FOREST AND SVrtEAM. 
[Feb. 24, 10^. 
last sound we ever heard from him. Whether he re- 
mained there for half an. hour or more motionless as a 
statue (which I think probable), or else stole away like 
a cat, we could not say. The camp was over a mile 
away; we were not a'jij'tain that we could find it by moon- 
light, and so were o,«liged to leave him. 
On our way out of the woods next day I met a guide 
named Allen and told him our experience. He and a 
moose caller, Ed. Church by name, went to the pond and 
called the next night without result, but on the following 
morning they called him up and shot him, greatly to my 
satisfaction, as I had a grudge, almost amounting to 
hatred, against that particular moose. I shall have the 
pleasure to-day of dining upon some of his steak. 
Now, it seems to me that the logical result of my in- 
vestigation this fall is that it is no trick for the amateur 
sportsman to call his moose when the moose is on deck 
and all the signs are right, but it may be that the moose 
will fool him in the end. I might add that a friend of 
mine, John Bodkin, of Fredericton, has killed a very 
big moose (said to measure 66 inches across the horns), 
which would break all the records for Maine, New Bruns- 
wick and Nova Scotia by three inches, which he called 
up himself on the Nepisiguit. All that Bodkin knows 
about calling he learned in a few lessons from me. His 
moose came right up like an express train, -and as soon 
as the rifle cracked he charged right down upon the 
enemy, and Bodkin would haA^e had a hard time of it had 
he not placed his second shot in the '•'ght place. 
The horns of the moose I called tip and which Allen 
subsequently shot, measured 42 inches — would have been 
much wider, but one of the horns had been greatly worn 
at the extremities when in the velvet. 
I got quite a nice buck deer down river last Tuesday, 
but am going to lay the rifle on the rack now until the 
snow falls, and then am going to have a try for caribou. 
Frank H. Risteen. 
Through the Snow After Sheep. 
On a cold winter evening in the latter part of one 
December, I was outside of my log cabin in the Rockies 
"hustling" in firewood for the spacious fire-place, ancj 
preparing for a night of comfort. From force of habit 
I looked out over ray meadow land, and scanned closely 
the edges, which were joined on three sides by timber, 
where, during the summer season, I commonly saw deer 
. coming out to feed. The snow was deep, so deep that 
the snowshoes had become my favorite means of locomo- 
tion. I was accustomed to seeing the smooth, white 
surface of the snow unbroken in that direction, save where 
I had taken a tramp on snowshoes. To my astonish- 
ment I saw a distinct and heavy trail leading out of the 
woods into the meadow, where the drifting of the snow 
had made it indistinct. It was certainly the trail of 
some heavy animal, and as the deer and elk had all left 
the_ region for their winter quarters, my interest and 
curiosity were aroused. Getting on my snowshoes I sped 
across, the distance being about a half-mile, and there 
found where a fine bunch of mountain sheep had been 
traveling both ways, about two days before. Climbing 
up the side of the mountain through the woods for some 
distance to study the tracks, for the snow was deep and 
dry, making it difficult to determine which way they had 
gone last, I decided that they had made the last trip 
down into the meadow. Following out to a lick in the 
meadow, where the snow had nearly all blown off, I saw 
they .had spent some time there, and by some searching 
found they had gone on across the meadow in the direc- 
tion of Bull Caiion, a favorite resort for sheep, and 
about a mile below my place. Satisfying myself of the 
direction thej"- had gone, I went back home, prepared an 
extra supply of Avood, in anticipation of being tired the 
next evening, set the alarm clock for an early hour the 
next morning, and went to bed to dream of old rams and 
rocky caiions. 
Never having hunted sheep any, I knew little of their 
habits, except of their rock-climbing propensities, but 
made up my mind to have a sheep before coming back, 
although they were three days ahead of me. 
Striking out on snowshoes across the park at an early 
hour, I soon landed at the foot of a steep, bare moun- 
tain, up which iheir trail led. As they would enter the 
rocky caiion after getting to the top of that mountain, I 
left my snowshoes, and proceeded on foot. 
I climbed to the top of the mountain and struck their 
trial on the other side, in a' patch of green timber, then 
down into the steep, rocky cafion they went, where it 
was barely safe for man to go. 
Threading my way among the rocks, finding the trail 
here and there, I followed to the bottom of the caiion, 
across the creek, up the other side almost to the top, then 
parallel with the course of the cafion for quite a distance. 
