442 
[Dec. 8, iqcxs. 
One Day and Another. 
Statea Island. 
I CAN recall a day when the ground where the village 
of South Beach now stands was only a succession of 
sand dunes, with here and there a tuft of spear grass, and 
at long intervals a clump of firs. On that day I had gone, 
as I may say, on a voyage of discovery. It was in the 
early fall, and the weather, though fine, was somewhat 
gray and hazy, with a strong wind blowing in from the 
sea. Starting from the bend below Fort Wadsworth, I 
progressed leisurely along the beach, keeping my eyes 
about me. The place seemed to be as lonesome as Robin- 
son Crusoe's island. Not a soul was to be seen, nor a 
.sign of human habitation. The monotonous murmur- 
ing of the waves on the beach and the sibilation of the 
sand blown through the spear grass were the only sounds 
that struck the ear. When I had gone about half a mile 
I observed to my right a marsh, which, narrow at first, 
broadened out and stretched away for about three miles. 
Idly lifting a stone, I threw it among the reeds, when 
whir! up got an English snipe, and with its peculiar note 
of alarm went zigzagging down the marsh. Further on 
I tried a similar experiment, and .put up Hot one 
snipe, but two. "It is all because I have no gun 
with me!'' I commented, as I resumed my walk. I have 
mentioned that there were scattered chimps of fir trees 
on the beach. Suddenly on rounding one of these I 
espied a hut of the most primitive order. Put together 
any way, with old pieces of wreckage and little else be- 
sides, it presented indeed a sorry and ludicrous appear- 
ance. At first I supposed it was uninhabited (probably 
some old pirate's lair, .1 thought), but presently became 
conscious of the odor of burning wood, and imme- 
diately afterward a most extraordinary figure of a man 
presented himself at the door of the hut. He was about 
fifty years old, as well as I could judge; tall and spare, 
with a face very suggestive of a hawk. His -clothes were 
in keeping with his habitation, and that, I fancy, ,will be 
description enough. For a while he eyed me sus- 
piciously, almost threateningly, but when I assured him 
that I meant no harm his demeanor altered a little, and 
he asked: 
"You ain't an agent of the lawyers, then?" 
"No, indeed," I answered, laughing. "I wouldn't 
have anything to do with lawyers for the whole world." 
At this he became civility itself, advanced to meet me 
and apologized for not being able to ask me in, as his 
wife was in bed with the chills. 
"Your what?" I exclaimed. 
"My wife," he answered, somewhat haughtily. "Ain't 
I got a right to be married?" 
Oh, of course," I said; "but you don't mean to say 
that you both live in there?" 
"Cart'nly we do— and right snug, too, with no one to 
bother us." 
To be sure I wondered, and recalled the old saying 
that one half of the world doesn't know how the other 
half lives. My reverie was interrupted by the abrupt 
question, "Do vou wan't to buy some birds?" 
;"What kind of birds?" I asked. 
"Snipe — and good fat ones," he answered, and request- 
ing me to step behind the hut, there pointed to three or 
four yellowlegs hanging on a line. Placed against 
a tree near by was an old rusty fowling piece. I was 
considerably more interested in the gun that the game. 
Picking it up, I examined the lock and barrel, and de- 
cided that the promise of being remembered in a million- 
aire's will would hardly induce me to let that gun off. 
My expression must have betrayed my thoughts, for the 
owner of the weapon exclaimed, ofifendedly, "There 
ain't nothin' the matter with her, if she is a bit rusty. 
That old gal and me has been companions these twenty 
years, and she's never gone back on me yit." 
I endeavored to look sympathetic, and deeming it 
prudent to divert the conversation, mqmred, "Plenty of 
game hereabouts, I suppose?" 
He regarded me meditatively for a while, as if trying 
to determine whether I contemplated poaching on his 
preserves, and then answered, cautiously, "Wal, 'tain't 
what it used to be." 
But suddenly he asked, "Do you want a day's shoot- 
in'?" 
I said," "I might." 
"Wal, if you do. and will make it wo'th my while, I 
may be able to stir up a few — quite a few. But you'd 
have to bunk here the night afore, as we'd have to start 
putty early." 
"Bunk here?" I said. "Why, you and your wife must 
occupy every inch of room in that— that cottage of 
yours." 
