Nov. 12, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
407 
With Grouse and Pointer. 
On a certain Saturday evening in November of a cer- 
tain year, the New York train stopped at a little station 
in Sullivan county, dropped two passengers and a trunk, 
chortled a bit, pulled out, and the excitement of the day 
was over for the gathered townspeople. Not so for D. 
and myself, who happened to be the two passengers. For 
on this our first trip after grouse, the real excitement 
would commence' Monday morning, weather permitting, 
and whether or no on Tuesday. Adjourning to the hotel, 
we engaged rooms, had the trunk salvaged, interviewed 
the guide (whom we had previously engaged) regarding 
details, and turned in. 
Monday morning dawned clear and cold, with a heavy 
frost on the ground, and of course we piled on all the 
heavy clothing available, and naturally regretted it before 
the sun went down. 
Breakfast in our stomachs and a husky bit of lunch in 
our pockets, we started out to meet Eli and Spot, guide 
and dog. After a brisk half-mile walk up the railway 
track, we found them waiting for us, and without more 
ado started in to do business. 
Under the first wire fence went the bunch, and 
straightening up on the other side, spread out, the dog 
nosing back and forth in front. Before many minutes 
passed we jumped a rabbit. I fired and D. fired. I fired 
again and D. 'fired again. Eli didn't shoot ; I suppose to 
see what we would do. The rabbit ? Oh, well, the rabbit 
got away. 
With a "Go on, Spot!" to the dog, who had stopped 
head up at my first shot, Eli remarked: "Ye'll have t' 
do better 'n that when we git into the brush." We but- 
toned up our lips and tagged on. 
Pretty soon the dog froze up in a hummocky field, and 
Eli said, "Rabbit." We got placed, in went Spot and 
out bounced Molly. As before— but what's the use? Eli 
didn't shoot; he simply said things. However, we were 
destined to square matters with him later. 
On we went again in extended order through brush 
and woods for half the morning with never a point. 
Through swamps and over deadfalls, under 'em and^ around 
'em. Eli's professional pride was touched to think that 
the morning was to be a goose egg, his remarks being 
pertinent and to the point. We were all working hard, 
and the dog was doing his best; but fate or a hoodoo 
was at work, and we began to scan each other for the 
Jonah. Nevertheless, we were soon to be introduced to 
our first grouse. Working along the side of a hardwood 
ridge, with Eli in the middle and D. and I forming the 
wings, we had just gone through, under and over a wire 
fence, according to our respective inclinations, when — 
whr-r-r-r-r! up popped a brown bird, and up jumped 
my gun. But why dwell. The hammers, of course, were 
down, and although Eli intimated that the bird roosted in 
a tree after going fifteen yards, I was too surprised to do 
anything except look the part. You probably know how 
it was yourself when your first grouse got up. 
We seemed to have struck the place, for a little further 
on Spot came to a point; and it was a case of "gather 
round girls," with no "after you, my dear Gaston" busi- 
ness when the bird flushed. 
In went the dog, and the minute the bird left the 
ground down she came with a broken wing. D.'s gun 
muzzle was oozing fumes, and it was score one for the 
tyros. Then we witnessed some intelligent work. The 
bird, able to run but not fly, had started back into the 
swamp laurel as fast as legs would take her, with the 
dog trailing close behind. A half minute went by, and no 
dog; a minute, and still no Spot. Eli called, whistled, 
I and came to the conclusion that Spot had found the 
wounded bird and was pointing her. He told us that Spot 
would never break a point as long as the bird stayed, so 
there was nothing left but to go in and find him. We 
plunged into the mass of laurel, deadfalls, mud, and 
water, and after ten minutes' blind hunt found our dog. 
And there was a sight worth going a long way to see. 
Spot, flat on his belly, his back touching a moss-covered 
deadfall, ears up and eyes front, watching the bird, who 
had completely hidden herself from our eyes under a 
mass of roots and leaves. 
