196 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. 3, 1904, 
Days in Cherry County. 
Wymore, Nebraska — Editor Forest and Stream: When 
the hot weather is over and the leaves begin to turn, the 
business man in city or town, as a rule, renews his efforts 
in the mad race for place or pelf, but not so with all. 
There are a few in every community whose ancestors 
were mighty hunters in their day, and upon whom 
heredity exerts an influence which inclines them toward 
the fields and lakes, where grouse and ducks are likely 
to be found. These few still feel, or hear, the "call of 
the wild" or of the "red gods," and they must go. 
They seem to have no disposition to renew their efforts 
in a business way, but wander aimlessly about, and some- 
times they meet and talk about shooting, discuss the 
qualities of the various makes of smokeless powders, 
guns, etc., and tell and listen to stories of the good old 
days when all kinds of game was plentiful, and could 
be found in an hour's walk from home. And when one 
old and grizzly veteran tells of shooting twenty great 
big Canada geese from behind one corn shock, and 
describes how he could have killed a hundred just as 
easy, but, being no hog, he picked up his twenty geese 
and his old muzzleloader and walked home, they do not 
stop to figure up how much those geese would weigh, or 
what a task it would be for an ordinary man to carry 
250 pounds of goose in one hand and his gun in the 
other ; but they begin to talk about where they can go to 
find good shooting, and at last two or three of them get 
together and begin to arrange to go somewhere. Thus it 
happened that on the 27th day of September, 1903, Tom 
and Lake and I held a meeting to make our final arrange- 
ments, and to decide on the place to go, and what to take 
along. What to take along was easy — our guns and shells 
— but where to go was the question. Finally Tom, who 
seldom gets an outing, said he wanted a place where he 
could turn around with the hay ladders on and not feel 
cramped; so at last we decided on Cherry county. 
Cherry county is the largest county in Nebraska. If 
you could set the State of Connecticut down in the center 
of Cherry county, you would still have more than a thous- 
and square miles left around the edges to play in. It has 
a population of about one to the square mile, and they are 
nearly all along the Elkhorn Railroad in the eastern and 
northern edges of the county; so we decided to go to the 
southwestern part. 
On Monday, the 28th, we boarded a Burlington train 
at two o'clock in the afternoon, changed cars at Lincoln, 
and at seven o'clock Tuesday morning we arrived at 
Mullen, the county seat of Hooker county, and here we 
rested for a day, and prepared for our long drive to Pull- 
man in Cherry county. 
The open season on grouse did not begin until Thurs- 
day, October 1, but in talking to the people, we found that 
no one paid any attention to the game laws in that part 
of the State, except as to its provisions in regard to hunt- 
ing for the market, and shipping to market, and that they 
had been shooting grouse since the middle of July; in 
fact, about all their shooting had been done in July and 
August, and nearly all the hunters that we talked to said 
that they had not been out for three or four weeks, but 
that there were oceans of chickens in July and August. 
But we found that the game law had stopped the market- 
hunting, and that no grouse were being shipped, as had 
been the custom before the passage of the present game 
law; and we were also told by nearly all the old settlers 
in Cherry county that the grouse had increased very fast 
since the market-hunting had been stopped. 
On Wednesday morning we started in a two-horse 
spring wagon on our long drive to Pullman, forty miles 
northwest. 
The county attorney at Mullen telephoned to the house 
on the 101 ranch, twenty-two miles from Mullen, that 
we were coming, and would be there for dinner. It was a 
little over twenty miles from the front gate on this ranch 
up to the house; the roads were very sandy, and the 
traveling very slow; but it was open season on prairie 
dogs, and we whiled away the time very pleasantly, as we 
struck a dog town every two or three miles, and some- 
times one town ran into the next one, and we were kept 
busy, only shooting at such dogs as barked at us, until 
at about two o'clock we arrived at the ranch house and 
had our dinner. 
