June 28, 1902.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
1508 
whither the din led us I It was a stiffish country for a 
novice, and one, I know, had "bellows to rrtelld ' long 
before" the canine chorus assured us that the fox had 
treed. As we straggled down a slippery incline toward 
the marsh, a glance assured us that this time we had him. 
At the very top of a scrawny scrub oak, overhanging a 
fetid pool that glimmered in the moonbeams, he crouched, 
while on a bough half-way up the tree stood Paddy, rend- 
ing his soul with howling. "That dog of yourn will 
sartin fall." remarked Bill Jones, and no sooner had he 
said it than Paddy slipped from the bough, fell ten feet, 
caught another bough, straightened out, and recom- 
menced his howling, where it had been momentarily in- 
terrupted. 
"Quick!" cried Jones; "fox is goin' to jump." 
Phut! The bullet struck him, but not an instant too 
s' on. With a magnificent bound the brave animal cleared 
the circle of dogs and men and was off; but he ran 
heavily. It was all over before we could reach him. He 
came to bay on a shelf of rocks in a small ravine to the 
left of us. We heard his shrill, uncanny bark of defiance 
twice, and then a growling and a snarling and a crunch- 
ing. It was not pleasant. Bill Jones rushed forward 
to save the pelt. It seemed impossible to realize that this 
hideous, shapeless mass of blood and fur that the dogs 
were snarling and fighting over had been but a moment 
before that beautiful wild thing instinct with life and the 
love of liberty, whose eyes had glared a challenge at us 
from the tree top. 
"Oh, hang it, Marin, let's get out of this!" said Bob. 
"Same here," said I. 
We broke it gently to our host. He was displeased. 
Explanations seemed lost upon him. "Well, I dunno." he 
said, "I never shoot foxes nor 'coons, neither — jest shake 
'em down casual-like, and them dogs and Razors does 
business with 'em. Howsomever, sence you feel that 
way, you needn't have no hand in the killin'. I'll do up 
the next one with a club. It was then that Bob and I 
realized that Bill Jones lacked soul. Toward the summit 
of the ridge we moved, a grumpy procession. Razors in 
the rear bearing the brush. "We'll go home by this trail," 
remarked Bill Jones, and turned into a patch of stunted 
pine that capped the mountain. Suddenly the old hound 
stopped, sniffed and raising his head, gave tongue. 
Paddy's red pelt bristled and he growled. A second later 
the entire pack was howling in unison at the root of a 
tall pine on a little bench a few yards below the trail. 
"Treed again !" yelled Jones, as he rolled down the bank. 
We followed. The torch was kindled and its light 
showed a large, round, slippery trunk, and the nearest 
branch twenty-five feet above us. Bill's boots were off ; 
he embraced the tree and started to climb. "I'm gettin' 
thar." he said, and then— a savage snarl, a yell from 
Jones, a ripping sound of rending clothing, a louder yell 
from the stricken Razors upon whom he alighted, the 
swish of a heaA'y body projected from a height, a howl of 
agony from the old hound, a yelp from Paddy, a scamper- 
ing, and utter darkness as the lantern thrown by the 
luckless Razors struck a tree trunk! Finally order was 
restored, and the ambulance corps got into operation. 
King's flank was laid open for six inches, almost to the 
bone; Paddy's back bore three great claw marks. Razors 
was suffering from a lame shoulder, and Bill Jones' 
frontal exposure suggested that he had been curry- 
combed. The rest of us, dogs and men, escaped scath- 
less. 
"What in thunder was it?" we asked. 
"Lynx. I stuck my face right up ag'in him. He was 
settin' on that thar durned bough. Razors, gimme that 
plug of tobacco." 
Thus ended our 'coon hunt. Marin. 
San Raefael, Cal. 
Adirondack Notes* 
Half the time one has to look twice and then stop and 
think to know where he is. Why? Because it has been 
so cold and rainy much of the time that the region 
scarcely looks natural, and the air certainly does not feel 
natural for this time of the year. Even this sunny after- 
noon a fire is necessary in the sitting room. Not many 
days is it otherwise thus far. Residents tell me March - 
was warm and sunny, but it was the old story of the 
ground hog in February, spring came out only to return 
to its hole. April was wintry and the weather has been 
cold ever since. 
