170 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March i, 1902. 
Illinois'? Pr axrtei Chicken. 
Macomb, 111., Feb. 18,— Editor forest and Stream: 
No time in twenty-five years have the praririe chickens 
been so plentiful in McDonough county as they have been 
this winter. Large flocks from twenty to fifty have been 
seen in all parts of the county. I can only account for this 
by the fact that several years ago the Legislature passed a 
law making its open season Sept. 1, and through the mis- 
take of the engrossing clerk it was made Sept. 15. By 
this time the weeds got so high and the birds got so strong 
it was almost impossible for the hunters to kill them. 
The late law has been Sept. 1, and the dry weather has 
been very beneficial for nesting in the sloughs, where 
the high wild grass grows the last two years. In the wet 
seasons many of the eggs are washed out of the nest 
when the heavy rains fall. There were very few killed 
last season. The weather was so dry and the cover was 
so slim they took to the cornfields, and all hunters know 
the trouble to kill them there. I believe that if we pass 
a law preventing killing them for five years we would 
have old-time shooting again, as we had thirty years ago. 
On my way to Chicago last week I saw many, and a large 
flock between Aurora and Chicago. 
This has been, a grand winter for quail. None have 
been lost by deep snow, as the snow has not been more 
than three or four inches deep, and undoubtedly we will 
have fine shooting among them another year. 
W. O. Blaisdell. 
Transporting Quail* 
St. Augustine, Feb. 16. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
There is some doubt lurking in my mind about climate 
changing pigmies into giants. Hundreds, if not more, 
small men have been known to migrate from the sunny 
south to the frigid north, and the first case is yet to be 
reported of a small man being turned into a six-footer by 
the change of climate; and, moreover, if such a thing 
did happen, the. rule ought to work both ways, and the 
giant on going back to the south ought to dwindle down 
to his original proportions. I admit that if a squad of 
Florida quail just out of the eggs were taken to the 
north they might lose their bearings and grow into 
eight-ouncers ; but I see no way of proving that their 
fathers and mothers would. 
I confess to harboring doubts whether our little brats 
could stand the Northern winters unless protected, and 
that ought to be done for your own birds wherever 
practicable. 
A shelter could easily be made late in the fall by driving 
forked stakes in the ground at four corners, then laying 
poles across and covering v the whole over with brush. 
Then, if wheat or buckwheat is thrown inside by a little 
cleared path scraped off each side and sprinkled with 
grain, they would soon find it and live there through the 
winter. , Didymus. 
Emperor William's Hunting. 
The New York Staats Zeitung of recent date prints a 
report of a hunt by the German Kaiser in the Grunewald, 
situated between Potsdam and Berlin. The Kaiser had 
as his guest on this occasion the Russian Prince Michael. 
The game was driven into a small corner of the park 
by a detachment of soldiers, and surrounded so that 
none could escape. Then at a certain signal the game 
was permitted to go, and the shooting began. In two 
hours' time, between the hours of 11:30 A. M. and 1:30 
P. M., the royal party killed not less than 739 fallow 
deer, of which 502 were does. Of this number 30 large 
bucks fell to the Kaiser's gun. There are estimated to 
be still 2.000 fallow deer left in the park. 
On another hunt, two of the rare and almost extinct 
auer oxen were driven to the Kaiser and killed by him, 
as were also 45 wild boars and stags, and a great quantity 
of smaller game. 
On still another occasion the Kaiser and his party 
killed in the space of five and one-half hours, 6.256 
pheasants, 159 hares and 13 rabbits, of which the Kaiser 
bagged 940 pheasants and 12 hares. 
These figures are an indication of an almost perfect 
system of stocking and protection, for, in spite of this 
wholesale slaughter, there still remains in the Grunewald 
an enormous quantity of game. 
Proprietors of fishing resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
Exposition of Sportsmanship at St. Petersburg:. 
Consul-General Holloway writes from St. Petersburg, 
Jan. 18, that an international exposition of sportsmanship 
will be held at St. Petersburg during May, 1902. There 
will be sections devoted to automobiles, bicycles, aeronau- 
tics, rowing, horsemanship, athletics and games, hunting, 
sailing and photography. The exposition will be held 
under the auspices of the benevolent society having charge 
of the Labor House for Cripples. 
