Oct. is, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
828 
"A beaut." 
"And you killed him dead, too — must have centered 
him?" 
There was a sudden mighty uprising of ducks far 
down the lake just at this juncture, and as the air kept 
filling with interlacing streams, three quick faint reports 
came to us on the soft evening air. 
"Ho, ho! We're going to have company. I thought 
I saw a wagon crawling down the north side of the 
hills a few moments ago, and I shouldn't wonder but 
it is the Judge and Charlie. But, get ready; they are 
coming our way this time good and plenty." 
And so they were. 
And it was as grand a flight as I had seen in years, 
and my blood tingles now as I recall the glories of the 
next half hour. It was a veritable cloud of ducks, can- 
vasbacks, redheads, mallard, teal, widgeon, bluebill, 
butterball and ruddy, with wisps of jacksnipe, scattering 
yellowlegs and here and there a snowy avocet. 
This advance guard, however, showed no inclination 
to decoy. They were evidently bound for other dig- 
gings and -realizing this, the Kid and I made up our 
minds to g-et a little sport out of it anywav. And we 
began to pour it into them. Our first fusilade filled the air 
with flying feathers, and sent one old russet-hooded 
canvas sagging earthward off over the reeds, but that 
was all. 
"Too high," I said. 
Bang! bang-! bang! High or low, we were there for 
a purpose and that was to shoot. We had plenty of 
shells and were really indifferent whether we killed many 
more birds or not. Now and then we would get one 
down, but they were generally only crippled and we 
finally agreed to wait until they came within fair range, 
and settling back, we idly watched the feathered hosts 
high in the air, hurrying by. 
And a wild and wondrous scene it was, and one 
that I have often pictured before and one I expect to 
photograph many times in the future, for next to 'shoot- 
ing ducks and viewing the scenes surrounding, p , love 
best to tell about them. I have seen many flights of 
ducks at Currituck and along the famous Atlantic sea- 
board haunts in the old days, on the Kankakee and the 
Illinois, but none that equals those I have witnessed 
regularly every fall and spring for fifteen years in our 
desolate but majestic sandhills. Incredible, indeed, are 
the myriads of water fowl that swarm these sand-bound 
lakes and marshes at nightfall in the seasons of mi- 
gration. 
All at once, after the first big issue of birds from 
down the lake had passed over us, high in the air, and 
receded into faint lines in the hazy south, Gerard and 
I found ourselves the converging point of innumerable 
birds. Nerves that felt only a slight tremor at the 
incoming- of a single flock now fairly quaked beneath 
the storm that seemed to break away from every point 
of the compass. Bunches, lines and strings of feathered 
rockets rushed toward us at different rates of speed, 
even the slowest fearfully fast. There we stood plug- 
ging away at them with all the eagerness of a couple 
of. novices who had never seen a flying duck, and the 
consequence was that we were doing little execution. 
But we didn't care. We had already accumulated 
enough to make as creditable a showing as had yet been 
made, and we were simply enjoying ourselves. And we 
shot till our heads ached; and as flock after flock 
swooped by unscathed, we registered countless vows 
on high to hold a rod or two ahead of the next bunch, 
only to cut loose again and again far behind the 
whizzing birds. 
By this time we hardly made any pretext at hiding. 
Gerard stood in his end of the boat and I in mine, and 
if the birds wanted to come we let them come, and if 
they didn't, ditto. 
Wondrous evening! 
On the sky the light of the dying day was shattered 
into countless tints, with everything above the rush 
line in clear and distinct silhouette, while over all be- 
low lay a misty blue haze that but intensified the bril- 
liant colors in the over-arching dome. From the sunken 
sun a delicate rose light radiated to the meridian, while 
the Upper heavens to the east merged into pale gold and 
purplish black, fringed with green. North and south 
the cerulean of the skies shaded into delicate olive tints, 
shifting into orange immediately overhead. Lower 
down, toward the dropping orb, towered'castles of rich 
umber, steepled and spired with crimson fire, while 
under these rolled waves of coppery gold and fleecy 
streams of pearl and lemon-colored vapor. Over the 
glittering stage we watched the pouring of a troupe of 
actors that made the usual scenes of the kind at evening 
in other localities a show of the Lilliputs. 