"Oh, it ain't so small as it looks outside. Anyhow, 
•if you will come. I guarantee to fix a place fur you." 
• "But your wife?" I said, inquiringly. 
"Oh, we'll put up a little screen," he answered 
naively. ' 
_ I promised to consider the matter, and handing him a 
cigar, which he seemed delighted to get, took my leave. 
As I proceeded on my way I amused myself with 
imagmmg a night under the conditions indicated. The 
subject was so engrossing— so full of unique horror, as 
I may say— that before I was aware I had almost walked 
into a creek. This came meandering sluggishly through 
the marsh and joined with the tide, which was now at its 
height. For the m.oment I thought I had reached my 
Ultima Thule, and that I should have to turn back but 
looking, about I descried some distance up the creek 
a rude bridge, by which I crossed. 
My way now lay through a stretch of rough ground 
densely covered with scrub, or spear grass, in which I put 
up several rabbits. To my right the marsh spread out 
to the distance of a mile or more and presented a most 
picturesque appearance, with its rich autumnal colorings 
and shining pools. By one of these I saw two white 
cranes industriously fishing. This is a veritable rara avis 
and made me regret again the absence of that gun. ' At 
length I got to the upper end of the marsh and" made a 
^etour through the w<?o4s by which if bordered— 
noticing as I went along num.erous signs of woodcock— 
until I came out on the Richmond road. Here, in those 
days, was a little inn known as the Sportsman's Rest, 
which, I am confident, no tired sportsman could possibly 
pass. Not only was it well provided and neatly kept, but 
the host, a genial son of the. Vaterland, acted, so to 
speak, like a magnet. I therefore will make no apology 
for having entered. 
As I sat resting in a big arm chair, with my pipe in 
good working order, at least half a dozen of gunners must 
have dropped in with well filled bags. And then my host 
informed me that he had been out that very morning 
and brought down with his own gun four brace of 
woodcock — and what is more he exhibited them. 
I complimented him on having such good shooting. 
"Veil," he said, reflectively, "it's putty goot now, but 
hein! soon, alretty, it may be tarn poor!" 
Prophetic words! 
That day, well remembered, was years ago. Tempora 
mutantur. Recently I have been on Staten Island, and I 
fell in with a man with a gun, and another man slouching 
some distance in his rear. 
"Any sport?" I inquired. 
He stopped and appeared to be a little troubled. 
"No— nary a thing," he answered, 
I then told him that I was from the city, and was 
anxious for a day's shooting on the island, and asked if 
he could recommend a guide. 
"Oh," he said, and thought a moment. "Well," he said 
then, "I could guide you myself — me and this man. Come 
here, Pete." 
Pete slouched up, and I noticed that all his pockets 
were bulging. 
"Could yoH bring me to where there are some quail?" 
I asked. 
"Oh, quail! No, I guess not. There don't appear to 
be none around. They let some loose last year, but 
they've disappeared. But say, I can git you some fine 
robin shootin' and meadowlarks. MeadovN^larks is fine; 
but you want to be putty quick if you don't hit 'em on the 
ground!" 
"But," I said, "those are song birds, and it is against 
the law to shoot them." 
He guffawed, and looked at Pete, who grinned. "Say," 
he went on, "that's all right. There ain't no danger. 
When we shoot anything we needn't carry it, but hand 
it to this man, who keeps at a distance and pretends to be 
lookin' for nuts when he sees any one a-comin,' No, 
there ain't a bit of danger." 
"Oh, I see," I said, "you've got it down pretty fine. 
Well, if you will let me haA^e your address I'll think it 
over and drop you a line if I decide to come." 
He gave me the address, and I wished him "good- 
day," while secretly wishing him in the lockup at Rich- 
mond. 
And is this possible, I mused, as I went on my way, 
within fifteen miles of New York? 
I understand that a close season of three years for 
quail has been declared on Staten Island. No wonder, 
indeed. But, query: Will it not soon be in order to 
declare a close season for robins and meadowlarks 
and song birds generally? And this suggests another 
query: Does a close season close? 
Frank Moon an. 
New York, Nov, IB. 
That Mule o' Saunders'. 
