The most difficult question to answer ever puf to the 
hunter of big game is this, "And what did you do with 
the meat?" All through the West an excessively dry 
climate and the general use of pack horses enable the 
sportsman to save the best of his venison, even though 
the latter be that of the largest of bull elk. Throughout 
the Southern States as well, the very nature of the 
country and the methods of hunting often permit or even 
demand the use of horses, but even without them a small 
southern deer, when properly dressed, is no load for an 
able bodied man to pack on his shoulders. The same is 
true in regions where rivers or lakes navigable for 
canoes form natural waterways, and game may be easily 
transported. It is unfortunate, however, that throughout 
so many sections of Canada the carcass of a large animal 
is of necessity, owing to the topography of the country, 
left behind almost entire to be wasted. The head-hunter 
who goes regularly for moose to New Brunswick or 
Quebec, always well stocked with provisions, is usually 
compelled to waste all but a very few pounds of the meat. 
In the former Province I have seen the whitened skele- 
tons of no less than eight bull moose within a radius of 
five miles, and not one bone was missing save the skulls. 
That was in the Clearwater country, near the Little Sou'- 
west Miramichi, some thirty-five miles from the nearest 
house, a region devoid of navigable waterways or even 
fairly respectable tote roads. A carcass as large and 
bulky as that of a moose cannot be dragged thirty or 
forty miles to the settlements unless on a hard snow 
crust; but anyway, a majority of the animals annually 
killed by sportsmen in eastern Canada are shot during 
the calling season in the early autumn, when their flesh 
is often strongly tainted by the rut. Calling a moose to 
his death, decoying him within range during the mating 
season, is hardly a method which a sportsman would 
care to exploit; and although once very popular among 
hunters, at the present time public sentiment is exerting 
a powerful influence against such practices. Maine and 
Ontario have taken the lead by passing legislative enact-, 
ments which defer the open season on moose until after 
the rut, and it is to be hoped that soon Quebec, Nova 
Scotia, and New Brunswick will adopt a similar policy. 
Probably half the caribou killed in Newfoundland by non- 
residents, especially where several sportsmen hunt in one 
party, remain practically untouched save for the heads. 
Along the larger waterways and at Grand, Terra Nova, 
and other lakes in close proximity to the railroad, most 
of the meat may be transported by means of dories, but 
in a region of small brooks and scattered ponds it cannot 
be saved unless smoked or salted down. The flesh of a 
large stag when properly boned and dried loses many 
pounds in weight and becomes, in such a condition, no 
more than a good load for a man; or else it may be 
cached in a small hut, where it will keep indefinitely. 
There are few natives in the colony who would not be 
glad of a chance to travel twenty or thirty, or even forty 
miles over the hard snow crust for a few hundred weight 
of well preserved venison. During the early autumn of 
1901, when hunting with Mr. Nevin Sayre on the north 
branch of the Terra Nova, Mr. Sayre employed an extra 
packer solely for the purpose of making three trips back 
to the railroad, and each time his dory was well freighted 
with fat quarters. A week later, after leaving the river 
and traveling some fifteen miles across the barrens to 
Island Pond, we met an Englishman, whose name is un- 
fortunately forgotten or it would be published in this 
narrative. By reason of some underhanded juggling" or 
political preferment, this man held two licenses allowing 
him to shoot six stags. What was done with a ton of 
good meat may be easily surmised ; perhaps he ate it all. 
European methods of slaughtering game en masse have 
fortunately never found favor in the; eyes of American 
sportsmen, but even in England, where eighty or a hun- 
dred brace of pheasants are no unusual bag for a day, 
or in Germany, where a few dozen wild boars make fat 
a moderate score for the royal party, it is to their credit 
to say that not a pound of meat is lost," and no wasteful 
methods are tolerated. The efficient protection which 
wild game enjoys in many of our States to-day is due 
primarily to sportsmen's efforts; and during the last few 
years public sentiment has branded the wasteful destruc- 
tion of our animals as being totally repugnant to sports- 
men's ethics. That old, oft-repeated maxim is still as 
cogent and powerful as ever, "Anyone can kill game 
where it is abundant, but it takes a gentleman to know 
when he has enough." 