The ducks were now coming in to roost, and they 
seemed to come up out of the horizon, from the burn- 
ing clouds and with a rushing, tearing sound, like the 
sudden burst' of escaping steam, whirling through the 
darkening- air as if they would rend the very earth in 
their descent. But you old wildfowlers have all seen 
the birds coming in at this chilly and uncertain hour, 
and you know what it is. Down they swoop out of the 
maw of the night. Dense masses of bluebills and black- 
jacks with wings set in rigid curves, come shooting 
swiftly by, while long lines of mallards wound out of 
the depths, their stiffened wings making the air hiss 
beneath them. On long inclines and sweeping curves 
pintails and widgeon rode down the gloomy air, while, 
speedy and accurate as minie balls, blue and green- 
wing teal pitched from the now glowing zenith, while 
ruddies, mergansers and butterballs shot by in volleys. 
High up, so high we could hardly trace the outlines 
of their bulky bodies, but plainly hear the sonorous 
auh-unk! auh-unk! as it fell from their black bills, 
Canada geese trooped by, while the speckled fronts and 
white geese filled the air with their clamorous cackle. 
Hundreds of flocks, traveling from the arctics, swept by 
with unslacked speed. Black in the falling night, the 
chestnut helmet of the canvasback and the emerald 
coiffure of the mallard were' outstretched for the tow- 
heads of the distant Platte, and no inducement, unless 
it was a good load of No. 6s, was sufficient to stop them. 
Darkly outlined against the topaz sky was the forked 
tail of the sprig, steering for more salubrious climes, 
dropping as they went their farewell plaintive cry. 
Far, far above all these, still bathed in the warm, bright 
glow of the sunken sun, floating southward, soft as bits 
of gossamer, a long line of sandhill cranes, sending 
earthward through miles of darkening space their 
strangely penetrating bugle calls. 
And what a time we did have in gathering our dead 
that night. Gerard and I had been so engrossed with 
the wonders of the evening flight that we never thought 
of retrieving until the hoo-hoooooo! of the floating 
crane brought us to a realizing sense of the increasing 
darkness, then we got about it quickly enough. But 
work as hard as we did, it was almost plumb dark before 
we got out of the blind and literally so when we finally 
got really at work. However, by extreme care and by 
the light of the torches, made from the hay in the bot- 
tom of our boat, we succeeded in recovering about all 
we got down, and rest assured it was a healthy boat 
full we labored through the smart weeds and clinging 
flags to shore with. We did not forget the dead hawk, 
even. 
And what a joyous night we all did have in Francke's 
old sod lodge that night! A bountiful supper stowed 
away, every one felt good and every one was at his 
best, when it came to relating the incidents of the day. 
When we finally did retire, the coyote was tuning up 
on the distant hillside, and the south wind was moaning 
down the valley in a way that told of a change in the 
weather. Sandy Griswold. 
A Phantom Elk. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I read with a great deal of interest the report of Mr. 
Wadsworth in the number for October. Many years ago 
I saw my first elk in what is now South Dakota and 
Wyoming. That country then was full of elk; I do not 
suppose that there are many in it now, though it was here 
that the skin hunters killed them by dozens a few years 
ago for the sake of two teeth. When we were there in 
1856, our party would seldom kill one. The men I was 
with were from the East, but they were neither tourists 
nor dudes, but were sportsmen all days in the year, and 
they gave me orders not to shoot these elk ; we could not 
use them. We had a small party of Dakota Indians with 
us when we first came into the elk country; they had 
joined us in Minnesota and kept us camping all winter, 
until the cavalry met us and sent them off home again. 
While they were with us, we would shoot a few elk for 
their use, but always shot the bull elk, never a cow. It 
was the leader of this party — Charles Remington, from 
New York State — who taught me never to shoot a doe. 
We had the muzzleloaders then, but he would never allow 
us to use a shotgun on deer or on any animal that we 
could use a rifle on. 
I played what I have since considered to be a fool trick 
on a bull elk while we were in their country ; but then 
I was only a boy of 17, and I have since seen boys of that 
age do as fool tricks as mine was. 