From the appearance of the tracks I was not expecting to 
find them yet, and was pushing along as fast as the deep 
snow would allow, when suddenly, about mid-day, I saw 
pne 100 yards ahead of me, and it saw me at the same 
instant, and was ofT like the wind. Coming to where they 
had been, I found that the M^hole bunch, perhaps a dozen 
or more, had been together. 
After following their trail along the brow of the bluff 
for half a mile, I found that the bunch had divided, about 
half going straight ahead, and the others turning square 
off, and going straight down the steep side of the cafion. 
I stopped where the trails separated and could see the 
trad so far down the side of the canon that I felt satisfied 
that they had crossed over to the other side. 
The opposite side was in full view from top to bottom, 
and about a mile in length. I looked it all over carefully 
and at last made out their forms scattered among the 
rocks on the other side, perhaps a half-mile away on an 
air line, and a mile by land. Knowing better than to go 
doATO on their trail, I kept straight ahead on the trail of 
the others, until I was down over the mountain in the 
woods out of their sight, then turned square off going 
straight down to the creek. And such traveling I It would 
have been considered impossible on bare ground, but the 
snow was waist deep, there being enough timber to hold 
it from blowing off. 
I just rolled, tumbled, slid, any way so I got down, but 
I "got there jitst the same." As soon as I had crossed the 
creek I was in plain view of the game; there was no 
possible way of getting at them except by going direcUv 
toward them, and I had at least 200 yards to go with 
nothing to protect me from sight, save an occasional 
log and clump of willows. I could only see one way of 
getting to them. Plugging up the muzzle of my gun, I 
wrapped the breach securely in my coat, to keep out the 
snow. I then got down in the deep snow and plowed 
my way through on my hands and knees, showing only 
my head and the top of my back above the snow, and leav- 
ing a trail which would have created a panic among a 
company of tenderfeet, had any such happened that way. 
The plan worked well, and brought me, unseen, around a 
point of rocks which hid me from view. 
Then I commenced my climb up among the rocks, mak- 
ing my way to a rocky ledge which would shelter me and 
bring me within gun shot. 
When I got within a few rods of the place I had 
selected from which to shoot, I began to realize that it 
was far past dinner time, and owing to very early break- 
fast and severe exertion, I was so hungry and tired that 
my nerves were becoming unsteady. I coolly sat down — • 
at least , sat down in a cool place — took out my lunch and 
proceeded to strengthen myself for the final act in my 
fir.st sheep hunt. When I came up to the last rock which 
was^ shielding me, I found no way of getting to it, except 
by jumping several feet and landing on a large, round 
boulder, which was lying apparently on a balance on a flat, 
sloping rock. To overbalance or lose footing there meant 
a sudden drop of 50 feet. 
I jumped on the rock, and then found I could not 
stand without clinging with one hand to the rock I was 
hiding behind. Holding on to it, I leaned out over the 
chasm, and saw a magnificent old ram with immense 
horns, standing on the high, sharp point of a rock, perhaps 
100 yards or more from me and 50 feet above me, while 
the others were scattered about the base of the rock, some 
lying down, and all, apparently, resting in fancied security, 
while their leader was keeping watch. The sight was 
grand, and is stamped on my memory. The great ram 
with his immense horns, stood on a peak of rocks so 
high that the blue sky formed the background, and 
showed the outline to such perfection as I have never 
seen any other wild animal. Coidd I have a picture of 
that scene I would name it "The Sentinel." He stood still 
as a statue, watching for any danger that might come to 
his flock. That was early in my hunting experience, and 
I had not yet learned to calculate distance and shoot ac- 
cordingly; and this, with the cramped and strained 
position in which I had to shoot caused me to make a 
clean miss of the first and only big ram with large 
horns I ever had a shot at. They all went up through the 
cafion in single file, being in sight only in spots, where 
they could be seen passing between rocks. 
I shot at every glimpse I could get, being determined 
to waste all the ammunition I could. Just as they were 
going over the top of the cafion and were in .sight for the 
last time, I fired a parting shot, at a distance of 300 yards, 
and I saw one, as I thought, drop from the ranks. On 
coming up I found a fine doe lying with the top of her 
head blown off. It was purely acidental, of course, but 
the meat was just as good as if killed by fine shooting. 