"DoGGON my whiskers ef that onery cuss uv a mule 
ent gone an' skinned aout again," old man Saunders ex- 
claimed to himself in tones of dismay, as he viewed the 
wreck of the sometime rickety gate and the vaeant barn- 
yard where the big black mule was wont to spend a cer- 
tain portion of his time in braying forth defiance to the 
world. 
Saunders bit off a huge piece of tobacb from his twist, 
spat vigorously and with much feeling upon the wreckage 
of the gate, and then turned his back on the scene in 
disgust. There was an expression on his countenance 
that boded ill for the cause of all this trouble as he 
seated himself on a big "nigger head" boulder, with his 
rifle across his knees, undecided what to do next. 
Truly this was a bad ending to what had otherwise 
been a day fraught with great excitement and wonder- 
ful surprises — a never-to-be-forgotten red-letter day for 
Saunders. He had started out at daybreak that morn- 
ing with rifle in hand in quest of wild turkeys or anything 
in the way of game that might cross his path. 
The time of the year was November. It was one of 
those "gray days and cold," with a dull, leaden sky over- 
head and a general air of gloom and depression pervading 
the atmosphere; the kind of a day when Dame Nature 
herself seerns in a melancholy mood and tunes her harp 
to minor strains of mournful music, and you feel that 
"the end of all things is nigh at hand." 
In a vague way Saunders was similarly affected, al- 
though if asked to put his feelings into words he would 
have answered in this wise: "This yere doggon weather 
ent fit fer nuthin' 'cep'n' duck? an' geese an' razorbacks 
an' whisky toddy, hi ganny." 
The first three members of this quartet of immunes 
were well able to look after themselves, and as the toddy 
was Saunders' special charge it received all dne attention ; 
but then, the hunting was not very good, and a man had 
to keep his spirits up in some way. 
_ With noiseless tread and eye 'and ear alert for any 
sign of moving creature, Saunders pursued his way. He 
was advancing cautiously down through a deep ravine 
where a self-important little brook hurried along in a 
noisy, reckless fashion, with many a tumble over its rock- 
strewn course, chattering busily the while to itself and 
making much ado over everything and nothing, when 
he suddenly stopped short in his tracks with an ejacula- 
tion of surprise. 
Bending low, he examined a mark in the sand at the 
edge of the brook. His eyes flashed and his breath came 
hurriedly with excitement as he carefuHv traced the 
markings in the sand. It was the fresh footprints of a 
deer. 
Sannder.^ straightened himself to his ftiH height, threw 
back his shoulders and lausrhed foftlv. "Hr ganny, h^t's 
p\ deer ^n' no mistake," he eatclaimed m low, excited 
tones, "A deer, an' a whoppin' big feller, tew. Hi 
Godfrey, who'd a thunk it?" 
He seemed to grow ten years younger in a moment. He 
crossed the brook and look up the trail on the other side, 
where it showed pla.ner in the softer soil.' He followed 
the trail a short distance and then lost it, but he had the 
direction, and if that deer were anywhere in Douglas 
county he proposed to find him. 
Instinctively hie recalled the many times he had hunted 
Oyer these rugged hills, years before, when game of every 
kind was plentiful ; but there had not been a deer shot in 
Douglas county for the past two or three years. He had 
never expected to shoot another one, and lo ! here he was 
on the trail again, just as in the days of old, and some- 
where ahead of him there was a deer, perchance a big 
buck. 
It seemed incredible, and he longed to shout aloud, but 
fear of alarming the deer restrained him. in lieu of a 
shout, however, he produced .a well-worn flask from his 
hip pocket, and holding.it at arm's length embraced the 
surrounding hills in a comprehensive sweep of liis long 
arm. • ■ . 
"Here's to.yuh, wharever y' be," said he, delivering hi^ 
toast with great gusto. "Here's hopin' we'll meet up 
with each other afore dark." 
He took a long pull at the flask, and restoring it to its 
accustomed resting place, started in pursuit of the deer. 
No hunter of any forest, no savage in any wilderness 
ever followed a trail with more untiring zeal than this old 
man now displayed. Mile after m'le did he cover with 
his sAvift, noiseless tread. Not a sound escaped his 
listening ears, not the stirring of a leaf, nor the swaying 
of some low hanging bough, nor the slightest movement 
in the underbrush that his ever watchful eye did not 
detect. 
