Dec. 31, 1898.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
B29 
(shortened) lumbermen's spikes, not hob-nails, but little 
steel points. Experimenting with these, he had found 
that it was a mistake to use too many. He had found 
that about five on each side and two at the toe was the 
right number. It was a mistake to have the toe 
spikes too far forward or too far back. If placed at the 
extreme end of the sole they tore up the grass and re- 
tarded the walking, whereas the true object of the nail 
in the sole should be to give firm footing, without hinder- 
ing free action of the foot in any way. I found much 
logic in this, both in the theory and the practice to which 
I had seen it given. I bethought me of the star-spangled 
hob-nailed shoes one usually sees offered in the stores, 
and recalled a certain experience I had once had with 
a pair of heavily hob-nailed shoes, which 1 had put on 
new for a ten-mile walk. My feet, at night contained a 
perfect map of the sole of the shoe, by which the location 
of each hob-nail could have been determined, "That's 
it," said Mr. Bliss, as I mentioned this experience to 
him. "That is why I have the spikes in my shoes around 
the edge, where they are free of the foot and cannot 
hurt me. Unless you have" a sole so heavy that you 
cannot walk on it with comfort, all the hob- 
nails under your feet will hurt you during the day's 
walk. You only want spikes enough to give you good 
foothold, and all the rest are useless, and worse than 
useless." 
I commend the above to the considerate attention 
of makers of sporting shoes. I believe it to be a mistake 
to cover the bottom of a walking shoe with hob-nails, 
although this will do all well enough for a wading shoe, 
to be worn while fishing. In walking logs, as we had to 
do very often in this lumbered-off country where we 
were shooting, the short spikes are much better than 
hob-nails. If they were not better, the lumbermen 
would not use them. Each country develops what is 
best for itself. I submit my spiked shoe of Mr. Bliss as 
a new and good idea for the trade and the people who 
support the trade. As proof of its excellence I will state 
that one time during the day Mr. Bliss was able by virtue 
of the spikes in his shoes to cross a rotten, slippery cedar 
log over a SAVollen stream, where I did not dare to risk 
the smooth, wet leather soles of my own shoes. This 
put him apart from me for some time and made me still 
more willing to trade footwear with him. Indeed, I 
I began to think Mr. Bliss a very practical sportsman. 
[He could walk a-plenty and do it easily. His dog always 
went to the right place, and so did his gun. By the 
,way, he shot a Winchester brush gun, and used No. 10 
shot. He answered my query as to the efficiency of 
this small shot load by killing practically every quail he 
shot at, and two or three grouse — all he shot at — one 
at fully 35yds. I have never yet been out with a man 
who shot a Winchester pump gun who was not a good 
shot, although they nearly always apologize a little for the 
gun, as though it ought to be ashamed of itself for being 
so deadly. 
On the second day that we shot together Mr. Bliss 
and I came pretty near doubling our bag of the day 
preceding, having nice, bright weather, which brought 
the birds out on the fields. I borrowed one of his No. 
10 shells and killed a grouse stone dead at nearly 35yds., 
I should think. I was shooting No. 9s myself, a shot 
f which does very well in my own fusee. We could not 
see that we lost any birds crippled, most of the shooting 
being so close that the fine shot did the work perfectly, 
t better, we thought, than No. 8. We had a fine day that 
Bliss, and think he ought to have been satisfied with 
f ourselves. At least, I was very well satisfied with Mr. 
Bliss, and thin he ought to have been satisfied with 
himself, though for my own part I did not shoot so well 
as I had the day previous, and did not kill my half of 
the bag. 
On this day we wore rubber boots, in view of our 
experience the day before. This was an improvement 
for me, but not so with Mr. Bliss, who spent consider- 
able time bemoaning his fate, and wishing that he had 
his shoes along instead of his rubber boots. The result 
of his day's walk was that he accumulated a fine large 
blister on his heel, which I was very glad indeed to see, 
inasmuch as it put him, so to speak, on a rather more 
even footing with myself. I was able to give him a. 
little valuable information in exchange for his advice 
about spikes and nails. Acting on my suggestion, he got 
a bit of surgeon's adhesive plaster, stuck it over the 
abraded portion, and floated like a dream through the 
woods all the rest of the time. 
I should say that, none the less, the balance of trade 
was still rather in favor of Mr. Bliss, for' on the day that 
' we wore rubber boots I picked up another idea from 
him for which I would not take several dollars. This 
was, like the spike idea, a simple thing, a good thing 
and one of the inventions of the lumbering district. 
