4 
FOREST AMD STftEAM. 
Uak. % tigti. 
tliat mvestigatejl his trap, Guy had bad kick, and lost six 
bears in succession. One got out by a cute trick, which 
proved thai he had a mechanical head and a higher order 
of inLeUigence than is generally characteristic of bears. 
He selected a spot where there was a narrow opening be- 
tween two poplar trees, which grew about x8in, apart, and 
turning the trap up on edge so that one spring on each 
side rested against the trees, he pulled on the trap. In 
this way a tension was put on tire springs, and the jaws 
were released and the bear's foot came out easily. That 
bear seemed to understand the niechanicism of the steel 
trap, and Guy says there isn't a trap in the woods that will 
hold him now. 
The last bear to get away pulleef Guy's trap all out of 
shape, so that it was only fit for the junk pile. The clog 
happened to become very securely caught among some 
rocks. Ahead, and just within reach of the bear, was a 
stout young birch tree. The bear clasped this, and like 
Sampson of old, pulling on the pillars of the temple, 
exerted a mightj^ heave, bending the heavy jaw of the 
trap, and releasing its foot. 
A Much Caught Bear. 
This bear, as far as intelligence went, was a contrast 
to the little one with the mechanical turn that Guy first 
told about. Before it had gone half a mile it stumbled 
into one of Simonds' traps, and this time it was caught 
for good and all, as Simonds came up and shot it. 
It was one of those creatures who learn nothing by ex- 
perience. Each one of its four legs had been in traps, the 
fact being attested by three broken feet and one missing, 
self amputated, no doubt, at the trap. One foot had been 
uninjured till caught in Guy's trap, but the foot in 
Simonds' showed old scars, indicating that the bear had 
been caught at least five times. 
How Guy Sets Bear Traps. 
Bear trails in places are well defined paths, and in the 
running season, which is at its height in June (?), the 
bears blaze it by biting trees, each leaving his mark as 
high up as he can reach. In passing over these trails the 
bears step in each other's footprints, and if one bear fifty 
years ago crossed a log at a certain spot, every bear that 
followed is morally certain to have^-hosen the same place. 
Moreover, they never deviate from the exact line of their 
trail if it is in any way possible to avoid leaving it. Know- 
ing these facts, Guy never baits Iris traps. In setting them 
he has two considerations to keep in mind — ^first, placing 
the trap where a man will not set his foot in it, and 
second, where a bear will. 
On the Twin Pond runway he found a spot where a 
small spruce tree had grown up directly in the bear's path. 
A man would step to one side to pass this if he happened 
to be following the bear's route, but the bears themselves 
on account of their conservatism preferred to go under 
the low reaching boughs. An old mouldering log lay 
here, and where the bears stepped in crossing it Guy 
chopped out a hole in the mossy sod large enough to re- 
ceive his trap. He buried it carefully and smoothed a 
spot in the center over the pan for the bear to set his 
foot. The chain was fastened to a birch log 8ft. long and 
410. in diameter. The ring was slipped over this and se- 
cured 2 or 3ft. from one end by driving spikes both sides 
of the ring. 
A Jumping Hare. 
1 once heard a lady mention the fact that in Colorado 
they have jack rabbits 17ft. long. She knew it, for her 
son had told her so. What she meant was that the rab- 
bits jumped 17ft. Guy says they don't have any such rab- 
bits in the fauna of the Adirondacks, but he has seen one 
that jumped loft. straight into the air. He had set some 
twitch-up snares on one occasion, and a rabbit that a dog 
was chasing happened to get into one. The dog tried to 
catch the rabbit, but every time he made a dive for it 
the rabbit jumped, and with the spring of the elastic sap- 
ling to which the snare was attached shot up in the 
air to a surprising height. It kept the dog guessing, for 
he had never seen a rabbit come so near flying. 
Hunter's Luck. 
Once Guy hunted all day with his boy without seeing 
a fresh deer track. 
Toward nightfall they stopped at a brook to drink, and 
while the boy was stooping over Guy looked down the 
mountain side through the hardwood timber, and saw a 
deer standing feeding in the 'top of a fallen tree. Guy 
caught the boy's eye, and' motioning to him to be quiet, 
raised his rifle and fired. The deer sprang square into 
the treetop, and disappeared from view. The next in- 
stant out it came, apparently from the opposite side, and 
bounded up the mountain. 