He laid his course in a wide circle, judging it more than 
probable that the deer would return to its drink ng place 
that night. Twice he came upon a flock of wild turkeys, 
but unheeding the temptation he passed them by. He 
dared not risk a .shot. 
It was Avell on in the afternoon, and the long tramp 
was beginning to tell on his overworked muscles, before 
his patient search was rewarded. He had reached the 
top of a high ridge after a toilsome ascent up its steep 
side, and had paused a moment to recover his breath, 
when he suddenly caught sight of some creature moving 
among the trees in the distance. 
It took but a second glance to convince him that his 
labors had not been in vain. The moving creature was a 
deer, and a big buck at that. The buck had not taken 
alarm, as yet, but .stalked majestically along, stopping 
ever and anon to raise liis head and sjiiff thfc air for any 
sign of danger. 
Then Saunders brought all his knowledge and skill in 
woodcraft to bear upon the situation, and stole cautiously 
toward the keen-sensed and ever-suspicious quarry. For- 
tunately he had the wind in his favor, or it would merely 
have been the wave of white flag and an abrupt farewell — ■ 
and no venison for Saimders. His breath came fast, and 
his heart thumped like a trip hammer against his ribs, but 
his hand was steady and his aim was sure when the 
critical moment came. 
He dropped to one knee and raised the rifle to bis 
shoulder. At the flash of the weapon the buck bounded 
high in the air, recovered himself, took four or five long 
jumps and then plunged forward on his head a^nd lay 
still. 
Saunders advanced slowly, ready at a tnoment's noticw 
to put in another shot if the deer showed the slightest 
sign of suddenly coming to life and making good his 
escape. But this "lone s.ag of the mountains" had at last 
met with the tragic fate allotted to his kind, sooner or 
later, wherever the foot of man doth tread. 
After Saunders had dressed the deer he bethought 
himself what next to do. It was growing late and would 
be dark in a few hours, and now that the excitement of 
the chase was over, the reaction set in and he knew that 
he would never be able to pack the deer back to his cabin 
that day. He decided to hang up the carcass where it 
was and return home for his big black mule, on who.=e 
strong back the deer could be easily borne away. With 
this plan in view he suspended the carcass between two 
tall saplings, and set out after the mule. 
The wide circle in which he had traveled in pursuit of 
the buck had brought him within five or six miles of 
his home. He had not gone far when he happened upon 
an old, disused roadway Avhich he followed until it 
joined the road that passed his own door. 
As he drew near the three or four log buildings and 
the small clearing that constituted his farm, it seemed to 
him that an ominous silence brooded over the place. Not 
a living creature could be seen anywhere about, save 
one or two frightened looking chickens, and this fact gave 
a very unpleasant aspect to affairs, and he Avas therefore 
partly prepared for the unwelcome discovery that fol- 
lowed. The mule had taken French leave and frustrated 
all his owner's plans. That accounted for the silence. No 
creature that could escape remained in sight when the 
black mule broke loose and went on a ramoage. 
As Saunders sat on the big "nigger head" rock review- 
ing the situation, as the facts presented themselves, he 
was in anything but a happy frame of mind. He found 
himself in an awkward predicament. It was too late to 
start out in search of the mule, as there was no telling 
where that independent beast had elected to spend his 
brief vacation; It would be dark in another hour, and, 
moreover. Saunders kijew that he was far too Aveary to 
even think of packing the deer's heavy carcass home that 
night, and yet he dared not leave it hanging there in 
the woods unguarded and unprotected. There Avas no . 
other Avay out of the difficulty save to return and camp 
out beside the deer until the next morning. 
He left his seat on the boulder and entered the hoii.se 
and rolled un what fcAv things he needed in a blanket and 
slinp-ing the light bundle over his shoulder, started off on 
h"s back track — a lone, wearisome tramp, where each of 
the five miles seemed like two. 
It was after dark before he came to the end of his 
iourney. He soon had a bnVht fire burnine merrilv and 
b<=>fnrp loner an nrlnr of broilpd veni'^'^n and fried bacon 
fil'ed the air. and Saunders feasted. Af'^er th?t he wrann--*! 
himself in hi« blank'=t and wa«: immfdiatelv buried in 
sleep and he dreamed th&t had heard the brazen voice 
of a braying mule. 