The death of J. M. French, one of the veteran showmen 
of America, recalls the experience of the United States 
Government with camels just after the war. The Govern- 
ment imported from Asia a large number of camels and 
dromedaries, with the purpose of establishing a mail line 
from San Antonio to the Pacific coast. The venture 
failing, Mr. French bought a large number of the camels 
and made quite a famous show feature out of them. 
Those that he did not take were turned loose in the 
Arizona desert, where, it is said, a considerable drove of 
wild camels still exists.— Springfield Republican. 
Written upon a Blank Leaf in "The Complete 
Angler." 
While flowing- rivers yield a blameless sport 
Shall live the name of Walton: Sage benign 1 
Whose pen, the mysteries of the rod and line 
Unfolding;,' did not fruitless exhort 
To reverend watching of aach still report 
That Nature utters from her rural shrine. 
Meek, nobly versed in simple discipline, 
F J^<, He found the longest summer day too short, 
r ~*' To his loved pastime given by sedgy Lea, 
Or down the tempting maze of Shawford Brook. 
Fairer than life itself in tbit sweet Book, 
The cowslip bank, and shady willow tree; 
• And the fresh meads, where flowed, from every npok 
. . Qf hi? fall bosom, gladwsme Piety! 
L -Wordsworth . 
Black Bass of the Cottonwood. 
About 150 miles southwest of Kansas City as the crow 
flies, on the line of the Santa Fe railroad,' is the town of 
Cottonwood Falls, the Cottonwood River, and the best 
fishing for big-mouthed gamy black bass in the State of 
Kansas. The Cottonwood is a stream of perhaps 150 
yards in width, fed by smaller creeks and springs from the 
surrounding hills. Its waters are deep and clear as crys- 
tal, and bountifully stocked with the above mentioned 
members of the finny tribe, ranging from one ! to six 
pounds in weight. And they are gamy enough to give 
the fisherman his money's worth before he succeeds in 
landing them. 
Every fall I go down from Topeka, and rousting out my 
lawyer friend, Judge Rightmire. from his law office 
duties, we hie away to the river for hours of rare sport 
with rod and gun. 
Our last effort was on a glorious day in October, and 
the sun had just tipped the tree tops when we pushed 
the little boat from the bank, and with long steady strokes 
passed cheerily down the stream toward some favorite 
pools. Underneath one seat was a basket Of lunch and 
nearby a bucket of live minnows and crawfish, which 
occasionally required a change of water. This duty fell 
to me while the Judge did the rowing. I was also ex- 
pected to keep my eyes open for a red fox squirrel or 
two, many of which made their homes along the banks 
in the hackberry and cottonwood trees. Notwithstanding 
that the Judge was rowing and sending great clouds of 
smoke in front of his vision from an ancient briar pipe, 
he espied a shot quicker than myself. The little animal 
was far up in the top of a cottonwood on the opposite 
shore. A quick glance along the sights, ~and without a 
struggle a plump cornfed specimen came tumbling down 
through the branches to the ground below. It was the 
work of a moment to beach the boat, secure the game, 
and pull on toward our goal. 
A quarter of a mile was traversed before I caught sight 
of a "patch of red," which indicated that the owner of 
the frowsy tail was lying outstretched on a limb getting 
the benefit of the morning sun. How to get at the little 
rascal was a problem, for not a portion of his body big 
enough to hold a bullet was visible. After a brief consul- 
tation, the Judge drove the boat to land and I softly 
stepped up the bank and worked quietly out from the 
tree, while the Judge, with gun in hand, let the boat 
drift back toward the center of the stream. The squirrel 
hearing me walk among the dead leaves, scented danger, 
and began working around the limb toward the water 
side. In a moment more the Judge's gun cracked and 
down tumbled Mr. Squirrel, as fine a specimen as the 
other, but a trifle older. This proved to be our last squir- 
rel of the day. Several more were noted, but they were 
back in the woods, bounding from limb to limb, too rap- 
idly for a successful shot. 
The Cottonwood is a tortuous, crooked stream, and it 
was nearly ten o'clock before we reached the place de- 
sired, which we could have made in an half hour's brisk 
walk "afoot and across lots." 