That evening as we lay upon the fragrant balsam 
boughs watching the sparks as they soared aloft, a strange 
fancy suddenly seized the elder of the two men, usually 
so silent, and for hours I listened to stories of the woods 
— stories of long ago before the "sporters"' advent in 
Newfoundland; reminiscences of the bygone days of his 
boyhood, when, with old Indian Christopher, he trapped 
beaver in the very pond before us. Those^ were the times 
when fur was cheap, and it was a poor winter when they 
did not bring back a hundred good pelts. He told me 
tales of the otter and marten and "lucifee," and of the 
wolves. How one night when snowed in among the 
Annieopsquoltch Mountains the wolves robbed him of his 
pelts, and how he traveled back home alone and empty- 
handed, a hundred miles over the frozen wastes; tales of 
terrible hardship and suffering when, hunting the harp 
seals, he struggled among the ice floes off the Labrador 
coast. The man who berths with a "seyile" ship lives 
long in a few weeks, and he knows what it means to see 
grim death staring at him from every side. He told me 
of the rare skin of the black fox; how he had hunted 
him for years in vain; how he had followed him without 
success, and how, one bright autumn day, he found him 
at last, dead in his trap. That was Jim's lucky day, and 
a happy winter followed in the little hut down by the 
ocean. But another time the single chance of a lifelong 
quest was lost, when two priceless silver foxes stared at 
him not ten yards away— and the gun missed fire. 
Yes, that night the silent old man talked with a strange, 
profound emotion. He questioned me concerning life in 
the great land far away to the southward of England 
and Europe, and the wild beasts of the African jungles. 
Notions vague and uncertain were his. I must send on 
pictures of the lion, the giraffe, and the monster pachy- 
derm, so that he could see them, show them to his friends, 
and then pin them upon the walls of his kitchen. I told 
him of the mighty moose which roamed the northern 
forests of the continent, of the cougar and wapiti, and 
many old tales of the days of the Indians and bison — tales 
rapidly changing to traditions. The bleak hills of New- 
F O RE ST AND STREAM; 
foundland were left far behind, and we now wandered 
along the banks of the Mississippi. We scaled the high 
peaks of the Sierras ; we peered over the brink of 
Niagara, and camped far down in the Grand Canon of 
the Colorado. And through it all the old man listened 
in astonishment and wonder. He was traveling through 
strange lands and seeing new scenes ; but to him it was 
all "as through a glass darkly." He wanted to learn, 
but to learn he had never had the chance. All those 
things which combine to make up our highly organized 
civilization were things apart from his life; they bewil- 
dered that simple mind. The "toot" of a locomotive he 
had never heard until past fifty; cities, schools, hotels, 
and paved streets existed only in his imagination, and 
during a long life of toil he had never contemplated the 
possible existence of such a thing as a place of amuse- 
ment — a place where the people laugh and forget — a 
theatre. Living close to nature's heart, he has never 
breathed the enervating atmosphere of society, nor has he 
missed it. His wants are simple and his needs are few. 
A pipe and a cup of tea are luxuries ; but he owns a gun 
and some dogs, a hut, two dories, and a family of hungry 
children — nothing more ; yet despite it all, no happier 
man lives in the world to-day. "What are dem bright 
little streaks up dere?" queried the old man, pointing at 
the same time to a pale glow in the heavens. And I 
looked up, and there, over the tops of far off mountains, 
I beheld the glorious aurora, the midnight sun of the 
northland, as it shot its brilliant gleams of red and yellow 
and blue like fiery daggers piercing the blackness of the 
wilderness night. 
That was the last evening spent at Sand Pond, for 
early on the morrow we turned back homeward bound. 
Summer had passed, and the brood of young geese on 
Joe's Neck were gone; so too, were the pipits and shell- 
drakes, the warblers and kingfishers; but jays and 
ptarmigan were still there, and the old beaver, silent, shy, 
industrious as ever, was still busily engaged as we left 
the pond. 
On the second day, when traversing the shore of 
Andrew's Pond, I experienced vague feelings of disap- 
pointment and chagrin as we tramped the familiar sandy 
beach at its lower end and again forded the shallow water 
of the outlet. We crossed Bear Brook, boiled the kettle 
at the edge of Gull Pond, and skirted the big barren at 
the foot of Big Ridge. At the falls four full grown gos- 
hawks now circled screaming over the cliffs, the young, 
fully fledged, apparently as powerful as their parents. 
I peered over the boulder for a last look down into the 
pool below. Yes, there they were, still on the spawning 
grounds, barrels of salmon. And there I left them. 
Two days later we stood again on the railroad trestle 
and looked back over the country which had been our 
home — thirty thousand square miles of vast, unbroken 
desolation. Dim and indistinct it seemed, and our little 
pond was hidden by hills too distant for the power of the 
eye to discern. 