We were in camp on a branch of what was afterwards 
named Antelope Creek, Wyoming. Our camp was up in 
the timber in one of the foothills — one of, the Black Hills 
I suppose it was — and at the foot of the hill across the 
creek was an open prairie that ran away to the south. I 
came down out of camp one morning carrying a Hall's 
carbine. There was at least one animal here that Mr. 
Remington's law was not on, the big timber wolf. I 
might shoot him, I was told, "He is here looking for 
the young elk calves the cows are dropping now. You 
kill him every chance you get," Mr. Remington told me, 
and I did. 
While I was coming down off the hill, I noticed a bull 
elk all alone was coming in slowly off the prairie after 
either water or fresh grass. It was still early in May, and 
while the grass close to the creek here was green, that on 
the prairie was rather dry eating. I got across the creek 
without the elk seeing me ; he was still a good ways off, 
then just at the creek bank I found a low shallow place, 
a buffalo wallow, no doubt, and here I lay down, taking 
my hat off and keeping the most of my head below the 
bank, but with an eye on the elk all the time. I meant 
to let that elk walk up almost on top of me, then jump 
up and scare the life out of him. That would be all I 
dare do, for if I shot him I would get a raking down 
for it. 
The elk came 011 slowly until he came to the green 
grass, then began to eat, but kept on coming right toward 
me. The elk kept on until he had got to within six feet 
of where I lay. I had thought that he would wind me 
long before this, but the air was very still, and I kept just 
as still. I thought he was close enough now, and sud- 
denly raising my head above the bank, I sent a mouthful 
of tobacco juice right at him. I meant tojand it in his 
face, but missed it by about a foot ; it was probably lucky 
for me that I did. The tobacco fell on the grass in front 
of him, and jerking up his head he gave a snort, then 
wheeling around, made off, running about 100 yards, 
stopped, and stood looking at me. I have seen a doe do 
this more than once when she found that I did not fire at 
her. It is curosity that makes them do: it, I guess. They 
want to see what it is that has frightened them, and these 
elk always seemed to me to be stupid animals, anyhow, 
far more so than a deer. I stood perfectly still, and the 
elk began to come back again, taking a few steps at a 
time, then stopping to look again. 
He had left his horns at home, and I did not think him 
dangerous; so at first I thought to let him come on; but 
after he had taken a few more of these steps and stops, 
I began to think that one of his punches given with that 
big head of his might be about all the horns I would 
want; and jumping toward him, I gave a yell. He 
whirled about and left. 
I gave Mr. Remington an account of this affair, and he 
told me that I might have let the elk come up if he wanted 
to come. "He probably would not have tried to hurt you," 
he said, "he has no horns and knows it; and they are not 
at all dangerous at any time unless you do something to 
make them angry. I have never heard of those bull elks 
making an attack on anyone ; and you seem to be able to 
get on the right side of animals somehow, however you 
do it." 
I had made pets of my two big team horses, and had 
them following me around like two dogs ; and while the 
Indians were with us I had made friends with their 
ponies and could go and catch any one of them when 
I wanted him ; they would not let one of the other white 
men go near them, though. But I think if that tobacco 
had struck where I aimed it, that elk would have been 
about angry enough to have killed me, if I had not killed 
him first. 
The last elk I have ever seen I found in a country 
where I had not supposed there had ever been any elk. I 
should have thought it was too far to the south; but the 
Comanches afterward told me that years before this there 
were elk there. I was riding along one afternoon about 
the first of November up near the northwest corner of 
what^ is now Beaver county, Oklahoma (it was "no man's 
land" then), not very far south of where the Cinnamon 
River cuts across Beaver county; and while passing 
through some bushes, the most of them were spruce pine, 
and grew close to both sides of a trail that was seldom 
used, a bull elk dashed across the trail not ten feet from 
my horse's nose, and disappeared in the bushes on my 
right. 
I rode a horse that was not easily scared at anything. 
I could ride him up on top of a buffalo, but he reared up 
now and came very near throwing me, and by the time I 
had him quiet again, the elk was clear off, of course, and 
there would be little use for me to follow him ; but I did 
follow in the way he had gone for several miles; and 
though I had no trouble keeping his trail, I never saw 
him again. 