With the first bird of the day resting in the back of 
D.'s shooting coat, we wandered on. Coming across a 
beautiful little stream which purled along_ with many a 
turn through rows of hickory and white birch trees, we, 
upon Eli's suggestion, decided to lunch. 
As I sit here in my warm room, with the winter wind 
howling outside and the mercury hovering around the 
lower rungs of the Fahrenheit ladder, I can close my 
eyes and see that scene almost as vividly as when we 
were a part of it. Woods all about, the stream at our 
feet, and the blue sky overhead ; Eli reclining against a 
stump, D. sitting on a log, smoking, and the dog snooz- 
I ing away as though he had lived there all his life. It is 
such scenes as this which bind one to the woods and 
streams and make one wish to get away from the turmoil 
of town. 
Lunch and a smoke over, we put the dog ahead and 
started on. By three o'clock we had tramped consider- 
ably over five miles, with never a point, and Eli was be- 
ginning to say things again. Coming out of the woods 
into a field in which there were a few apple trees, we 
filled our pockets, descended a hill, crossed the railroad 
and plunged into a swamp. Spot began to act anxious, 
and Eli said, "Look out for woodcock, boys." No sooner 
were the words out of his mouth than Spot froze up. He 
went in cautiously, but it proved to be only a warm spot. 
We floundered through the slough, seeing woodcock 
chalkings and borings galore. Leaving the swamp, we 
topped a rise swinging in an arc to the right. Mark! 
Away went the woodcock in a straight line from Eli's 
feet, and his gun barked, and then barked again. At 
the 'second bark the bird was still going, and the air in 
Eli's vicinity was blue and sulphurous. D. and I looked 
at one another, and knew we were even for those two 
cotton-tails. Two grouse and a rabbit fell to our guns in 
the next hour, and as it was becoming dark and we were 
near home, concluded to quit for the day. 
As D. and I walked down the railroad track 111 the 
dusk, each busy with his own thoughts, and tired enough 
to sleep on a picket fence, we brought to a close a day 
in no way remarkable for the size of its bag or the oddity 
of its incidents, but thoroughly enjoyable withal. 
D.'s version of the second day is as follows : 
Election day dawned clear and cold, and after having 
a hearty breakfast our little party climbed into an old 
buckboard, and tucking Spot under the seat, started on 
our second day's hunt; just as anxious as we were the 
preceding morning,- only not quite as spry. 
We drove about six miles to a little village called 
Woodburne, and going straight to the only hotel in town, 
we unhitched the horse and put him in the barn while 
Eli was casting his vote. 
Stripping ourselves of everything that was not abso- 
lutely necessary, we started to hoof it to the shooting- 
grounds, always on the lookout for anything we might 
start along the roadside. After we had gone about half 
a mile, we came across a large patch of woods and de- 
cided that we would start in for blood. Spreading out in 
a line we broke into the woods, and hadn't gone far be- 
fore we heard a whirr of wings and a quick shot, and 
then the voice of Eli's boy, calling, "I've got him, dad!" 
And sure enough, he had first blood of the day. He 
pocketed his bird while N. and I looked on with envious 
eyes. 
After being cautioned by Eli that there wasn't to be 
any "You first, dear Alphonse," but to shoot the minute 
we saw anything, we started off again, Eli working the 
dog, and N. and myself starting at every little rustle of 
the leaves. We went on this way half an hour or _ so 
without starting a single grouse, and Eli was beginning 
to sav a few things such as "Well, boys, this is th' fust 
time I've cum through these here woods without scaring 
up at least half a dozen birds, anyway," and cursing the 
luck in general. N, who had been doing a lot of hunt- 
ing and was not saying much, hollered to' us that Spot 
had got a point, and when the rest of us came up, sure 
enough, there was the old dog frozen stiff as a poker 
pointing to a large laurel patch. Eli pricked up his ears, 
and motioned for me to come up slowly, every now and 
then steadying the dog by talking to him. N. was on his 
right, eagerly waiting for the bird to flush. As I came 
up I heard a whirr and just caught a glimpse of an old 
grouse sailing off through the trees. I raised the old 
twelve to my shoulder and let fly both barrels;, but 
alas! it was the same old story— nothing domg._ In the 
meantime, N. had flushed a bird over to the right and 
had duplicated my performance, although he claims he 
raked the bird, and Eli said he saw some feathers fly, so 
it must be so. . 
