Dec. io, j 898. J 
FOREST ANt> STREAM. 
4 6 \ 
Now, by the time these prepajf^^ns are made, the dog 
I has got uneasy. He does not kwSmyet whether he is to 
Ibe in it or not. i have another dog now, a borrowed one, 
lhalf-pointer and two-thirds fool, I never could get along 
jwith a pointer anyway, and this being one whose owner 
Iwanted me to borrow, it goes without saying that he is 
■ not a very good one. Old Joe is still with me, but he is 
Bolder than the coat, and is now too fat and dccrepid to 
I go afield, but he cries and begs to go, and sometimes I 
Itake him out a little while, but on no trips of any length. 
Now the wheel is mounted and for a half-mile of 
Ismooth and gently sloping road the dog has to keep in a 
IjSharp gallop, or be left. Then comes a hill 200yds. long, 
land it takes pushing to get up, but the wheel goes over 
■the top of the hill at a good speed, and down the other 
side faster, ever faster, till it seems to spurn distance, and 
rolls a long way along the smooth level at the foot of the 
hill. Then comes half a mile of all downhill 
to the creek. Then up hill all the way for a mile. 
Not steep, but uphill all the time. Just a few minutes, 
seven or eight perhaps, of hard work that gets me in a 
glow of comfortable warmth, for the morning is sharp; 
next a mile of level, and a flying coast down a long slope 
to the next creek; up the slope on its further side, a burst 
of terrific speed down the steep slope to the next creek, 
over the bridge and half-way up the opposite hill 
before any work is needed. Then comes the 
last stretch of the strip, three miles of smooth, level 
pike, and I set out to make things hum, and reach the 
village in a good sweat in spite of the sharp weather, but 
not a bit tired. Eight miles in forty minutes, and every 
minute a pleasure. 
After a good dinner (we eat dinner at noon out here in 
"Indianny' ) with my old and tried friend, Dr. Clark, I 
started homeward. A mile this side of the village, a few 
days before, I had seen a nice bunch of quail crossing 
the road. Here I stopped and "unlimbered," leaning the 
wheel against the fence (one doesn't need to hide, the 
wheel in this section), and got into the cornfield and 
went down a weedy ditch. It was a. dandy looking place 
for quail, but no quail were found. We went over the 
entire field, and it seemed that there could be no quail 
in it. We hunted several adjoining fields that looked 
good, and I knew there must be quail somewhere about, 
for there was a little snow in shaded places, and there 
were quail tracks there. 
At last, after over an hour of persistent hunting, the 
dog pointed at a thick clump of w r ild rose bushes, and I 
could hear quail "chittering" in there. If I went close 
enough to flush them, no shot could be had, for the bushes 
Were too high and thick, so I got a club and threw it in, and 
out burst about a dozen of big, plump fellows. My ! 
How they did roar. One was bagged, and I marked the 
most of them along the weedy ditch in the first field we 
had hunted. We went there and hunted that ditch and 
the adjoining ground clear to the other side of the field 
and did not raise a feather. At last the dog flushed a 
rabbit and went ki-yiing after it, running right through a 
bunch of quail, which flew toward where we had found 
the first bevy. I went after them, and when nearly to the 
edge of the field all at once the air was full of quail. I 
tried to make a double, but was so rattled 1 don't know 
whether the first one was killed or not, but the second 
came down all right. By the time the gun was loaded 
the dog was on hand and flushed another one, which 
tumbled in fine style. After getting the dead, the dog 
ran into some weeds 40yds. ahead and flushed one, which 
I took a long shot at, and hit so hard it flew but a few 
yards, coming down in very thick, high grass. As I 
started to get it another rose and was shot, and at the 
crack of the gun another, which was also killed. An in- 
stant later another one flew and got safely away. After 
hunting a while for the wounded one in the grass, and not 
finding it, we went for the bunch the dog had flushed 
while chasing the rabbit. 
The cover was very dense, tall weeds, bushes and small 
trees. We thrashed round in it for some time without 
results, till at last one bird flew out of a tree, and I con- 
sidered it a very lucky shot that killed it, for there is no 
harder shot than at a" quail as ft flies from a tree. I got 
out of the thick cover and walked along the edge in the 
weedy stubble, when up went one, which was killed, and 
almost immediately Up came another, and I had good luck 
with too. The dog came out and hunted in the stubble, 
flushing one, which got away. A moment later he- 
pointed, and this bird fell with a broken wing and ran into 
a big pile of logs and brush, so we did not get it. Then 
he went into the thick cover and pointed, and I killed it. 