The skin made a beautiful rug, and has been doing service 
ever since in the home of my neighbor, Elick Hilton, of 
that locality. 
The rug will wear out, and the old ram has very prob- 
ably yielded to disease or rifle ball long e'er this, but the 
memory of him standing boldly on that lofty pinnacle 
afford.s me greater and more lasting pleasure than if I 
had his horns as trophies. 
Emerson Carney. 
MORGANTOWN, W. Va. 
Our Hunting Club Storks. 
Timothy Burns js the proprietor of a gun-shop in our 
town. He has everything in the way of arms, from a toy 
pistol to a magazine rifle. In the basement of his store 
he has nearly a carload of antiquated weapons, such as 
muskets, carbines, muzzle-loading shot guns and rifles, 
which are worthless as weapons at the present day, hut 
which did good service many years ago, and which are 
now purchased as curiosities for the decoration of the 
rooms of sportsmen, and for other purposes. Now and 
then you can find in his stock an old flint-lock gun, but 
these are becoming rare. Tim keeps an assortment of 
all kinds of ammunition, fishing tackle, etc., and his 
place has become the resort of all the hunters of this lo- 
calit3% and the crack-shots with rifle or shotgun. 
And afternoon between three and four o'clock, if you 
should wander into Tim's store, you will see from four 
to six, and possibly twelve, men leaning against the 
counters, listening to some hunting story told by one of 
the numljer. Tim seldom takes part in this story-telling, 
but occupies a seat rather to the rear of the office, at a 
desk, where he can see what is going- on. Tim is a 
smooth-faced, white-haired, easy-mannered individual, 
rather given to fat than leanness. He has a happy, go- 
lucky way which has made him many friends. If you 
should happen to buy a box of cartridges at his store, 
the next time he would very likely address vou as Char- 
ley, old boy, and put his hand affectionately on your 
shoulders. You would at once assume that Tim had 
known you since childhood, although, as a matter of 
fact,^ he had not known you at all. This was simply 
Tim's way, and it was a pleasant way, very agreeable to 
all who came in contact with this peculiar man. 
When Tim does join the group of story-tellers, it is 
owing to something that has been said which called to 
mind reminiscences of his early days in hunting, and the 
story is bound to be a good one, but the proceedings of 
this hunting club are not entirely in the line of stories 
but rather conversations suggested by a member, thus 
the proceedings were varied. 
Being something of a hunter myself, I know most of 
these men who frequent Tim's hunting club, as I will 
call it. At one time and another I have met these men 
in the woods, or along the streams, or waiting for the 
cars at some side switch on the railroad, returning after 
a day's hunt. One is a sturdy Englishman, six feet tall, 
red faced, with bushy black hair and full whiskers, a man 
sixty years of age, and yet one who can tramp all day 
without becoming weary. He is a crack shot on the 
wing, has an excellent bird-dog, and .Mthoygh partridge 
and woodcock are scarce in this locality, I have never 
known him to come in after a day's hunt empt3'-handed. , 
You will be surprised to hear that this man gets consid- 
erable of his living from game which he brings down' 
with his gun. Another member is a smallish, bald- 
headed man, clean shaven, about fifty years old, one of! 
the best shots on the wing in this locality. He has taken! 
many prizes in trap-shoots, and seldom misses his bird 
even in the most tangled under-brush. 
The attendance at this hunting club at the gun shop 
vanes greatly as the days go by. The hunting cranks 
from the country, twelve or fifteen miles away, cannot be 
expected to drop in daily, as do the local members. They, 
may not be in oftener than once a month, but when they 
do come they are made welcome, and they have their J 
fund of incidents and stories to relate. Some of these' 
rural hunters are characters worthy of the pen of a- 
Dickens, or a Thackeray, often lank, lean, with sharp cut 
or otherwise abnormal features, and clothed in uncouth 
and ridiculous looking costumes. These men are kind-' 
hearted and interesting companions. 
"When I was a boy," remarked a gray-haired member 
one day when I called at the gun store to get a box of' 
cartridges, "game was plentiful about Rochester, N. Y. ' 
I can remember back to the time when I was too small 
to carry a gun, but when I was permitted to tramp around 
with my brother, who was something of a hunter. One ' 
afternoon he and another man and myself started for a 
hunt. Along toward evening we reached a large piece of 
timber land, one corner of which bordered a field of 
corn. As we approached I saw several large squirrels 
scampering up trees and disappearing. We hid behind ' 
two large oaks some distance apart, and did not have to 
wait long before dozens of squirrels began to descend I 
neighboring trees, and in a short time the ground, the 
fences and the trees were actually swarming with grey ' 
and black squirrels. We killed all the squirrels we could j 
carry in a short time, and they were fat as butter. 