Fishing has been very good both in the lakes and 
streams. Recently Mr. Bevins, a merchant here, 
caught a lake trout weighing I4 J A pounds. Several large 
brook trout have been taken from the lake. Miss Gib- 
son, of Brooklyn, caught one 11 inches long on a small 
silver spoon hook generally used for bass. Mr. Rufus > 
C. Allen, of that city, is the veteran sportsman here so 
far. Notwithstanding his 85 years he came early to 
enjoy the fishing and enters into the sport on lake and 
stream with the enthusiasm of years ago. Moreover, 
he is successful and does not need help in landing his 
fish. Doubtless his anriual visits here have not only- 
contributed to his longevity, but to the constant, cherry 
sunshine of his temperament which makes him a favor- 
ite wherever known. He believes with Garfield that 
"every character is the joint product of nature and 
nurture," and that God's works in nature are among the 
best helps to right nurture. It is an indication that the 
number of such believers is increasing year by year when 
Adirondack hotels are booked full for August early in 
June. That is the case with some of the best here and 
at Raquette Lake. The excellent transportation facili- 
ties afforded by the N. Y. Central help both these places. 
Boats of the Raquette Lake Transportation Co. con- 
nect with trains, so that three times a day passengers 
can leave New York for this place, or the reverse, and 
make quick connections and good time. This, of course, 
relates to the summer schedule only. The old route via 
North Creek and the stage line, is also in operation. 
So are the lumbermen. 
4 ' 'Tis true, 'tis pity, and 
Pity 'tis, 'tis true." 
Forest and Stream has stood squarely against this 
devastation of the forest. So have most of its corre- 
spondents. If only the people could realize the mis- 
chief that is being done, it would be- stopped, politics 
or no politics, "pull" or "no pull." Let us hope (and 
labor) that realization may not come too late. In this 
matter we need not only "line upon line," but "eternal 
vigilance." 
Deer are said to be abundant and in good condition. 
The winter was favorable to them because of the com- 
paratively short period of heavy and deep snow. Last 
season a well-known and reliable guide had an amusing 
experience while still-hunting. At moderate range he 
shot a doe through the neck with a .33 8 "55- On coming 
up he found the deer down, but not dead, so shot her 
again through the head, but a little low. Then she 
jumped and ran. Then a fine buck, hitherto unseen, 
though close at hand, sprang into sight, ran off a little 
way, turned and came back to short range and stood 
still facing the hunter. Slowly the .38 came to shoulder, 
a bead was carefully drawn, and — click went the 
hammer of an empty rifle. Quick search revealed the 
utter absence of more cartridges, and the buck evi- 
dently enjoyed the situation more than the hunter. If 
the buck did not laugh he had reason to, while the 
guide probably felt like doing something else. He did 
it. Following the wounded doe, he soon found her, and 
as he again ran he pursued, catight and threw her 
down and himself on top of her. This position he had 
no sooner taken than she kicked him off, and when 
he tried it again she proved that she was as good a re- 
peater as he was. She grew stronger with exercise and 
kicked most of his clothing off. Meantime the buck 
thought he would take a hand in the game, and came 
close up with his hair bristling. His aspect was so 
threatening that the guide seized his rifle and clubbing 
it, drove the buck away to a safe distance, and then re- 
turning finished the doe with a knife. The buck came 
back part way and watched the "dressing-out" pro- 
cess. This incident does not prove anything re large 
vs. small calibers, nor does the following experience of 
the writer, but it is given lest the heated discussion of 
that question should cool too suddenly. A few years 
since I shot a small deer with a .30-30. Head and shoul- 
ders were in the bushes and the deer was walking, so 
that a body shot was the only one possible. It was 
quickly taken and the deer as quickly dropped, turning 
almost upon its back, but immediately jumped and ran, 
the bushes hiding it and preventing another shot. It 
was nearly dark and I at once took the trail to secure 
my deer. Going about 200 yards I was close up and 
heard the deer jump up and run, but could not see it. 
Imprudent following cost me the deer. I knew it was 
shot through the body and must succumb. Had I gone 
quietly to "camp and waited till morning, I would un- 
doubtedly have found the deer dead where it laid down 
and where I started it again. 
Was the rifle at fault? No. I have known of deer 
similarly shot with a .44 or a .45 going off and traveling 
a long way. Was "the man behind the gun" at fault? 