I camped that night with a white wolf hunter named 
Black. He was a squaw man, but was one of the better 
class of these men. He earned his own living, and did 
not depend on the agent for it; in fact, never went near 
the agent. His squaw was a Wichita. He had a better 
education than most men of his class have, but had 
curious notions about some things, ghosts among others. 
I told him about having seen the elk, and how sorry I 
was about not having been able to get him. 
"You could, not have got him had you shot at him all 
day. Do you really think you saw an elk — that is, a real 
elk?" 
"Of course I did. I have seen them often enough to 
know them now." 
"Yes, but the one you saw to-day is not a live elk. 
He is a phantom. I am sorry you did see him ; you will 
meet with some misfortune from having seen him. Every- 
one who does see one of these phantom elk comes to 
grief." 
"Does your phantom elk knock down the bushes ahead 
of him, and leave a trail behind him?" I asked. 
"No, of course he does not." 
"Well, this one did, and if I had been on foot, or had 
seen him sooner, you would be eating a part of him now. 
Don't worry; I won't meet with a sudden death in con- 
sequence of having seen that elk. There was no phantom 
about him." Cabia Blanco. 
How Not to Have a Successful Hunt 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Generally it is the successful hunt which is described in 
glowing colors by your correspondents. Who can blame 
them? It is more pleasant, and usually more profitable, 
to tell how a thing is done than to tell how not to do it. 
However, I propose to illustrate the negative side from 
actual experience; it may serve a double purpose— to in- 
troduce another element of variety into your columns, so 
teeming with variety and interest, and to help some others 
to avoid the negative side and win positive success in 
hunting. 
Our party was hastily made up from different hotels 
and private camps in the Adirondacks. We were four, 
representing as many different callings. All had a little 
experience (some more) in deer hunting. All wanted 
more. A non-professional guide and his son were engaged 
with a team ; duffle was packed into a lumber wagon, and 
we were ready. No, not quite. The bottom of the wagon- 
box was nearly covered with guns. Too many; some 
must sit there, and guns are not easy cushions. Besides, 
the team is going but three miles, and then twice three 
must be covered with every man carrying all he is able to 
camp. The number of guns is cut down to one apiece, 
and we are off. 
The writer had said to his family, "I should be far 
more likely to get a deer to go alone to my old hunting 
grounds; but these friends want me to go with them, so 
I am going for the fun of it." Fun was plenty. The 
Doctor had never carried a heavy pack; the early Septem- 
ber day was hot, the pace was rapid, for the distance was 
long, and though stripped as for a race, the Doctor sweat 
as never before. A Turkish bath wasn't a circumstance 
m comparison. The Doctor's appearance was very laugh- 
able ; but he was game, and arrived in camp in good con- 
dition, though undoubtedly several pounds lighter than 
when he started. 
One of the first news items published in camp was, 
'the spring is dry." This was not so funny. It meant 
going nearly a quarter of a mile for water. But en- 
thusiasm was not to be dampened by trifles like that; so 
after a late dinner, some fixed camp, including- new bough 
beds, and stretched the A tent over the camp, for the 
roof was old and a storm was threatening; others went 
hunting. The tired ones watched a pond near camp. B. 
went into some burned timber and nearly forgot to come 
back. As night came on, we became anxious about him. 
He had never been in that region before, and on a pre- 
vious tramp in another part of the woods he had missed 
his way to a pond only two miles off, and traveled eight 
miles before he stumbled into a lumber camp. There he 
inquired his way to the pond, and was asked, "What 
pond do you want to go to ?" 
"I don't know." 
"Where did you come from ?" 
"I don't know." 
He had started from another pond and had forgotten 
the name of each — so he said. 
No wonder we were anxious about him when approach- 
ing night did not bring him out of the burned timber. We 
shouted and fired a signal shot. Then, while it was yet 
light enough to distinguish him from a deer, he appeared 
leisurely, but exultant, saying, "I've shot a deer " ' 
"Where is it?" 
"I don't know. It fell at the shot, but jumped up and 
ran like a streak, and it was so near dark I could not g-et 
another shot," * 