It was no less than a simple piece of half-inch harness 
leather, with a buckle on the end and a split in the middle. 
You stuck the heel of your rubber boot through the split 
in the strap, and then buckled the strap over your in- 
step, or rather over the -foot at the apgle of the ankle 
and the instep. This kept the boot from allowing the 
foot to work up and down at the heel, and it is a device 
which is a great producer of comfort to any one who 
has to wear rubber boots in walking. The stiffness 
and width of these boots at the heel usually allows the 
foot to play up and down, and I imagine that every snipe 
shooter has found out how his stockings will crawl 
down into his boot when this is the case. This trap 
idea was invented by the French Canadians for the 
heavy leather boots, which they used to wear in the 
woods. I had never seen it used before, but I am going 
to see it used a good deal from now on, when I go out 
hunting in rubber boots. It is a great scheme, and I 
cheerfully recommend it to the sporting trade, who 
can get a good many good practical tips out of the 
Forest and Stream now and then. 
On the evening of our second day Mr. Bliss said he 
thought we ought to grease up our shoes a little so that 
they would turn water better. "All right," said I, "we'll 
dry 'em out and then grease them up good." 
"That is where you would make a mistake again," said 
he. "You don't want to grease leather when it is dry, 
but when it is wet. How does the coachman clean the 
harness? Why, he first washes it all off in warm water, 
and then he hangs it up to drip a while, and then he 
gives it a coat of neat's foot oil. Our leather is already 
wet, and we need only scrape the mud off to make it 
clean. We have no neat's foot oil, but we can get some 
good old tallow, like mother used to make, and coat 
the shoes with tallow, well rubbed in. Then they will 
turn the wet pretty well; at least mine will." 
This process of tallowing up the shoes kept us busy 
for the best part of the evening, but after all it was for 
naught. The weather advices reported a blizzard com- 
ing the next morning, and it was there on time too. Yet 
the ice that now steadily formed was not strong enough 
to keep us from breaking through, and once more we had 
to take to the rubber boots, for this time the walking was 
such that we sometimes went in half-leg deep. 
We now changed our hunting grounds by a dozen 
or fifteen miles, having conferred with the Mayor, who 
expressed regret at not being able to go with us. Almost 
to my embarassment he insisted on my taking his dog 
Bob. 
I don't think anybody ought to use another man's 
dog — unless it might be just such a dog as Bob; this 
old Gordon doesn't need any watching, but just goes 
ahead and does his own hunting without any handling, 
and takes the. shooter to the good places. 
On this day we went out with Mr. Davis' and his 
guide Archie, taking team for a stinging morning ride, 
Archie told us how to hunt and where to round up for 
the night, and then we all went away and didn't do 
what he said, I am afraid. I know that I got separated 
from Mr. Bliss within the first ten minutes, and the 
first thing I knew I was following scattered quail off 
through a slashing of a mile or two in dimensions, until 
I got out of hearing of the guns, and the wind came 
around and got on the wrong side of my face, by which 
I inferred that I was lost. After I found myself in this 
level, flat country, where it is easy for a stranger to 
twist himself up, I discovered that I was out of the line 
which Archie had laid down, so I cut loose and hunted 
up country for myself. It was like exploring a new 
world, with just Bob for a guide — by no means a bad 
one. for he was busy and successful in his work, in spite 
of the fact that he had never been introduced to me before 
that day. I enjoyed it hugely, this being off in a strange 
country to myself with a dog that knew his business 
and a good long day ahead. 
It was a bitter air that morning ; the thermometer had 
dropped some 40 0 at a single effort. The wind was biting 
in its keenness, and so strong that in the open one could 
not well face it. The birds were wild and unsettled, and 
I never saw quail fly so far as they did that day. I 
watched one bevy reach the tops of the trees, and then, 
caught by the wind, sail off till I actually lost sight of 
them in the gray light of the cloudy sky. They went 
over a quarter of a mile surely. The shooting was very 
hard, and I do not thing I killed half my birds. The 
first three quail I killed stright, and Bob looked at me 
with evident approbation, thinking that I was in the 
same class as his owner, the Mayor, who the other day 
killed eleven ruffed grouse without a miss. I could not 
long keep up this imposition on the dog, however. We 
were walking along the edge of a slash when he came 
to a nice point, just back of me, and as I turned to go 
to him there was a sudden awful smashing sound and a 
thing about as long as a snake broke out of a treetop and 
flew away. I shot over toward it, but didn't jar it, and it 
disappeared and left nothing but a hollow laugh upon the 
air. My friends later told me that this was a grouse. I 
had been killing a good many grouse, and had seen so 
little of this spectacular quality you read about m books 
that I was beginning to think a grouse was a good deal 
of a humbug. But this bird was a regular story book 
one, and when he got into the wind it was no use trying 
to kill him, so I didn't try, after firing carefully into the 
center of the air with both barrels. Bob looked at me 
a little startled, with an expression which seemed to say, 
"Please don't let this occur again." 