Truly it is a strangely wonderful land; a land of little 
value figured in dollars and cents, but one peculiar in its 
fantastic fascinations; a region in which cities will never 
stand, yet one that we search out in place of the city ; a 
country which bears the charm of the solitudes, of end- 
less marshes and unknown lakes, where the beaver still 
builds his dams and wild geese nest free and unmolested 
as a hundred years ago. But a region of broader "leads" 
and trails well blazed stretched out before me. The 
train rattled around the curve, and a moment later drew 
up by the trestle. I shook the hands of my simple, faith- 
ful friends of the summer, stepped aboard, and as the lo- 
comotive started up speed, William waved his battered 
cap as a final adieu, and cheerily called back, "You have 
great pleasure in Newfoundland?" 
Yes. Go again I must — back to the old scenes and 
places. But after it is all over, and the wheels are turn- 
ing rapidly toward home, when the roar of the falls is 
but a murmur, and the whisperings of the wilderness are 
but vague and distant memories, yes, after all, it is not so 
much what the sportsman brings back in his game-bag 
that counts, but what he brings back in his heart. 
Wm. Arthur Babson. 
Some Old Guns. 
Erie, Pa. — In the museum attached to the public library 
are a number of cases filled with old guns, swords, and 
out-of-date pistols, which I never get tired of examining. 
A new specimen was added last week by a gentleman 
of Erie county. It is probably one of the first attempts at 
making a revolving rifle ; though it is not the first breech- 
loader, for Hall's carbine is older than this is, I think. 
The maker's name on it is "P. W. Potter, New York, 
1851." A wheel, or solid cylinder, three inches in diameter 
and half an inch thick is set in the breech just in rear of 
the barrel. A lever much the same as those that are 
used in our rifles now, serves to revolve the wheel, and at 
equal distances on the face of the wheel all the way 
around it are holes to hold the cartridges, nine of them in 
all. The caliber is about .40. 
What we used to call combustible paper cartridges 
were, Lthink, used in this gun; the paper on these did not 
need to be torn; it' was treated with some chemical that 
caused it to ignite as quickly as the powder would. Com- 
mon gun caps were used in this gun. They were placed in 
a small round case that lies close against the wheel on 
its right-hand side. The hammer is on the outside of this 
case also, and not on top ; it strikes the case sideways, the 
firing point going through small holes in the case that are 
opposite the holes that hold the cartridges in the wheel. 
A short ramrod is fitted on top of the barrel just where 
the rear sight should be, but a simple movement will 
throw open the case at the side, the part of it that holds 
the caps swinging back against the stock. Then the empty 
wheel can be taken off and a full one put in its place; 
several wheels were furnished with each gun for that pur- 
pose. The empty case could be easily reloaded without 
taking it off. This is what the ramrod is here for ; but it 
seems to be very much in the way when sighting the gun. 
I should remove it and replace it with a sight. The gun 
has a heavy octagon barrel, about 36 inches in length, and 
it cost when new $150 in New York. 
The history of it as given is that it was bought soon 
after being first brought out by a gentleman named Alli- 
son, who took it west with him, going first to Chicago, 
which at that time was pretty near the frontier. He shot 
[Aug. 13, 1954. 
deer and other large game on the way there, and after- 
wards hunted with it through Michigan. 
The curator of the museum called my attention to an- 
other old gun, but I told him that this, one was no 
curiosity to me. I had used one like it nearly fifty years 
ago. It was an old style Colt's revolving rifle, one of the 
first they made ; and when it and this wheel gun were 
placed side by side, it would be hard to tell which of them 
to choose for every day use now. I would rather have 
a Marlin, I think; that is, I would if I had any Indians 
to fight. Both of these guns look to be really out of place 
now, but then the old flint-locks that hang alongside of 
them were as much out of date when these came out as 
are these guns now. 
While on the subject of old guns, memory carries me 
back to two of them that used to hang on deer horns 
above my grandfather's fire-place at home. One was a 
bell muzzle Queen's arm which had been carried by his 
father, then a boy of 16, in the last Stuart Rebellion in 
England in 1714. This boy's father commanded Prince 
Charlie's army in that affair, and for having done so 
lost his head later on in the Tower of London; while the 
boy, who was probably thought to be too young to be 
beheaded, was sent to Virginia and told to stay there. He 
did, but they might as well have let him stay at home, 
for his son, my grandfather, carried this other gun, a rifle 
not quite as long as a fence rail, but nearly as long, in the 
next rebellion against England in 1776, and used it in the 
battles that were fought around New York and at King's 
Mountain and the siege of Yorktown. 