"During the shooting my brother's friend became sep- 
arated from us. After a while we heard him shooting quite 
a way back in the woods. He shot again and again from 
the same locality. Finally, out of curiosity to learn what 
he was doing, wc started in his direction. W^e found him 
standing under a big oak tree, and just as we arrived a 
big coon dropped down at his feet from the highest 
branches. There was another coon in the same tree, but 
he did not get him. 
"Wild pigeons in those days were as plentiful as mos- 
quitoes. In the early spring and in the fall the sky was 
clouded with flocks of them. When these wild birds in 
their migrations reached the shore of Lake Ontario they 
would not attempt to cross the lake, but would skirt 
along the shore. Thus the lake shore was a great re- 
sort for hunters when pigeons were flying. I have seen 
hunters drive down to the lake shor& at Charlotte. N. Y., 
in democrat wagons, and in a few hours return with 
bushels of wild pigeons which they had shot. Some 
days the birds flew too high to be reached with the gun, 
but when the wind blew they were compelled to fly close 
to the earth, and then the destruction by the hunters was 
something fearful to think of. The pigeons would fly 
lower in the morning than at any other time, therefore, 
just at simrise was the favorite hour for hunting them; 
an hour or two later they would fly higher and higher 
until they were out of gunshot. When the wheat fields 
were sown in September, flocks of wild pigeons would 
settle down upon them in large numbers. When I was 
old enough to carry a gun I used to shoot large numbers 
of them on these fields. The woods, groves, and often 
the orchards were the abiding places of scattered lots of 
wild pigeons. " 
"I remember 'one day hearing wild pigeons coming 
into the adjacent woods where I was hunting. I ap- 
proached cautiously and saw one pigeon far up in the 
top of a tall tree. I fired, and to my astonishment in- 
stead of one pigeon I had killed two, the other one be- 
ing near by, but out of sight." 
"Did you ever tackle pigeons in a pigeon roost?** 
asked the big Englishman. 
"No, I never did," replied the gray-haired man who 
had been talking about pigeons. 
_ "Well, of all gatherings of birds or animals, beasts or 
fishes, nothing beats a pigeon roost. You see they gather 
together in a big swamp where they build their nests and 
hatch their young. The woods are full of them, the 
branches break down with the weight of the birds. The 
sky is blackened with them when they go out to feed and 
when they return. The slaughter in these pigeon roosts 
is something awful. The rabble of all the surrounding 
district gathers there, and the men attack the birds at 
night with lanterns. The pigeons are clubbed out of the 
lower branches by the dozen, stuck into bags by the 
bushel, and carted off to distant cities for sale by the car- 
load." 
"It is 130 wonder then that wild pigeons are almost ex- 
tinct," said the gray-haired man. 'T hear that it is hardly 
possible to find a living specimen. The Smithsonian In- 
stitution has offered a prize for a living specimen of the 
wild pigeon, but thus far without success." 
Tim Tells a Whopper. 
At this moment Timothy strolled out from his den in 
the back part of the store, where he seemed to have been 
sleeping, and remarked: "I thought I heard some one 
telling about hunting squirrels a little while ago. Now, 
I have had some experience along that line which is 
hard to beat. When I was a boy there was a large piece 
of woods on my father's farm where every kind of food 
that squirrels fed upon was plentiful. There was a large 
cornfield near by, and in the woods were hickory, beech 
and chestnut trees. There were always squirrels in these 
woods, but this season, oAving to the scarcity of squirrel 
food in other localities, the squirrels had migrated to 
this locality in large numbers. I do not think any of our 
people realize how many squirrels there were in these 
woods, since we had been very busy preparing ground 
for wheat, and also with other work. 
"One afternoon I strolled down to those woods, with 
my single-barreled shotgun, thinking I would get a mess 
of squirrels for dinner next day. I entered the woods 
near the cornfield and seated myself upon a log. I had 
been there but a few moments when the squirrels began 
to appear on all sides. I kept perfectly quiet, desiring 