We wandered on over this new world, and Bob found 
several bevies of quail for me, and about the best I could 
average was one bird at the bevy rise, and nothing after 
that. I never saw birds so wild and strong. Yet the 
quail were out at the edges of the fields, I think feeding 
in preparation for what they saw was going to be a 
spell of bad weather. It was pretty cold in the open, 
so I swung into the covers, where popple- thickets and 
down timber seemed to offer good grouse ground. Pret- 
ty soon Bob began to walk along fast, with his head up, 
twisting around among the tangled cover like a cat. I 
supposed that this meant grouse, and such was the case. 
We got a nice point, and as the bird went up I centered 
him fair, and once more rose in the dog's estimation. He 
brought the bird in to me very proudly, and I rejoiced to 
see one more good retriever. Without the retrieving of 
the dogs, Keno and Bob, Mr. Bliss and I must have lost 
many a bird, for in places the cover was so thick that it 
meant actual climbing, and if one took his eye from the 
bird a moment it was very hard to find the spot again. 
Bob now led me deep into a wood, occasionally get- 
ting lost from me by way of keeping up my interest I 
have no doubt he was often on point at such times, and 
once I found him so, and was able to kill a bird over 
him. After a time he dropped almost flat, as he passed a 
little clump of brush beside a log fence, and out went 
a grand grouse as I came up to the point. This fellow I 
caught with the second, and Bob showed great pleasure 
as he brought him. So we wandered on and on, and the 
first thing °I knew the day Was nearly gone.' I swung 
around near the bridge, where I had been told to come 
at night, and Bob carried me across the stream and out 
over 'a popple flat. He found a bevy of quail in here, and 
I killed a couple. Then he went off to one side, and I 
was for the time some 60yds. from him. At that very 
moment right under my feet, with a rush and a roar 
like that of the bird earlier in the day, there went out a 
fine big grouse, and I have to confess that I shamefully 
missed him, as any tenderfoot might have done. I stood 
gaping at him with gun half-opened, when right at the 
same place, from under the same log at my very feet, 
there slipped out a second bird and sailed away after the 
first less noisily, but just as safely, for my gun was out 
of commission for the instant! With any ordinary 
luck I should have bagged both those birds. I could not 
look Bob in the eye as he came up and sat down, look- 
ing scornfully at me. This rather affected my spirits, 
and as it was' growing dusk I turned back for the meet- 
ing place, and so ended my last day. I had a very small 
bag, only two or three grouse, I believe, and a half- 
dozen quail or so, and I began to figure that I was not. 
much good unless I was along with a good shot. Yet 
what was my secret joy to learn that all those other men, 
my friends, who were acknowledged good shots, and 
who knew the country better than I did, had done little 
better than myself. Even Archie, -the invincible, had 
with Mr. Davis' help only bagged sixteen birds, and he 
was so disgusted that he didn't want to talk. Mr. Bliss, 
who had lost me early in the day, had wandered off into 
deeo timber and found some grouse, killing either four 
or six, I forget which, with a few quail. Our average 
bag was about eight birds to the gun, which certainly 
.is not startling. Yet it is long since I have had a more 
interesting day. It was so cold that I walked hard and 
fast all day, and covered a lot of country, and though 
it is always lonesome to shoot thus solitary I found 
much on the other hand to make it pleasant, and came 
in to camp in a glow of warmth, and with a great 
hunger. 
It was an interesting lesson we had in dogs that 
day. Mr. Bliss had been hunting his dog Keno, the 
English setter, who is only a two-year-old, though big 
and strong, all the season, more or less, before this time, 
and we had given him two awful days in snow and slush. 