Not in the shooting, but in the immediate pursuit. As 
stated, the incident proves nothing re large vs. small 
calibers. Yet, perhaps proves as much as some other 
incidents on which strong statements are based. The 
fact is that often circumstances unstated and perhaps 
unnoted enter into a case and modify it so much as to 
invalidate the argument based upon it. Nevertheless, 
much oi the discussion is good and I hope it will go on 
till the ideal sporting rifle is produced. And I hope it 
will be American — and a Winchester. We shall need it 
when we can hunt elk in the Adirondacks. That is com- 
ing, for the elk have been often seen and are doing well. 
Juvenal. 
Blue Mt. Lake, June 20. 
Second Annual of the Uneasy Club. 
When the Uneasy Club folded its tents last fall and 
the "3 Bs" began to "hike" homeward, it was with the 
understanding that the 1901 meeting should be at a point 
near the South Dakota-Nebraska boundary, where the 
tumbleweed rolls in the October breezes over the sand- 
hills reminding one of the good old days when the 
buffalo roamed those same oceans of grass. 
A wedding, in which "Bob" was an indispensable fig- 
ure, made an excuse for his failure to be on hand for 
this trip, which, of course, we were obliged to honor; 
and a nine-pound boy, an obstacle fully as insurmount- 
able, prevented "Burt" donning his hunting togs for the 
occasion, but the writer, not to be disappointed in his 
annual outing, and not averse to going alone if he had 
no chance to choose his company, wrote the "Whole 
Thing" of the "Never Lead 'Em" society of Omaha- 
on-the-Missouri, for pointers as to prospects and condi- 
tions in the sand hills country, and in due time received 
a reply quoting the Lacey law and the Nebraska game 
.law. which is calculated to make a non-resident "gun- 
shy" when he knows that the conditions there are gen- 
erally favorable for the killing of the maximum number 
of birds allowed by law every day, but under that law 
he is • only permitted to carry home one day's killing. 
That settled it, for it is in the constitution and by- 
laws of the Uneasy Club that as many appreciative 
friends of the club as can be shall be accommodated from 
the bag. Even an invitation to "Come on and join 
our party, and we will feed the Indians on our surplus 
game," was not an inducement, as my acquaintance 
with the noble red man is limited; I might say I have 
not a personal friend among them — unless it be with a 
tribe of "Indians" whb are known to all frequenters 
oi trapshooting tournaments, who adopted me under 
the name of "Scalper," owing to a fondness for shoot- 
ing pigeons out of bounds. With all these_ discourage- 
ments and the never-ending drought and the prospects 
of a lonesome trip, all that was left of the Uneasy Club 
started two weeks earlier than usual for the scenes of 
last year's struggles in Arkansas on the St. . Francis 
River. Arriving at Bertig I found the river a disap- 
pointment, it having succumbed to the prevailing drought 
until there were shallows a canoe could not float over 
where a small steamer sailed a year ago. The waters, 
clear and sparkling as ever, were without their thou- 
sands of bass that ordinarily glide about in the depths, 
they having instinctively gone down stream as the sea- 
son's unusual drought advanced, not to return until high 
water, which will not likely materialize before early 
spring. Aside from the thousands of turtles, which at 
that time had not gone in winter quarters, and a few 
despicable dogfish, the river was deserted. Not so, how- 
ever, with Bagwell's Lake, which under normal condi- 
tions is really a bayou, but at present a series of land- 
locked pools full of hungry bass, crappie, pike and cat- 
fish. The Buffalo Island Hunting and Fishing Club 
was full of the disciples of Izaak Walton, and I must 
confess that I felt a little lonesome among them, for I 
have been at the shrine of Diana since I was big enough 
to follow the dogs or carry a gun. I had, however, 
come prepared to fish if nothing better offered, and as 
everyone was on the jump to get to the lake, I began 
looking up a guide, but found the whole crowd engaged. 
A very polite and jolly old German, whose partner had 
got enough and gone home the evening before, saw my 
evident disappointment and extended me an invitation 
to join him, which I did, and we got along splendidly 
and had a delightful day of it, and what is more, had as 
good a string of bass in the evening as any of the oth- 
ers, although we took it easy, moving about very little 
during the day. 
Packing twenty-three fine bass, my share of the catch, 
in a large minnow tank, they were soon on their way 
to the fellows in the office at home, On whom I depend 
for the verification of my fishing stories. Why they 
never reached their intended destination and how I 
found the empty tank at a junction point ten days later, 
is a story I do not like and one the boys refuse to verify, 
therefore I will not dwell further upon it, for I once 
had a similar experience with two dozen selected mal- 
lards for half as 'many friends, who, when they heard 
my explanation, reminded me that it was the same old 
story in a little different way. 
