rustled 
the leaves far up in the tops of the trees, and caused their 
variegated hues to shimmer in the slanting rays of the 
sun. Many times I imagined I saw a gray moving, but 
closer observation would prove that what I had taken for 
a squirrel was only a flickering leaf. My cigar had near- 
ly assumed the proportions of a stub before any sign of 
a squirrel was seen. Something falling through the 
foliage landed on the ground back of me. A look into 
the treetops in that direction revealed two large grays 
running among the topmost branches of a large chestnut. 
Scrambling to my feet, I shouted for Sam, and made my 
way in the direction of the chestnut as quickly as the 
thick, tangled underbrush would permit. Reaching the 
tree almost together, we stood with ready giins and 
closely examined the top, but the squirrels had disap- 
peared. Sam moved to the opposite side of the tree, and 
I caught sight of one as it slipped around a branch. I 
fired and expected to see the squirrel drop, but it dashed 
off through the foliage. As soon as the chance came I 
fired again, but much to my surprise the gray continued 
its aerial flight. Sam fired at the other one, which had 
started to run in the opposite direction, but his shot 
too was unsuccessful, for he soon used the other barrel. 
Stumbling and scrambling through the thick underbrush 
in a wild chase after my squirrel, I raised the gun half 
a dozen times, but the little rascal was too quick for me. 
He managed to place a limb between him and me every 
time I aimed. Finally, in jumping from one branch to 
another, he misjudged his distance and lost his grip. He 
caught another limb, however, but before he had fully 
recovered his footing I had caught an aim, and the game 
fell to the ground. With the greatest confidence L 
walked to the spot where that squirrel fell; I could tell 
almost to the very inch where he lay, but search among 
the laurels failed to discover him. Hunt as I would, there 
was nowhere any sign of him. Presently Sam joined in 
the search, but after twenty minutes spent m kicking 
and scraping among the leaves we gave it up. Sam had 
met with better success, for he had had no trouble in 
finding his. 
We shot several more that afternoon, and the light 
and shade had ceased to play hide and seek in the forest 
aisles and among the richly colored tree tops before we 
started for the farm; the sun had set over an hour be- 
fore we gained the mountain top; and as we looked 
down from the ledges we had climbed in the morning 
night had fallen. Yet, like a dream of fairyland, the 
hills, woods, fields and stream lay fully revealed to our 
vision; for a great, full-orbed moon flooded the landscape 
with a soft and silvery radiance. The faint tinkle of a 
bell floated up from the pasture below, and lights glim- 
mered from the windows of peaceful farmhouses. As 
we stood silently enjoying the entrancing scene, a beau- 
tiful meteor in a blaze of splendor flashed athwart the 
eastern heavens, burst and scattered a shimmering show- 
er of gems on the autumn night. 
"A red-letter-day — long to be remembered," said Sam, 
as we began our descent down the ledges; and so it was.' 
William H. Avis. 
In Nebraska Bottom Lands.— II. 
What a change it was for all three of us. We, who 
for years had not raised a gun to our shoulders, and 
had been stooping over our desks grinding away, trying 
to forget the good times we had had every year with 
partridges, quail and rabbits, when living in the country. 
The four days' feasting upon ducks and snipe, to say 
nothing of our regular morning diet of fish and buck- 
wheat cakes, had tightened our waistcoats to an alarm- 
ing degree. 
These fish I must mention; perhaps some one will 
recognize the species. They are delicious; the flesh is 
of a lightish pink, and in flavor very much like salmon, 
They are speckled and have a long snout like a pickerel's. 
Here is their history: "About fifteen years ago two cars 
containing fish in glass tanks were wrecked at Jackson 
Lake, and the finny occupants, true to instinct, flopped 
into the water. It was a sad day for other denizens of 
Jackson Lake; the newcomers waged a relentless war 
upon all species, until now they have everything to 
themselves. In warm weather they bite upon a hook, 
taking a piece of raw meat better than anything else. 
Later in the season they are caught in nets. Some 
fish have been taken that weighed over i61bs," I am 
quoting my friend C. in all but the eating part. 
C. had two of the finest cocker spaniels in the coun- 
try, Nip and Tuck. They were thoroughly broken in 
every way, and willing to hunt for anybody who knew 
how to handle a gun. Tuck couldn't stand having a 
gun pointed at her, and would instantly sneak out of 
range if a down-turned barrel happened to point in her 
direction. On account of business C. was obliged to 
stay home on the day we had decided to hunt chickens — 
so he gave us these directions: "Strike right across the 
prairie a half-mile to Plum Creek; hunt up the creek 
for wood ducks till you come to a firebreak. Walk 
across the firebreak for quail till yoit come to a slough. 
Look out for ducks in the slough. Then to the north, 
hunt across that partly submerged piece of alkali bottom 
for snipe and plover, around to the east toward the 
Elkhorn, and hunt the rolling ground back toward the. 
ranch." 
Such a meaty prospect as this set the blood tingling' 
in our veins. Each took fifty shells (ten loaded with 
4s, twenty with 7s and twenty with 8s) and our 12- 
bore guns. We struck into Plum Creek and picked up 
four wood ducks within the first hundred yards. Nip 
didn't much like retrieving in water, but Tuck braved 
the icy bath and retrieved beautifully. We left the 
creek to keep out of temptation, following along down 
toward the firebreak. Before we reached it, Tuck, rang- 
ing on ahead, came to a point. Nip came up, sniffed a 
little and kept on toward the scent, putting up a little 
prairie sparrow. So Nip redeemed himself from failing 
to retrieve the wood ducks. Whenever we had a doubt- 
ful point from Tuck, Nip would settle the question in 
short order. Quail were very numerous in the break, and 
either one or both of the dogs were on the stand con- 
tinually. Long before we reached the slough we were 
forced to leave the quail grounds with twenty-eight 
birds. The slough was literally alive with wildfowl — 
mallards, canvasbacks, widgeon, teal, pintails, mudhens, 
bittern and quawks. We crawled through the tall grass 
to the edge, and feasted our eyes on the sportsman's 
elysium. Then having picked out a certain bunch of 
canvasbacks about 20yds. from the shore, at a signal all 
three stood up. What a whistling swirl of wings! Our 
canvasbacks were swallowed up in the mass of ducks 
taking wing. I sighted one off to my, left, and a widgeon 
got mixed up in the pattern in some way, and both came 
down together. I fired again at a mallard which was 
slow in getting up, and scored a clean miss. B. got a 
canvasback and a teal with his first barrel, missing with 
his second. Poor H. neglected to remove his 8s, and 
got a handful of feathers as his reward. Some of the 
ducks in the upper end of the slough refused to leave, 
even after the fusillade; and continued to upend as 
though nothing had happened. We crossed over toward 
the alkali bottom, picked out several golden plover and 
surprised a bunch of seven mallards fast asleep with 
their heads doubled under their wings. AVe managed to 
get within 50yds.; then they rose, towering, and we fired, 
killing two and tipping a third, which Nip finally bagged. 
We now had to our credit four wood ducks, two canvas- 
backs, three mallards, and five plover. We were weighed 
down already, and before reaching the chicken grounds. 
We turned as C. had directed down toward the Elk 
horn and the cornfields. Nip made a" stand on. .the 
edge of the corn, toward a tumble-down shock, and 
thinking it was another flock of, quail, we didn't, attempt 
to shoot. Right from under our feet flew a big flock of 
prairie chickens. We had resolved to let the chickens 