Letting the boat float idly along we dug up our cane 
poles, of which we had four, unwound the lines and pre- 
pared for business. Now, a bass is a peculiar chap and 
somewhat of an epicure. Some days his appetite craves 
a crawfish or a young catfish, while other days he wants 
nothing and will take nothing but a lively "chub" min- 
now. Knowing this, we baited our hook with samples of 
each, placed our corks about five feet up, tossed the lines 
overboard, and settled down patiently for a bite. 
To one cooped up in an office fifty weeks in a year, the 
hour and the surroundings were of the utmost pleasure. 
Nature was on her best behavior, and the day as per- 
fect as is often given mortals here below to enjoy. The 
silence was so intense that the fluttering fall of leaves on 
the water was as dripping eaves after a summer shower. 
The softening cries of a circling flock of cranes floated 
down through the hazy air, and nearer by a saucy jay 
sat scolding its mate. The first frost had turned the 
sumac to tints of brown and scarlet, and from the vines 
along the drooping willows hung hundreds of ripened, 
purple grapes. Under such arcadian conditions worldly 
cares and the fishing lines were both forgotten. 
But a kick on the shins from the Judge brought me 
back from my day dreams just in time to see one of my 
corks disappearing at an express train speed, and the tip 
of the pole bending to the water surface in close pur- 
suit. Now, a bass should be given a good start, and it's 
a mistake to jerk too soon, but that is just what I did. 
Oftentimes the fish makes a friendly tackle of the bait 
in the preliminary skirmish, and seizes it in dead earnest 
in the second round. This prOved the case in this in- 
stance. With a quick side jerk to hook him I swung the 
pole upward, but met with strong opposition and a fran- 
tic sideplay of the line, which indicated a "big one." 
After a few seconds' play there came a flash of a silvery 
side at the top of the water, a glimpse of an enormous 
mouth, and an empty line told the tale of preliminary 
eagerness. "Great Heavens!" shouted the Judge, "what 
a whale; but you pulled too soon," and with a smothered 
ejaculation that wouldn't look well in print, I added, 
"I guess you're right." 
The bait taken, as I remembered, was a crawfish, so 
another was quickly attached to the hook and cast in, the. 
same vicinity. One, two, three, four, five, ten,- fifteen 
minutes, at least, passed without the sign of a nibble. 
With a disgusted snort, the Judge dipped the oars and 
slowly propelled the boat around over the pool. Hardly 
had we moved twenty feet when he dropped the oars and 
grabbed the pole on the right. The fish had made the 
strike close to the boat and started deep under toward 
the other side. When I first noticed the pole it was- bent 
nearly double and I knew that a veteran was hooked. For 
a time the catch remained almost stationary, with the 
Judge working cautiously to avoid a break in pole .or 
hook. In the meantime I had gotten a paddle in action, 
and gently shoved the rear end Of the boat toward, tfrf 
fish. .And now ensued a battle royal. The fish used 
every effort to escape, darting this way and that, at times 
jumping clear from the water, then again back under the 
boat with a rush. But the "ancient mariner" at the butt 
end of the pole played his opponent finely, and after at 
least a five minutes' contest, began working the thoroughly 
exhausted fish toward port, and finally, with an adroit 
swing, landed the prize in the bottom of the boat. It was 
one of the finest black bass it has ever been my good 
fortune to have been in at the death of, and afterward, 
when weighed, forced the scales up to six pounds. 
The safe capture of this big fellow so pleased us both 
that we heartily grasped hands, and the Judge, as heavy 
a man as he is, gave a spirited "Highland Fling," until 
the rocking of the boat warned him to desist. 
For another quarter of an hour we rowed around 
trolling for a catch, but unsuccessfully, so decided to 
move further down stream to another favorite spot. 
Lifting in the minnow bucket and stowing away the 
poles we started for "the island," a long, narrow strip 
of land down the river, where we intended to cook our 
dinner and rest through the noon hour, as the bass are 
not so apt to bite during the middle ofibe day. 