After running a few rods it stopped. Guy felt sure 
that he had hit the deer, and hardly thought it necessary 
to shoot again, but the boy threw up his gun and fired 
and down it came. They went over to where it had 
fallen, and to his surprise Guy found that the deer had 
only been hit by one bullet. He couldn't understand 
how he had missed, but would never have thought of the 
real explanation if he had not heard a deer "blat" below 
them. This directed his attention to the treetop, where 
the deer had first been seen, and going over to it, he 
found a deer with a broken back. There had been two 
deer feeding at the treetop, and the instant the first was 
shot the second sprang from the opposite side of the 
tree so quickly that no eye could have distinguished be- 
tween them. Both were yearlings and similar in every 
respect. 
A Calathompian Drive. 
Guy is bothered a good deal by rheumatism contracted 
in war times. He left Newcomb and came over to North 
Hudson to get a little rest, which naturally meant hunting 
and trapping. After he left Newcomb he says some orig- 
inal genius organized a calethumpian deer drive. A large 
number of men and boys arrived with tin pans, horns, 
circular saws and other contrivances for making a 
hideous noise, marched across one of the best deer 
grounds in the neighborhood, and drove the deer to- 
ward stands where other hunters lay in wait to kill them. 
A few deer were killed, and the rest so eft'ectually 
fri<'-htened that they left the country, and haven't yet re- 
turned. J- ^- BURNHAM. 
The Two Flags. 
O'er the Western world, in its pride unfurled, 
Long floated the flag of Spain; 
And the tropic sea.s, where it caught the, breeze, 
Bore the name of "the Spanish Main." 
On its ample told of "blood and gold" 
Were blazoned both means and prize, 
For the stripes of red marked the blood they shed 
For the gold which had filled their eyes. 
Lands he did not own, from his priestly tlifOMe 
The Pope unto Spain had given; 
And the Spaniard thought that the crime he wrought 
Was a passport sure to heaven. 
Though they crossed the seas in the name of Peace, 
They went with the sword in hand; 
And the cross they bore was steeped in gore 
When they entered a foreign land. 
In the field and mine, by their right divine, 
The Indians were forced to slave,~ 
At proud Spain's behest, till their only rest 
Was the rest of a bloody grave! 
With the march of time comes the end of crime; 
And the banner of gold and gore 
From the peaceful smiles of those tropic isles 
Has fallen to rise no more! 
For the early dawn of the new year's mom 
Sees another banner rise. 
Which blends the hue of celestial blue 
With the rose of the morning skies! 
Its bands of white speak of truth and sigM, 
For which that banner stands; 
While the stripes of red mark the blood they shed 
Who fell for their native land! 
And above the bars- they have placed the stars 
In their lield of heavenly blue, 
As the beacon light in time's darkest night 
Of the flag of the free and true! 
Long may it wave o'er a nation brave. 
And be freedom's symbol fair; 
That the banner of Spain shall ne'er again 
Claim rule o'er the Western air! 
Von W. 
In Southeastern Texas. 
Permenus Briscoe lived in Houston, Texas. Good, 
easy, quiet bachelor, he possessed faculty for hard work,, 
physical and mental, from about daylight on Monday 
morning until his own mill whistle sounded at noon on 
Saturday. Then came an irresistible longing to get away 
oitt of town in season to get a bit of shooting of one sort 
or another, to have a cast at bass, or possibly only 
to lounge and snooze, and browse and nibble buds and 
culms of sedge. 
Briscoe's father had been one of the earliest settlers 
around Houston; he was indeed one of the immortal 
Texas men. who in '36, under heroic Old Sam, on the 
field of San Jacinto, had overthrown the self-styled 
"Napoleon of the West" and given life to Texan inde- 
pendence. The veteran was of prodigious stature, stand- 
ing 6ft. b^zin. in his moccasins, v\'eighing 245 lbs., and 
Avithal as powerful and agile a man as had ever been- on 
that frontier. Calm dignity of manner, reputation for 
great courage, together with proverbial reticence, gained 
for him extraordinary prestige with the Indian tribes 
who in those days frequented as hunters in a half-friendly 
way the semi-wooded precincts of Buffalo Bayou and 
the San Jacinto River. Owing to a habit of the old 
frontiersman of producing a prodigious noise when he 
sneezed — some such blended racket as might accompany 
the simultaneous blast of a fog horn and the explosion 
of a submarine torpedo — he came to be called, among 
his Indian acquaintances, Big Sneeze. 