After holding a short consultation, we_ came to the 
conclusion that it was about time to eat a little lunch ; so 
Eli led the way to a clear little brook that he knew ought 
to be near where we were. Laying our guns to one side, 
we endeavored to do full justice to our sumptuous re- 
past and I imagine we succeeded very well. The result 
of our morning's shoot had been one solitary grouse, and 
that was killed by our guide's boy. 
We rested for an hour and took condolence out 01 
severlal pipefuls of tobacco, and feeling much refreshed, 
we started out again in quest of the wily grouse. During 
the course of the afternoon we managed to bring down a 
grouse apiece to our respective guns, and N. shot a couple 
of rabbits. I had to catch an early train to the city, so it 
rather broke up our afternoon and caused us to hunt 
hurriedly over some good woods, where if we had gone 
carefully we might have shot one or two more birds. 
The Tyros. 
An Exciting Bear Hunt. 
BY EDWARD A. SAMUELS. 
I had often expressed the wish to Steve Norris, my 
old-time guide and boatman, who had served me faith- 
fully on more than one good outing with rod and gun, 
that I might, when opportunity offered, join him on one 
of the fur-trapping expeditions he had been accustomed 
to make every autumn; and it is therefore hardly neces- 
sary to say that when I received a letter from him early 
in November a few years ago, stating that he had put 
up a line of traps, and I could come as soon as I de- 
sired, the invitation was eagerly accepted, and that my 
grip was quickly packed and I was soon speeding on an 
express train to the northern country, in which was the 
home of my guide. 
His traps were located in the wilderness, about twenty 
miles from his house. A dozen miles or so of this dis- 
tance was covered by an old tote road, over which a 
buckboard proved a not uncomfortable vehicle, the 
horse being driven by old Steve's son, a big, muscu- 
lar fellow, about twenty years of age, who had already 
acquired much of the knowledge of woodcraft, for 
which his father had long been famous. 
At the end of the tote road the horse was unhar- 
nessed, my dunnage and the provender for the animal, 
were packed in two large bags, which were strapped on 
his back, and we then took up the route over a path 
which was very rough, its last two miles being, merely 
a blazed trail. 
We arrived at the trapper's camp late in the after- 
neon, and found him busily engaged in stretching some 
skins of minks and musquash which had recently been 
taken from his traps. 
Of course, his greeting was a cordial one, and I was 
soon made to feel myself at home in the shanty or 
camp that he had erected. Although the walls of this 
structure were composed of no heavier material than 
sheets of bark, it was strongly and compactly built, the 
layers of the bark being so deftly withed together that 
the interior was as warm and comfortable as the room 
of a dwelling house. It was about twelve feet square, 
and contained a rough table, two or three benches and 
a couple of bunks, in which were laid soft and fragrant 
beds of hemlock boughs. 
It was a primitive affair, such as one would expect to 
be occupied only by a hunter or trapper or one of his 
Indian cousins. 
After putting away my belongings beneath the bunk 
which had been assigned to me, I joined the others by 
the. camp-fire, where they were preparing supper, in the 
cooking of which some choice slices of venison, that 
Steve had procured a day or two before my arrival and 
in anticipation of my coming, played a conspicuous 
part. 
Our meal was eaten with the keen relish that hunters 
and woodsmen always possess, and it was followed by 
the burning of tobacco, which seems inevitable when 
conditions similar to ours prevail. 
During our "smoke talk" I learned that the line of 
traps extended about eight mile's, following the course 
of the stream which flowed before the camp, and 
circling a small lake a couple of miles away. 