How a boy not much over 15 — that was his age when 
his father sent him to fight King George — could carry this 
gun, much less use it, was always a wonder to me. When 
I was the same age I could not handle it without resting it 
on top of a fence ; that is how I used to manage it when 
by any chance I could get hold of it. 
The old gentleman was out again in 1812, but he left 
the rifle at home at that time ; he had a company in the 
Virginia Line. 
Only one of his sons got into the next war — the war 
with Mexico; but in the next one, the Rebellion, he was 
better represented, fourteen of us, his grandsons (three 
pair of us were brothers), were in the Union Army, and 
he had several more grandsons who "fit agin us" on the 
other side. Cabia Blanco. 
Trails of the Pathfinders —XIV. 
(Continued from j>age 109 ) 
Zebulon M. Pike.— II. 
On his return to St. Louis, after nearly nine months of 
the hardest possible work in the north, Pike was allowed 
but a short rest. Two months and a half later he set 
out on his wsetern journey, which was to last a year, and 
during which he was to meet with vicissitudes, which no 
one could have foreseen. It is not strange that he should 
have been chosen for the work of exploration in the 
southwest, which had for its object the investigation of 
the heads of the rivers flowing through the newly ac- 
quired Louisiana, making acquaintance with the Indians 
inhabiting the region, and putting an end to the constant 
wars between the different tribes. The good results 
achieved along the Mississippi had proved his especial 
fitness for similar work in other portions of the new 
domain of the United States, and was reason enough for 
giving Pike the command of this expedition. But it is 
altogether possible that General Wilkinson, then the com- 
manding officer stationed at St. Louis, in charge of the 
whole western country, may have had an ulterior object 
in sending Pike to investigate the Spanish boundaries of 
the southwest. It has been more than suspected that in 
some way Wilkinson was mixed up with the Aaron Burr 
conspiracy. Whether he was so or not, the Spanish 
authorities of Mexico believed that he was, and believed 
that the expedition led by Pike, of which they were in- 
formed well in advance, was connected with this con- 
spiracy, and had for its object the acquiring of informa- 
tion detrimental to Spanish interests. 
At all events the Spaniards had made every preparation 
to meet Pike, and to capture his party; while Pike him- 
self was intent only on carrying out his instructions to 
explore the heads of these western rivers, and was 
ignorant of the existence of Burr's conspiracy. While 
wintering in the mountains, Pike was taken by the 
Spaniards and conducted to Chihuahua, and thence 
through Mexico and Texas brought to the then south- 
western boundary of the United States, and there left. 
On July 15, 1806, Pike sailed from St. Louis up the 
Missouri River. With him were a lieutenant, a surgeon 
— Dr. Robinson — one sergeant, two corporals, sixteen pri- 
vates, and one interpreter — twenty-one soldiers and ..two 
civilians — or twenty-three in all. Several of the party 
had been with Pike in the north. There were fifty-one 
Indians who had been redeemed from captivity among 
the Pottawatomies, and were now to be returned to the 
Osage and Pawnee tribes, to which they belonged. Two 
days after leaving St. Louis the party stopped at Mr. 
Morrison's, and there met a young man named George 
Henry, who wanted to go west, and after a little time 
was engaged to accompany the party. He was a good 
French scholar, and spoke some Spanish. 
Progress with the boats, which were rowed up the 
stream, was of course slow, and Lieut. Wilkinson and 
Dr. Robinson, with the Indians, marched across the 
country, while the boats toilfully pulled up the river. 
They killed some game, chiefly deer and turkeys. The 
Indians had a season of mourning each day about day- 
light, the crying, continuing^ for about an hour. The in- 
terpreter told Pike that this was the custom, not only 
with those who had recently lost their relatives, but also 
with others who recalled to mind the loss of some friend, 
dead long since, and joined the other mourners purely 
from sympathy. They appeared : extremely affected ; 
tears ran down their cheeks, and they sobbed bitterly; 
but in a moment they would dry their cheeks and cease 
their cries. Their songs of grief ran: "My. dear father 
exists no longer; have pity on me, O Great Spirit! You 
see I cry forever; dry my tears and give me comfort." 
The warriors' songs were: "Our enemies have slain my 
father [or mother] ; he is lost to me and his family; I 
pray to you, O Master of Life, to preserve me until I 
avenge his death, and then do with me as thou wilt." 
On the 28th of July the party reached die mouth of the 