Savage minds, with quick perception and apprecia- 
tions of natural phenomena, attribute to men who go 
oft in a loud hiccoughy way when their nose membranes 
tickle, honest, open natures, alive to keen enjoyment of 
pleasurable sensations. With them, on the contrary, 
a sure indication of a mean spirit is the effort to strangle 
a sneeze. 
It was amid such wild associations in the later '40s 
that my Briscoe, as a lad, acquired taste for camp loiter- 
ing along the timber fringes of the bayous. He had long 
ago scouted and trailed along with half-nude, dusky 
young hunters where Houston town had since come 
to be. Where game could be found, and how best be 
taken, was exact knowledge, as assiduously sought and 
improved by Briscoe as were facts relating to his well- 
conducted business of saw milling and dealing in lumber. 
Just when I first knew of this man I scarcely recall. In 
1877 my shingle — mine among scores of those of other 
young lawyers — swung hungrily in the prairie breeze 
of the Lone Star State. Prostrate behind a pawn-beg- 
gared book-case in my office in the Bayou City lay an old 
camp-worn gun case, and beside it a disused dog whip. 
Dust was thick upon, the one, which mice and roaches had 
knawed and nibbled' the greasy plait of the other. Yet 
lovingly, aye, most tenderly, would my truant mind 
sometimes loaf behind that shelving, and toy pleasantly 
with those old companions, while my professional eyes 
lolled listlessly over annotated pages on my town-tired 
knees; for I too had known the chase, and had ranged 
the forest and fallow lands of the old plantation in Pied- 
mont, Fla.. the beautiful hiU region of the Tallahassee 
country, where dogs, guns, game, camp-fires and such 
belongings were, and still are, thank fortune, very much 
in evidence. The nature of a man who has once ac- 
quired a taste for such diversion becomes "powerfully 
sot," as the negroes say. His soul remains forever in 
sympathy with the spirit of the thing. 
' I remember, however, finding Briscoe one afternoon in 
my office engaged in some matter of business with my 
partner, after the conclusion of which his sportsman's 
eye, wandering around — for such men are ever close 
observers — fell upon the fatriiliar outlines of a gun case. 
"What sort of an iron have you there, St. Clair?" in- 
quired he, addressing my partner, Mr. St. Clair Tallia- 
ferro. 
"I can't say," replied that worthy; "I'm not shooter; 
know nothing of guns, large or small; but, believe me, 
if there be such a distinction in gun iron as sex, then I 
believe that particular one to be a she-thing, notwith- 
standing its reticence, because now and again I come in 
and find my partner. Call there, patting and admiring it 
with a manner which I can only understand a man be- 
stowing on a woman," 
We laughed at Talliaferro's joke. Seeing taht Briscoe 
wished to inspect the piece, I arose to secure it for him, 
saying "That's an old gun of mine, Mr. Briscoe; nothing 
handsome, but an uncommonly good one, I think; one 
of Parker's early make, a 12-gauge, with the old push- 
up-under action in front of guard. It is a close, hard 
hitter, and has for a long time done excellent service in 
covert and on the marshes." 
"Do you shoot, Mr. Call?" he eagerly inquired. 
"Do I shoot? Man alive!" I exclaimed. "The only 
thing I've seen in a twelve-month that suggested a shot 
was that tin chicken down street on a stable vane. I have 
been a shooter, fonder of it, indeed, than any other oc- 
cupation. I have no opportunity nowadays for pleasures 
of that kind." I handed him the old gun, which I had 
"put together." Sometimes I feel tempted to seize that old 
fusil and get out of this town for a tramp at least or go 
mad." 
Briscoe looked the old gun critically over, unbreached 
it, inspected the inner surface of the barrels, tried the 
action of the locks, passed his hand discriminatingly 
over the stock, standing, fetched the piece to face and 
shoulder several times to test its balance, and said slow- 
ly, 'Tt has seen service, but you keep it in excellent 
order." 
"I never touch it," I replied. "It has lain there these 
two years." 