In the wake of the canoe sleepily churned the waters 
for a moment, then settled back to a dead repose, while 
the prow, swiftly, yet silently, split a path through the 
sodden leaves. As we rounded a bend, drawing near to 
the island, a great blue crane arose awkwardly from a 
shallow rift and flapped its solitary way beyond our 
vision, doubtless to some other haven of quiet refuge. At 
the landing the Judge grounded the boat, produced a 
broiler, and started a fire, while I took a bucket, climbed 
the bank and passed through some woods to a farm house 
for fresh well water. The squirrels were skinned and 
ready for cooking when I rturned, and by the time I had 
gotten the bread and butter, some cheese, pickles and a 
pie out and spread on a newspaper, the game was "done 
to a turn." Of course we had to take "a wee nippie," as 
an appetizer, but from that standpoint it was entirely un- 
necessary, because we were both ravenously hungry with- 
out the application of false stimulants. And how we did 
eat, sitting there in the autumn sunshine, with an occa- 
sional ant crawling over the tablecloth and not the sign 
of a knife or a fork. A light breeze would frequently send 
a rift of cinders from the dying embers among the victuals 
and into the water, but Avhat mattered these trifles. No 
banquet at home had seemed so thoroughly enjoyable. 
For an hour or more we loitered at the improvised table, 
making merry with our lunch and tales of former fishing 
trips. Then I, acting as Bridget, with one fell swoop, 
m cast "tablecloth, dishes and all*' into the fire, and 
quenched the flames with a dash of water. 
Below the island about a half mile a little narrow stream 
known as Buck Creek empties into the Cottonwood, and 
after an hour's smoky siesta at the dinner camp we de- 
cided to try our luck in that vicinity, and accordingly 
weighed anchor for the spot. On the way down I was 
fortunate enough to land a couple of crappie of regula- 
tion size. The crappie are a splendid table fish, sweet 
and toothsome, but do not put Up a fight worth a cent. 
The minute one is hooked it "throws up the sponge," 
figuratively speaking, and allows itself to be landed with- 
out a protest. As a rule, they travel in schools, and 
when the fisherman strikes a school he is liable to get a 
boatload. How I did that once I may relate some other 
time. Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof. And again 
the Judge is opposed to fishing for anything save black 
bass, so we did not tarry long trying to coax the crappie 
from their lair. 
"If we can't yank some speckled boys out of here," re- 
marked the Judge, as we dropped anchor at the mouth 
of Buck Creek, "we might as well fly our kites for home, 
for the conditions are certainly most favorable. Just 
see the clear, cold water pouring in here. The fish 
should swarm around such a place." And he was right. 
For when we left at dark and struck across country for, 
home, we had a string of twenty-three as fine fish "to 
tote" as one would care to see. But to return to the 
thread of the narrative. 
We had scarcely struck the mouth of the creek when 
the trouble began. All four of the lines were out, and at 
periods we were getting bites on all at the same time. 
And we had the best of luck capturing the majority of our 
strikes. 
There were none, however, as large as the early catch 
of the Judge. The greater portion averaged from two 
to three pounds in weight. Once I actually had a fierce 
bite on each hook at the same moment while the Judge 
was wrestling with a three pounder on one of his lines. 
And the best part of all was that we saved all of them 
from escaping. The next largest catch of the day fell to 
my lot "just as the sun went down." I happened to be 
awake this time, and was shown a strenuous time. It was 
easily the most rebellious four pounder that I have ever 
had the pleasure of enticing from the waters. 
We had early discovered that the bass in this particular 
vicinity hankered after the small yellow catfish rather 
than the crawfish or chubs, so catfish they were getting!. 
I had just placed a particularly tempting bait overboard 
when, like a flash, a strike was made and the cork started 
under the water at race horse speed. Remembering my 
early failure because of jerking too soon, I gave the 
line plenty of play. Although I was simply wild to yank 
the fish into the boat at one swift rush I managed to con- 
trol myself. And when I did hook the game, with a swift 
side play, I knew from the resistance that there was fun 
ahead. And there was. For, without any sense of the 
proprieties of the occasion, his nibs made a rapid sprint 
back under the boat and became entangled with my 
other line. This made matters decidedly frisky for me, 
and the Judge, too, became interested. Now, I am not left 
handed, and was never very dextrous with the member 
on that side of my body. But the way I swung the pole 
in that hand in rhythmic concert with the one in the right 
was a caution. The Judge remarked, "after the battle was 
over," that I did it so gracefully that he was actually 
proud of me. Just how long the struggle lasted, or as to 
the details, I am unprepared to state at this writing. It 
all seems like a hazy dream as I sit scribbling away at 
this distant date. "But," quoth the Judge, "it was a 
famous victory," and worthy of taking something on, 
and, if nay memory serves me: right, we did, By this 
time it grown so, 4ark, tb,at we were reluctantly gqm^ 