The superintendent of this ranch was a young English- 
man. He wore a suit of white duck, with boots the top 
of which came above the knees, and he had spurs on his 
feet. He got us badly mixed up, and called our hired 
driver "Judge," and asked me how the livery business 
was in Mullen ; then he rolled a cigarette for himself, and 
offered to roll one for each of us, but this was too small a 
vice for any of our party, except the driver. 
After dinner and a good rest, we started on, and about 
dark drove through a gate, and were out of the 101 ranch 
and back in the United States again, and hurrying on, we 
arrived at Pullman at about ten o'clock. We found, the 
town to consist of one store building and two dwellings, 
to one of which belonged a bunk house, and of this we 
took possession at once. 
The proprietor told us that if we wanted grouse, to get 
up at five o'clock in the morning and walk over the big 
sand-hill south of the house, and we would have all we 
wanted before we got to the top of the hill. So at day- 
break we were out,, and promising to be back at seven for 
breakfast, started on our long climb. We reached the top 
of the hill in two hours, but nary grouse did we have. 
Of course we saw plenty of grouse, but did you ever try 
to shoot a grouse when you were out of wind? It takes 
wind to kill grouse. Have you ever been ■ in Cherry- 
county? Have you climbed the mighty sand-hill, with the 
raw, right-angled blow-out at the top? 
Did you ever try to climb a sand-hill, where you slipped 
back a foot and a half for every foot you traveled? If 
not, you have missed something ; and if you have, you will 
understand what I mean when I say it takes wind to kill 
a grouse. It was ten o'clock when we got back to break- 
fast, and we decided to do all our hunting in the future 
after breakfast. 
When we got back to the house, we did not see any- 
thing of the proprietor until after we had breakfast and a 
good rest, and it was a good thing for him that we did 
not see him when we first got back, as Tom has several 
times intimated that he felt as though he had never con- 
tributed his full share to the school fund of the State. 
But he showed up after breakfast looking as pleasant as 
a basket of chips, and seemed very much surprised to find 
that we had brought in no game. 
The sand-hills of that part of Cherry country run in 
ranges east and west, and between the ranges of sand- 
hills are pretty little valleys of half a mile to three miles 
in width, and in these valleys are lakes of all sizes, from 
those covering a half acre, to those covering a thousand 
acres. While we were resting in the morning on top of 
that sand-hill, we had noticed a couple of lakes south of 
us, around which the ducks were flying in clouds ; so after 
we had somewhat recovered from the effects of our morn- 
ing's climb, we had the team hitched up, and drove to 
the lakes. Just as we alighted from the wagon, a little 
bunch of teal went over us, and I managed to get four of 
them. The lakes were covered with ducks ; there were 
millions of them ; every seat was taken, but how to get 
them was a question. The lakes were surrounded with 
rushes, and we could not wade through them, nor shoot 
over them. The mud was bottomless, and the depth to 
which one would sink depended solely on the length of 
time he remained in one place. It was really very danger- 
ous to try to wade even around the edge. We could do 
nothing without a boat, so we went back to the house and 
had our dinner, and then drove to Twin Lakes. 
One of these lakes covered about a section of land, and 
the other looked much larger, and they were connected by 
a ligament of water about three rods wide. There was 
plenty of water, with countless numbers of ducks, but 
mud — it was simply frightful. We could not retrieve what 
we shot, and after a hard afternoon's work had only 
fourteen ducks, although we had killed many more that 
we could not get, and not wishing to destroy game that 
we could not use, we desisted and went back to the house. 
In the morning, Tom and Lake decided to go back to 
Twin Lakes, as they had heard of an old boat that might 
be had, and I decided to try for a few jack snipe around 
some of the swamps. 
I walked several miles and killed nine snipe, of which 
I retrieved only three, but could not get the rest because 
they invariably flew toward the swamp and fell into it, 
where the mud could not be waded, so I went back to the 
house and went to sleep. 