Fetching it again to his shoulder with an easy, graceful 
swing, and a quick glance along its rib at my silk hat 
hanging on its peg, the Texan asked, "What do you 
know of its shooting buckshot?" 
"Very much," I answered. "That is one of its speci;il 
accomplishments, In Florida, in my own and other 
hands, it has gained somewhat of a reputation for put- 
ting buckshot hard, close together and well away." 
My listener, with thoughtful manner, began laying the 
piece away in its old case carefully, tenderly. After a 
little hesitation, he said, "I'd like to shoot that gim. 
I'm in the habit of getting out around about here oc- 
casionally, and sometimes have fair sport. I'll be glad 
to have you join me if you will, when you chose." 
"Thank you; I shall be pleased to do so whenever you 
will allow me. In the meantime, Mr. Briscoe, I beg 
that you will consider that gun at your service. I sus- 
pect you of being appreciative of gim excellencies, and 
have confidence in that old piece possessing qualities 
likely to satisfy a fastidious man." 
This was the beginning of my acquaintance with one 
of the plainest, truest men, and iTio.st delightful field 
companions I have ever known — one memory of whose 
genial, manly nature has pleasantly solaced me in late 
years, and will linger kindly with me forever. 
Squirrel Fat on Sim's Bayou. 
On a Saturday in September, 1877, in the District 
Court of Harris coitnty, Tex., I was engaged in the trial 
of a civil suit, in which my thrifty client sought to avoid 
payment of rent for premises where he did a retail dry 
goods and clothing business, because of having suffered, 
at the hands of his landlord, an eviction from part of the 
demise by the nailing up of a door to an outhouse which 
had been used and enjoyed i)y tenant since going into 
possession. My client's contention was that, having been 
evicted from a part of his demise by the willful and 
wrongful act of his landlord, paj^ment of rent for the 
whole was suspended for the term. 
The weather was insufferably hot, the atmosphere close 
and stuffy, the court-room crowded with an especially 
sour, bad smelling lot of spectators. The trial had con- 
tinued for a day and a half, and the exhausted jury had 
just rendered one of those inexplicable compromise ver- 
dicts intended to favor both plaintiff and defendant — one 
of those verdicts that make lawyers tired — from which 
you scarcely dare appeal, and yet sicken to have to abide 
by. I was heated, jaded, disappointed, a disgusted sense 
of the greasy, sordid people, whose mean, dirty business 
I had to consider seized me and filled me with an abso- 
lute loathing for a life that put me in contact with such 
conditions. Inexpressibly sick and tired of the whole 
business, I turned dejectedly away. 
I staggered out of the smoke and tobacco scented hall- 
way, down the stone steps into the dusty street, among a 
hustling, perspiring throng of human dollar hunters, every 
nerve in me tingling with a discordant sense of unfitness. 
At the first crossing I came upon Briscoe. 
"Ah, here you are," he cried. "I was on my way to 
find you. Are you busy this afternoon?" 
"No longer so." 
"Then what will prevent our getting out of town a lit- 
tle way and spending a couple of nights in camp? Get 
your dinner and I'U call for you in pry wagon at 3 sharp." 
And he sauntered away. 
"The very thing," I thought, and a sense of delightful 
anticipation took possession of me. Hurrying to the 
office, I got rid of some law books I carried, gave my 
partner, Talhaferro, a galloping account of the knock- 
kneed verdict rendered and rushed off, gun case in hand, 
to absorb a bit of nourishment and get ready for Bris- 
coe's coming. Somewhat later, by that good angel's side, 
in his light hunting trap, I drove out into the prairie. 
There is a buoyant, free-roving sense attending a drive 
over a prairie, inexpressibly invigorating and somewhat 
analogous to sailing, but with greater confidence of safety 
to lubbers. 
Briscoe proved to be a thoroughly pleasant fellow dur- 
ing our drive, not a gabby chap; scarcely a man of con- 
ventional cultivation at all, but clever, full of well-digested 
observation of men and things he had come in contact 
with, a patient, discriminating listener, searching in his. 
inquiries and making observations in simple, forceful 
speech. To my yarns, volubly ,spun for his edification, 
he listened with an extremely quizzical expression of coun- 
tenance, chuckled softly at my jokes, and left you with a 
sort of semi-consciousness of having talked a little too 
much. ... - 