We hunted for more, but failed to find another one. 
Then I concluded to sit down and count shots and birds.' 
Nine quail bagged, and two more hit, at twelve shots. Now 
don't tinderstand that this is told as an average per- 
formance, for just a few days before I had shot at ten 
quail and bagged five, shooting both barrels at some of 
them. This just happened to be one of my shooting days. 
[ felt in perfect health and took the very keenest interest 
in the sport. Not a shot was fired that I did not do my ut- 
most to make a clean kill. The day was so bright that 
the birds fairly glistened when in the air, and there was 
no wind. I have shot at nwre than 10,000 quail. Why 
shouldn't a man. shoot fairly well with so much practice? 
As it was now getting well along in the afternoon, I 
went back to the wheel and made it hum for three miles 
more of the way toward home. I don't know why, but I 
do know it is true that when any legs are weary with 
walking it rests them more quickly and better to ride a 
wheel for a few miles than it does to sit down and keep 
still. 
I stopped at a little creek whose banks were fringed 
with weeds and willow bushes : a stubble on one side and 
a big cornfield on the other. One of the neighbor boys 
told me he had seen a "famous lot of quail" there a few 
evenings before. The boys are mighty good to me in that 
way ; I don't have to ask them ; they stop me on the road 
or in the post-office to tell about it. I went along the 
fringe of weeds and high bushes at one edge of the corn- 
field, and the dog ran ahead and went into the weeds. 
Presently I heard the roar of flushing quail and saw a lot 
of them flying straight toward me. They passed over my 
head less than 15ft. high. I turned and sent two loads 
after them after they had passed, but noted that every- 
one of them went on and came down in the strip of weeds 
and bushes. Now I wished for a partner; for the strip 
of cover was narrow, and they would take to the open on 
the opposite side from me. The dog floundered through 
the thick weeds and tangled brush and the quail went out 
on the other side, most of them getting up together, fly- 
ing clear to the end of the cover, and several of them 
swung to the left and dropped into the stubble field. A 
few steps further and two came out of the cover on my 
side of it. I tried to make a double and scored one. 
Then we went after the ones down in the stubble. I came 
near stepping on a couple, and again tried for a double, 
winging both of them. I found one, and after a good deal 
of hunting the dog found the other one, some distance 
from where it fell. After a lot more tramping another 
bird was flushed and killed. Then the dog flushed one 
without having smelled it at all. The first shot made it 
flinch, and the second set it to corkscrewing across the 
field with the dog in hot chase after it, in spite of all the 
commands to stop. Two hundred yards away it fell in 
the weeds, but before the dog got it rose again and went 
50yds. hefore the dog caught it. He just gave it two 
snaps and bolted it, feathers and all. This was a little too 
much to bear with, but if the dog was punished he would 
light out for the nearest house and get under it, if he 
could. I felt much like making a double on the dog, but 
possessed myself in outward quietness, though raging 
within. 
One bird had been marked down at the further end of 
the cornfield. I went after it, and the dog got out of sight 
in the corn, About where the single bird was supposed to 
be. a whole covey got up, just as another covey, flushed 
by the dog, came dropping into the corn 75yds. to the left 
and in front of me. This was too much for the old man. 
Both barrels were fired, and not a feather touched. The 
dog came tip and was put after two that had dropped into 
the corn a little apart from the others. He pointed them 
singly, in good style. One was killed and the other, badly 
hit, reached the woods. The main body of this flock rose 
wild when we went after them, and went into the woods. 
I tried for a double, and as usual got one. The other 
covey had dropped in the edge of the corn along a low 
hedge. They rose wild from the dog and scattered among 
some brush heaps. Here was a chance for sport. Two 
coveys scattered just enough for nice work, and located to 
a rod; but there were only two cartridges left, and I 
thought surely two birds would be found as I went back 
to the wheel, so I turned back and left all this fine lay- 
out of marked birds, promising to see them some other 
day. All told, there were now fifteen quail in the old 
shooting coat, one in the log and brush heap, and one in 
the dog. 
It was stiff work getting up the hill from the creek, and 
then two and a half miles all down hill to the post-office, 
and in ten minutes I was asking the postmaster for the 
mail. Then another one and a half miles and home. I 
did not know the old coat was so heavy till I took 
it off. 
Altogether it was as good a day as any man ought to 
have. With the exception of the temper-trying dog it 
was perfect. This is written in the hope that some poor 
fellow who can't go shooting may find satisfaction in 
reading about it, and 1 wish that fifteen people who 
haven't tasted quail for five years could have had those 
fifteen quail. 