Yet he went this last day as well as ever and never 
* once begged, though his coat was a mass of ice. Bob, the 
big Gordon, a powerful, grand looking creature, was also 
of course covered with frozen ice fringe ali day long, 
yet I may testify that he kept his gait the day through, 
and gave me all I wanted to do to keep up to his stand- 
ards of a natural hunting gait At night the poor fellow 
was a mass of ice, his heavy coat being frozen full. We 
had a half-dozen miles to drive to town, and it seemed 
cruel not to thaw out the dogs first — as indeed we did at 
a farmhouse near by til! the good wife protested. So 
we got the extra fur robes and blankets, and wrapped 
the dogs up, and so took them in that way. Bob lay 
' on my feet, and I never felt him shiver once. He melted 
all the ice off himself by his own heat, and in spite of 
all I could do insisted on having his head out of the 
blankets to see what was going on. That is the sort of 
dog which I take to be a shooting dog, a powerful and 
game creature, which has courage and stamina enough 
to enjoy his fun and endure the hardships. For some 
puny men shooting under such conditions would be 
no sport, and for some puny dogs it would have been 
punishment perhaps fatal in its results. I asked Mr. 
Bliss how he thought these two dogs would do in a field 
trial, and he smiled gently. "They do pretty well here," 
he said. Either of them was pretty much my sort of a 
dog. They were both repeaters, and they were both re- 
trievers, meat dogs, if you like. If our field trials shall 
bring more of these upon the land, they will be doing a 
good work, and in so far as they depart from this sort 
of standard of practical excellence and durability, I 
should ever feel, as did Mr. Bliss, like smiling gently 
when they are proposed to the participant in actual sport, 
in the field, where both man and dog are out for all 
day, and intend to go again to-morrow. On our return 
from the hunt on this bitter day, we found that many 
other shooters had been forced to give up the hunt 
before the day was half done, their dogs having suffered 
so much that they had to quit, I hated to leave my new 
friends, yet I came away from my first and only hunt 
this season with the feeling that I had learned something 
about shoes and dogs and other things. 
The Lion Hunt. 
Returns from the much-exploited lion hunt at Be 
Beque. Colo., seem to indicate that the State game \var- 
den, Mr. Swan, was not wanted. It also appears that it is 
not desirable to hunt mountain lions with a brass band. 
There were over 100 hunters, but not enough dogs to go 
around, Two cubs were caught alive, and two adult lions 
were killed, to say nothing of a lynx or two and a few 
wolves. Everyone had a good time, though it was cold. 
Minnesota Justice and Justices. 
Chicago, 111., Dec. 24.— Agent Fullerton, of Minnesota, 
may be near the end of his duties as State warden, but he 
is certainly keeping up his hustle, and I wish he could 
be retained where he is. He has been having a brisk legal 
battle up in his old fighting ground, and speaks of it in 
something of the following terms: 
"I just returned this morning from Detroit, where we 
had a battle royal. You know the correspondence 1 had 
with Indian Commissioner Jones has borne fruit. 
Stephens got word that a trader had some venison and 
birds on the White Earth Reservation at Pine Point. He 
got the sheriff of Becker county with a writ of replevin 
(something new in game laws), and went there and got 
forty-eight saddles of venison and 127 partridges. We 
arrested a white man, named Alf Cooney, who was ?n 
charge of the game, and brought him to Detroit. He is 
in reality Davis' man, but Davis remains in the back- 
ground. Then our battle began, and we had a fight at 
Detroit the whole day long. We arraigned him before a 
justice and they took a change of venue before a justice 
who would do as they wished, We found he was going to 
let him off on the same plan that Baxter did— fine him 
about $10 — so we dismissed the case, and immediately re- 
arrested him and took him before another justice living 
about seven miles from Detroit. Then we had another 
legal fight, lasting until 10 o'clock at night. _ The same 
tactics were there employed in regard to letting him off 
easy, but we gave them to understand that we would make 
a separate complaint for every saddle of venison and every 
bird, and we would fight it if it took all year. The justice 
got scared and finally bound him over to the grand jury 
for forty saddles of venison, after which he procured hail 
and was released. This promises to be another stiff legal 
battle, but I thin.k we will win. Before this reaches you 
we will have Davis arrested for shipping twelve saddles 
of venison to St Paul. Stephens got on to it and fol- 
lowed the shipment all the way down, hoping to catch 
the man it was consigned to, but we have sufficient evi- 
dence against Davis to connect him with it. You know 
the trouble we have had with this man, but he is still 
defiant. - , - - — 1 