I also learned that mink were rather plentiful; that of 
wildcats, or lynxes he had already captured three; that 
there were otter in the lake I have named, some of 
which he expected to trap; that musquash were abund- 
ant, and "bear signs" were so plentiful that he had four 
traps placed in situations which he felt certain would 
give a good account of themselves. 
While we were engaged in conversation, I was startled 
by a most unearthly yell, which was uttered by some 
animal in the undergrowth near the camp; it was almost 
exactly like the scream of a young girl in great distress 
or terror. Excited as I was by the uncanny sound, I 
made a movement as if to seize my rifle, but Steve 
motioned me back to my seat, saying quietly, "You 
don't need to worry about that critter, it's only a por- 
cupine, or quill-pig, as it's sometimes called; they often 
holler like that at this time of the year. I confess I 
jumped myself the first time I heard one of the brutes." 
"Porcupine!" I exclaimed. "Is it possible that such a 
scream as that could be uttered by one of those ani- 
mals? I thought it might be a panther, for I once heard 
a cry somewhat like that as I was tenting on the Ma- 
galloway River. I suppose, however, that they are 
about exterminated in these woods." 
"Yes," he replied, "and I'm mighty glad of it, too; 
they're savage brutes, and unless a man has a gun with 
him he stands no chance with one of 'em. I had an 
adventure once with a painter, or 'Injun "devil,' as 
people sometimes name 'em, that I shan't forgit to my 
dyin' day. 
"I had been out trappin' near Spencer Lake, away off 
to the east'ard from here, and was going home witha 
putty heavy pack on my back, for I had my camp kit, 
a pair of blankets and forty or fifty pelts. I had almost 
reached the cove where I had left my boat, when I 
heard sticks crackin' just behind me, and then some- 
thin' let out a screech that made me jump, for I knew 
what it was; I had heard it before. 
"Now, I knew that that critter was on my trail, and 
that he was bound to make meat of me if I'd let him. 
I didn't have a rifle in those days, but I used a single- 
barreled gun which carried an ounce bullet putty well 
and would ginerally knock over most any animal if it 
hit it right. 
"I felt putty consid'able skerry, for I knew that unless 
I hit that brute right I was done for, for running with 
that heavy pack on was out of the question. I turned 
around two or three times and looked back and saw 
that the critter was gitting more and more clost. Gosh 
mighty, but he was a whopper! His body seemed to 
be over six feet long without counting his tail. Every 
now and then he gave a screech that made my heart 
jump. At last, when he got within four, or five, rods of 
me, I put up my gun, aimed at his head, and pulled 
trigger. The gun had an old-fashioned percussion lock, 
and, though the cap exploded, the gun did not go off, 
there bein' no primin' in the tube. 
"I confess I got rattled then, and began to run, and 
I run good and hard, too, and had almost reached the 
boat when I stumbled over an old root and fell sprawl- 
ing; and there was where I had a lucky escape, for as 
I fell I started out an old bear from the bush nearby, 
and he made off in the direction of the painter. 
Gosh 'mighty! what a screech the varmint let out 
when he saw the bear. He didn't seem to care for me 
then; bear's meat seemed to be what he wanted. 
"I scrambled up and made for my boat, which I 
pushed out into the lake in mighty short meter, and 
when I got at a safe distance I laid by and watched the 
fun. 
"The- bear turned tail as soon as he found out what 
was after him, and made for the shore of the lake, cal- 
kerlatin, I reckon, to swim out into the water, know- 
in' that he would be safe there, for the panther hates 
water like pizen. But he wasn't quick enough, and he 
had jest time to throw himself on his back on the 
shore when the painter made a jump for him. 
"Well, if that bear didn't make his hindlegs, paws and 
jaws work it's no matter. I never see sich clapper 
clawing in all my born days. 
"The painter seemed to git all that was coming to 
him, for he pulled back and looked at the bear, as if he 
thought he . was a putty good fighter; but the brute 
must have been hungry, for he made another jump for 
the bear, who was still lying on his back. The second 