I almost forgot to say that as the next day was just 
as fine, and Jim Clements wanted to go, we went in the 
afternoon and bagged seventeen. 
Rabbit hunting seemed the popular thing on Thanks- 
giving Day. One party of two got seventeen, another 
party of two got fifteen, and a merry crowd of five bagged 
thirty-five. O. H. Hampton. 
The Record of the Snow. 
Until the snow comes the book of nature lacks an in- 
dex. You may walk for days in succession through 
familiar fields and woods without suspecting the exist- 
ence all about you of scores of timid wild creatures, whose 
habit is to sleep by day, or who retreat noiselessly at your 
approach to places of cunning concealment. It is marvel- 
ous at what a distance the slight vibration of the ground 
under the human foot can be detected by the delicate, fear- 
quickened senses of the little inhabitants of the woods and 
fields. I sometimes fancy that they can hear me coming 
almost as far away as a boy can hear a train of cars when 
he kneels down and lays his ear to the rails. If, there- 
fore, you live in a thickly settled part of the country, 
where the wild creatures are few in number and con- 
stantly harassed and terrified, you will be apt to think — 
until the snow comes — that your neighborhood is entirely 
deserted by the wilder small birds and animals. You 
never see them when you take your rambles, nor is 
there any evidence to the unaccustomed eye that the}' 
have been there before you. 
As a matter of fact, however, these suburban and much 
traversed sections of country are still peopled, as a rule, by 
a goodly number of their former small inhabitants. As 
a proof of this fact, take a walk two or three days after 
the first considerable snowfall of the winter. You will be 
astonished to find that this apparently soundless and mo- 
tionless wilderness, this little desert of scrub oaks and 
pines, is fairly populous with small and active folk, who 
ha\ r e plainly recorded their goings and comings on the 
soft, white surface of the snow. Your supposedly blank 
book proves to be a volume of most varied and interesting 
contents, of which a comprehensive index lies before you. 
In all directions you behold the telltale, wandering path- 
ways of birds, squirrels, foxes, skunks, and mice. In cer- 
tain spots it would almost seem as if there had been a 
carnival, a sort of winter fair or congress of sports, to 
which all the wood folk of that section had flocked, so 
numerous and varied and intricately interlaced are the 
tracks of the birds and four-footed creatures. Such a 
medley of claws and paws ! See, here is the path made by 
a whole bevy of quail, as they crossed the little clearing, 
"bunched" and huddled together, so that their entire track 
is scarcely 6in. wide. The snow is trodden into a kind 
of fine lacework where they passed. They were probably 
on the run, as the quail seldom moves about at all save in 
a perpetual fright and haste after the brooding season is 
over. It is wonderful, for instance, how fast they will run 
before a trailing dog, keeping him on a constant crouch- 
ing, gliding trot for fifteen or twenty minutes, before he 
finally overtakes them along the hot scent and "points" 
them or puts them to flight. These birds were not pur- 
sued, but they wer£ running, as may be seen from the oc 
casional scrape of an extended and balancing wing, and 
the length of the stride, where one of the bevy has for a 
moment strayed a little out of the file. I suppose no 
sportsman would think it worth while to go gunning in 
these wcll-scourcd woods, so near the factories and the 
back yards of the little houses where the operatives live ; 
yet it would be no small sport to locate that bevy of birds 
with a good dog, scatter them in these fairly open scrub 
oak patches, and try a few stirring shots upon the wing, as 
the singles and doubles whirred away through the winter 
sunshine. 
A fox has been across the bit of clearing too — possibly 
in pursuit of the quail, as his delicate, clear-cut track- 
parallels theirs. Think of a fox prowling about within a 
bowshot of the outermost factory of a city of 100,000 
inhabitants! not coming there by venturesome chance, but 
dwelling in the vicinity the year round, safely and snug- 
ly housed beneath some splintered ledge of rocks. He has 
this distinct reward of his temerity, that there are, as it 
were, two strings to his gastronomical bow — the wild crea- 
tures of his natural domain, and the henyards and chicken 
coops of the niillliands, under the very shadow of the 
encroaching brushwood. One good, fat hen will go as far 
as six quail or forty mice, be it remembered, and one 
such catch means' two or three days of plenty and ease for 
reynard in his burrow under the rocks. 
You may know a fox trail in the snow by its linear 
exactness. Every footprint is directly in front of the 
preceding, as if reynard walked simply on two legs, set in 
the middle of his body, behind and before. How he man- 
ages to keep four feet so perpetually in line is a mystery. 