When I awoke it was about one o'clock, and I hurried 
to my dinner, and found that my companions had been 
there before me. After dinner I walked out to the store 
and inquired for the boys, and was told that they were 
gone. Gone where? Why, gone home with old Pap Tie, 
an old market-hunter, who had taken pity on them, and 
taken them home with him, and promised to find and 
shoot for them all the grouse they wanted ; and I was left 
behind. It seemed, from the story that was told to me, 
that the boys had come in from Twin Lakes pretty much 
disgusted, and had about decided to start for home, when 
they ran across old Pap, and for a consideration he had 
agreed to take them home with him, and shoot the birds 
for them, and show them how to hunt grouse; and that I 
had been mentioned, but there was only room for the 
boys, the old man, and our driver; so they had decided 
to go without me, and if the shooting proved good, to 
send back for me. But on going back to the bunk house 
I found that they had taken half of my shells and part of 
my clothes, so I did not look for them back very soon, 
and had to shift for myself. 
On going back to the store I met, and was introduced 
to, a gray-whiskered gentleman who had come in to tele- 
phone to the railroad for some cars in which to ship a lot 
of cattle, but not being able to get the cars for another 
week, he had plenty of time to talk, and we soon got on 
good terms, and he invited me to go home with him for 
a few days. I at once accepted. He had a fine ranch a 
few miles up the valley, a double sod house, sheds, barns, 
about a thousand head of black Galloway cattle, and some 
of the finest horses I ever saw. His name was S. E. Stil- 
son, and he was called 'Squire. His son Will was with 
him, driving a fine team of horses to a two-seated spring 
wagon, and after a few minutes' preparation we were off 
for the Stilson ranch, where we arrived at about four 
o'clock, and it was decided that we would take a little 
hunt before supper. One seat was taken out of the wagon 
and a keg of water put in, and we were ready. The 
'Squire's other son, Sam, mounted a horse, took a Win- 
chester repeater, and rode alongside the wagon ; Will did 
the driving. The 'Squire had an old 10-gauge Parker that 
had seen service for over thirty years. It had the old 
lifter action and hammers, but it had shooting ability 
that was surprising. We drove to the top of the sand 
ridge north of the house, and when the 'Squire's dog 
pointed, he and I got out; Sam sat upon his horse, and 
Will took care of the team. A grouse got up away to my 
right, and went squarely across in front of me. No one 
else offered to shoot, so I pulled up, and holding about 
three feet ahead of him, I "lammed 'er loose," and made 
a clean miss. The 'Squire had a way of talking to game 
before he killed it, and he said, "Hold on there, my 
beauty." His Parker spoke, and down came the grouse. 
Then the 'Squire said to me, "Don't mind my doing that; 
we are getting these grouse for you," and, "You held too 
far ahead, with that smokeless powder; it's awful quick." 
I explained that I had been shooting at the trap, and that 
it spoiled one for shooting in the field. I asked the 'Squire 
where he would have held on that grouse, and he said, 
"Right on the point of his bill." 
Well, I soon learned not to hold so far ahead, and got 
one once in a while, but that shot has always reminded me 
of a picture I once saw in a sporting paper. It was at 
the time that there was so much discussion going on in 
the papers about holding on and holding ahead. The pic- 
ture was of two city eludes, all rigged up for hunting, 
with fine guns, game-bags, dogs, etc., but no game. The 
other figure in the picture was of an old negro man, with 
an old musket, and he was loaded down with ducks. One 
of the city dudes asks the eld negro if he held on or 
ahead, and the old negro replies, "Mostly boss, mostly; 
when I gits 'em, I holds on." 
We then moved up a little to where the dog was wait- 
ing for us, and the chickens began to get up all around 
us, in pairs, in bunches, and in droves. Sam worked that 
pump six times, and had six grouse. I did not notice the 
'Squire miss any, and my own gun got hot. It sounded 
like a Fourth of July. Sam did not seem to lose any time 
in reloading, but kept that old corn sheller going, and 
the grouse fell like hail. When they quit getting up, his 
horse galloped a quarter of a mile and stopped where he 
had marked down a couple that had got away, and up 
they went, and down they came. That was the first timer 
I had ever seen a horse point game in the field. Then we 
counted up ; we had forty-six grouse, and I had killed all 
of them but forty. We drove back to the house, where I 
met Mrs. Stilson, and we sat down to one of the nicest 
suppers I ever ate in my life. I will not try to describe 
the bill of fare, but may say that among other things we 
had six fried grouse. These had been killed two or three 
days and kept in cold storage, and were fried to perfec- 
tion, and served as daintily as it could be done in the 
finest home in the land. 