Just at dusk in came a gentleman and his wife (of 
Chicago), who with the acknowledged best "game" 
guide in Bertig, had been camping in the woods for sev- 
eral days. When they displayed three wild turkeys as 
the result of their trip, I was ready then and there to 
get into my hunting clothes and be off, as I was de- 
termined to bag a turkey this trip or perish in the at- 
tempt — which I nearly did later, on. I also decided I* 
would employ this guide and at least learn a little of 
woodcraft, in which I was sadly deficient, having done 
all my earlier hunting in open country. 
We arranged a trip next day to Gum Island, the 
scene of last year's campaign with deer and turkeys, and 
on the trip up the river it would have been amusing to 
an observer to see us try to draw each other out. The 
guide, a silent, confident native of the "loyal friend and 
dangerous enemy" type of character, seemed intent on 
my showing my ability as a shot before I should be 
taken into his confidence, and I determined to "show 
him" at the first opportunity. This came when a flock 
of mallards settled down ahead of us in the flags, and 
we proceeded to get as close to them as possible by 
pushing the canoe into the flags opposite them. The 
birds were in good cover and we only succeeded in 
flushing them after a series of Indian warwhoops. 
When the}' arose at long range and we brought down 
three of them, the ice was broken, and from that time 
on I got a goodly stock of information, and we were 
quite chummy during the remainder of my stay. He 
told me how, if his instructions were followed, a hunter 
unfamiliar with these vast forests might go where and 
when he pleased and have no fear of being lost — and I 
am inclined to think he is entirely right. 
Pulling in a mile below the landing at Gum Island, 
on the "Overflow" we landed, and were walking where 
a year ago the water would have been knee deep, and 
here among the willows and spyress-knees we found deer 
signs, but the oozy mud and dense growth of saplings 
made hunting next to impossible, so we headed for the 
island proper, separating as we started to meet again in 
the middle of the afternoon. After wandering around 
for an hour or two I heard the report of a gun and the 
yipping of a dog, which thoroughly disgusted me, for 
if anything will start a bunch of turkeys out of the 
country it is the senseless barking of a mongrel pup. 
I thereupon sat down on a log and went to studying the 
birds and squirrels after the manner of a certain popular 
writer, but not so intelligently. Immense flocks of 
blackbirds would swing in from the swamps, settle in 
the tops of the trees and then were away again, and 
small flocks of robins on their way to the sunny South 
would take their place. A beautiful snowbird, the first 
of the kind I had seen for years, seemed to be paying 
me a visit, and he chirped and hopped about from twig 
to twig for a minute or more. Years ago, before the 
English sparrow began to monopolize the streets and 
city trees, these snowbirds were quite common in the 
Mississippi Valley. Next came the most beautiful scarlet 
tanager, which hopped about nearly as long as the snow- 
bird. I am told that he has a song, but he failed to favor 
me, much as I should have liked to hear it. Then came 
a "flicker," his golden wings flashing in the sunlight, 
and a sapsucker, both hammering away and searching 
in the same saucy old way they did when we boys used 
to shoot them from the tops of high dead trees. With 
the same old spirit and anxiety to "soak" the old yel- 
lowhammer. I found myself reaching for my gun and 
"daring him to fly; then it occurred to me that I was not 
killing just then, and the flicker went on hammering 
until I thought his teeth would be loosened, then he 
said something to the sapsucker, and they both flew 
away in that jerky way peculiar to woodpeckers, which 
convinced me that I should have missed if I had shot. 
Then a large shadow moving past made me start, and 
I looked up to see an owl as big as a small turkey fly- 
by and light near me in plain sight. Again I reache.d 
for my gun, but once more restrained myself, thinking 
that if the other birds had interested me, this one, 
noted for his wisdom, might also; and while we stared 
at each other, the thought of the Irishman who called 
the owl "a broad-faced hen," made me laugh, which 
evidently was not reassuring to the owl, for he flapped 
off the limb and was gone in a jiffy. 
I was congratulating myself on the good time I was 
having with the birds in the capacity of visitor instead 
of slayer, when I was startled by the sound back of me 
of the pat-pat-pat of what I thought for an instant surely 
was a turkey, and it brought me back to business with 