It must be with the same cunning, conscious intent as the 
Indian, who also makes as narrow and linear and in- 
contpicuous trail as possible through the winter woods, 
and if he has occasion to come back that way, returns in 
his own footsteps, and so simply reverses the record. 
In strong contra, t with the cramped and timorous track 
of the quail is the bold, free, snow-scattering stride of a 
solitary old ruffed grouse cock, who, confident in his years 
of survival, has been abroad this very morning, and has 
but recently crossed the clearing, at right angles to the 
quail, as the freshness of his track shows He does not 
proceed long in a straight, line, but zigzags from bush to 
bush, and tuft to tuft, either for variety and amusement, 
or in search of food. He moves with freedom and bold- 
ness, but travels slowly and with many leisurely pauses. 
If we should follow his devious trail for fifty rods or so 
no doubt we should hear him burst into thunderous flight 
far ahead and out of sight, for he is too old and experi- 
enced a bird to be caught within gun range of a man, 
whether the man come stealing on like a hunter or not. 
Once let a ruffed grouse attain to years of discretion — 
say two or three of them — and I will trust him, particularly 
if lie be a male bird, to outwit the sportsman in any 
locality. So far as guns and dogs are concerned, he will 
survive to a rpie old age; but I am not so sure of his 
ability to contend against the meager nourishment af- 
forded by much-trodden, cleared, and stripped suburban 
woods, wdiere scarcely a berry or any wild fruit ripens, 
that is not already marked and appropriated in advance 
by some factory boy or girl. 
Everywhere among these scrub oaks and pines the white 
carpet of the woods is intricately patterned and traced by 
the tracks of the long-tailed wood mouse and the hardy, 
cold-defying red squirrel. Here and there you will see 
a little brown-mouthed burrow in the snow, where some 
squirrel has mined for a pine cone, dragged it up, and de- 
voured the edible part on the sp'ot, scattering the coffee- 
colored chips about him as he eats. Chipmunks, apparent- 
ly, do not venture forth in the winter, unless, some un- 
usually warm and spring-like day rouses thein from their 
nap and calls them forth for a bit of lunch to tide them 
over until April, but the red squirrel is abroad at all sea- 
sons and in all weathers. I have seen him breakfasting in 
the hemlocks when the thermometer registered ten degrees 
below zero, and often in a driving snowstorm his wel- 
coming, cheery chatter would startle mc as I plunged 
through some evergreen clump, head down against the 
storm, on my homeward way. 
For a greater part of the winter the short-legged skunk 
continues his diligent, predatory wading through the 
snow. You will find plenty of his dot-like tracks in these 
suburban woods. He is 'a mighty hunter, and a mightily 
persevering one, despite his dumpy, Dutch build and ab- 
breviated legs. In the snow his trail looks like a succes- 
sion of black-spotted dice cubes, laid side by side, so 
short and positive and ploddingly repetitious are his steps. 
It seems ridiculous that such a creature can toil through 
the woods, and seize such swift prey as partridges and 
rabbits. Yet he does it, by virtue of his marvelously keen 
senses, the silence and stealthiness of his approach, and 
the lightning-like quickness with which he makes his final 
spring. The skunk is the snake among mammals, silent, 
slow-gliding, quick as lightning in the fateful stroke, and 
inexorable and relentless both in pursuit and capture. 
We are fortunate if we find any report of the rabbit or 
hare in this snow record. Between the hunters and the 
foxes and the boys with their snares and traps, there is 
little chance for these delicate and savory creatures to 
survive. Perhaps, however, we may find where the last 
hare in the woods has leaped timorously across the moon- 
light on his broad, furred snowshoes. What a conspicu- 
ous trail he leaves — each padded hindfoot half as broad as 
a man's hand. But how he can skim over, the surface of 
the snow, while other smaller-footed creatures sink and 
flounder in it ! If he escapes his many winter enemies, he 
may thank his snowshoes and his protective gift of speed. 
Some day, however, when he is dozing in his form, un- 
der the genial warmth of the midday sun, a prowling 
skunk, driven forth in the daylight by hunger, will creep 
up and get him by the tender throat. And then, alas ! there 
will no longer be a last hare in the woods. 
James Buckham. 
Kissimmee Aligators* 
John Hancock and son have returned from a hunting 
trip of several months. They went through to Fort 
Myers, and killed 599 'gators on their way down and 
more than 200 coming back. They report alligators 
about as plentiful, apparently, as in former years in the 
Kissimmee Valley. — Jacksonville (Fla.) Times-Union. 