After supper we went out to take care of our game 
and feed the dogs. I had noticed a number of hounds, 
and wondered what they were kept for. They were the 
greyhound crossed with the staghound, and were from 
one-eighth to one-half staghound, and I will tell you a 
little later what they were kept for, but must now tell you 
how they were fed. Will brought up forty-six grouse in 
a couple of grain sacks ; the dogs were all let loose, and 
surrounded him; then, taking a grouse, he held it up in 
his left hand, with the tail pointing up, the breast toward 
him; then with the fingers of his right hand he broke the 
skin and drew out the entrails ; these, he threw to the dog 
that he had selected to be first fed; and as he threw the 
feed to the dog, he jerked his hand back out of reach, 
and at least a hundred yards away you could hear the 
snap of the hound's teeth as he closed upon this mouthful. 
The whole forty-six grouse were pulled in the same way, 
and the entrails fed to the hounds. Then they were given 
some corn-meal mush cooked on purpose for them, and 
that constituted their supper. 
After the grouse were. all cleaned in the way described, 
they were tied in bunches of six or seven each and hung 
upon the platform of the wind-mill, about thirty feet from 
the ground, and left to cool until morning, when they 
were taken down before sunrise and laid upon their backs 
on the ground floor of a large and deep cave, where, Mr. 
Stilson said, they could be kept for weeks, even in warm 
weather. 
That night I slept on a feather bed made from the down 
plucked from wild geese, and on the floor of my room 
was a rug made from the skins of sixteen coyotes, and 
at breakfast we had more fried grouse. 
On Saturday morning it was stormy and very wet, so 
it was planned that we would have a coyote hunt on 
horseback, and let the dogs have a little exercise. I was 
mounted upon a big bay horse that Sam had ridden when 
shooting chickens the evening before, and Sam was left 
at home. The 'Squire and Will were mounted, each on 
his favorite horse. Will was the owner of the dogs, and 
was the coyote killer. But four of the dogs were let loose. 
They were Old Boxer, the oldest one of the bunch, about 
half staghound, and large and powerful; Whitie, an old 
bitch, about a quarter staghound, a powerful runner and 
terrible fighter; the other two were young dogs, and need 
not be further described. A ride of half an hour took us 
over the sand ridge. As we descended the slope, the dogs 
were let loose, and, after playing around a few minutes, 
they settled down to business, and we galloped along be- 
hind, but well spread out, Will on the extreme right, the 
'Squire on the left, and I in the center field. Then came 
a yell from Will, and my horse jumped so far and was 
so long in coming down to the ground again, that I lost 
my hat, and could do nothing but hold on for the next 
quarter of a mile, when my horse stopped, and was stand- 
ing over the dogs watching the fight. We had started 
three coyotes, two young ones and one old one. Three 
coyotes in half an hour, two of which would weigh thirty 
pounds and the other one near forty oounds, were the 
results of the chase, and we thought it a pretty good 
record. 
Now, for fear that I have not sufficiently impressed 
Forest and Stream readers with the vastness of Cherry 
county and the importance of the coyote industry, I quote 
from a letter received from 'Squire Stilson, written 
March 14 last, as follows: "In December I made a trip to 
Valentine, 180 miles (round trip) through the sand; a 
trip to Merryman, 104 miles, and several trips to the rail- 
road. My hunting has nearly all been after coyotes, and 
I have caught 51 this winter, or rather the dogs have. 
Will started this morning for a few days' hunt, and I 
know he will catch a few, sure." 
After our coyote hunt we returned to the house for 
dinner, and had a grouse potpie; not one of the boiled 
dough kind, but baked, and it was so good that I was not 
able to hunt any mere that day. We stayed in the house 
and had a nice visit, while the 'Squire told me of many of 
his hunts and rare experiences during his third of a cen- 
