434 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 3, 1905. 
Hunting a Coon. 
We hunted this coon a number of years ago, and from 
what I saw of the coon then some one else may be still 
hunting him ; we left him for someone else to hunt after 
we had got through with him. 
I started about the first of October, 1885, to visit a 
friend who lived on a farm a mile from the hamlet of 
Bakerstown, Allegheny county, Pa., and only a mile from 
the Butler county line. 
After stopping with this friend a few days I took a 
notion to go on foot as far as the town of Butler, then 
come home to Allegheny by railroad. I had been all over 
this country, the northern part of Allegheny and north- 
ern part of Butler county when a boy, and meant to see 
it again now as I had seen it them, tramping across the 
country on foot, carrying a shotgun. It was twenty-five 
years now since I had done that, and in the meantime I 
had been some twenty-three years in the army, and the 
rest of the time had most of it been spent in a steam 
whaler. I had been half-way around the globe in it and 
was now back to where I had been born. 
When I left home in 1861 the country a mile or two 
beyond the city limits was a backwoods that I had 
roamed through carrying a shotgun and hatchet. The 
gun was for snakes, rabbits, or anything else that could 
be shot except song birds — I never shot them nor let any- 
one else do it if I could prevent it. These song birds 
are now protected, and it costs $5 to shoot one, as I keep 
telling boys here when I find them "hunting" with an 
air gun or a Flobert rifle. I carried the hatchet to cut 
dogwood out of which I made skewers to sell to butchers 
at ten cents per hundred, that was one way I had of get- 
ting money to buy powder, shot and caps. 
When I again went over this country after twenty-five 
years, I could hardly recognize a single place that I had 
ever seen before. Some of the roads were city streets 
now, the others had been changed around until I did not 
know them ; and the old farmer who used to chase me 
around with his dog or shotgun when he found me cut- 
ting dogwood or shinny sticks, or gathering his apples 
for him, had left here now for Kansas, his place had been 
taken by the city man with his suburban residence. 
This country that I meant to travel over now from 
.Bakerstown to Butler would not be as much changed, 
though it was still out in the country. The farmer I had 
been visiting here had a son in Pittsburg who had left 
a fine shotgun, his shells and a game-bag here at his 
father's and bad lately written to his father to send them 
in to him if he had a chance to do it. I proposed to take 
them to him by way of Butler. Starting early next morn- 
ing in an hour I had left the United States and was on 
my way to the soap mines. 
When we were school boys we had a joke among us 
that both New Jersey and Butler county were _ foreign 
countries, and even to-day if a farmer comes in from 
anywhere and runs from the police in Pittsburg and Alle- 
gheny he is supposed to come direct from Butler county, 
and when he has paid his dollar and costs he is'tbld to 
wend his way back to the soap mines again. He don't 
always come from there, though. There are as, clever a 
set of people to be found out there as can be fouhd^ny- 
where. 
I meant to travel up the country slowly, stopping at 
farm houses for my meals and at night. I would not be 
treated by these farmers, though, as they treated Spears 
in his "Walk Down South" in some of our other coun- 
ties here ; none of these farmers here would refuse to 
let me stop with them, and I would not be sent out to 
the barn to sleep, ehher. I carried pinned to my vest a 
mark that many of them recognized, some of them could 
wear it themselves. It was a little blue enamelled Maltese 
cross. 
This State had sent out a big division of troops in 1861 
that were always kept together; they formed the third 
division of the Fifth Corps; they were the Pennsylvania 
Reserves. This cross was their mark; it is recognized by 
the native farmers all over the State. I would be, and 
have been, as well treated by the farmers in Somerset or 
Bedford counties, where Spears did his traveling, as I 
would be here. Every hamlet or town in the State had 
men in it who had either worn this badge themselves 
or had fathers or brothers who had; and I hardly ever 
met a native farmer who would not soon notice_ it, then 
ask me home with him for dinner or to stop all night. 
The route I took in going up to Butler carried me away 
from railroads. There was one road off some miles to 
my left and another still farther off on my right; both 
of them ran from Butler into Allegheny. I meant to take 
the one on my right when coming home, but kept away 
from it now. Tramps would be found along it ; I would 
not be taken for one, though ; tramps don't, as a general 
thing, carry any sixty-dollar shotguns. 
There was not much use for this gun now ; the season 
for most game was not open yet, and I took care not 
to break any game laws. When a boy I had shot rab- 
bits right through this country that I was now in without 
reference as to whether they were in season or not, but 
I dare not do it now. 
This country had not changed much in the last twenty- 
five years, the farmers had larger and better houses now, 
modern barns, and finer 'horses and cattle, but they them- 
selves were the same Butler county farmers that I had 
known when a boy. I used to meet them along the roads 
here, then ask to be directed to the soap mines and be 
told, "Go right over that hill, then follow my nose, sonny, 
and you will git thar." If I asked for rabbits, though, 
I would get more explicit directions where to find them. 
They did not want them, I could have them all. 
I had been out several days and was getting nearer 
Butler every day, but was in no hurry to get there, I had 
the rest of this year to go in. I stopped one afternoon 
at a farm house to get a drink of water and, as usual, 
was given milk instead. 
The young lady who waited on me noticed my pin and 
after she had spelled out the letters on it — C. 8, P. R. 
V. C. — she asked if I had belonged to the Reserves? I 
told her I had; then she took me in and called her 
mother. The old lady told me that both her husband and 
her brother had belonged with us, her husband was dead 
now, her brother had been killed • at Mechanicsburgh 
when Meade had made his charge across the railroad. I 
told her I had been there. She would not let me go on 
to-night and wanted me to stay next day also, but I con- 
cluded to go on. Then she gave me a note to a man ten 
miles above there, who had been in her brother's com- 
pany. I got to his place in time for dinner, and he per- 
suaded me to stop a day or two there; then he would be 
going in to Butler himself with a team. 
The farmers here were nearly all thinking of selling 
out and going to Kansas, Texas or California. I would 
tell them that if Butler county was not good enough for 
them to give Kansas the go-by and keep on either to 
Texas or California, then tell them why I had no use 
for Kansas; half of it was good enough, but that half 
was thickly settled already, the men who had farms there 
would want more for them than these men here would 
get for them, the western part of Kansas I would not 
take as a gift. Texas was good enough, but I pre- 
ferred California. I had been oretty well all over this 
western country, always traveling with my eyes open and 
I could tell them about it. The women here I noticed 
did not want to ?o anywhere very bad, Butler county 
seemed to suit them. 
I stopped two days with this man, then had hard work 
to get away. He wanted me to stay longer and hunt. 
He had his land posted; most of the farmers here had; 
but they only did it to protect themselves and keep men 
and boys off who would tramp over their winter wheat, 
shoot sheep and cows, and start fires in dry grass, and 
make nuisances of themselves. I or any man who con- 
ducted himself right might hunt over their land and be 
welcome. The next forenoon, after I had got there, Mr. 
M. and I were out on the front porch when a barefooted 
boy about fourteen years old coming up to us, said, "Mr. 
M., my pap has a coon treed in that big dead chestnut 
over yonder, and sent me to ask if you will let him cut 
it do\vn, and lend him an ax?" 
"Yes, Bill, I'll do both. Go to the woodshed and get a 
good ax. Your pap will need a good one to get that tree 
down. He can have the coon in it; let him leave me 
the tree." 
I had been taking notes of Bill and set him down as 
being a mischievous young rascal. I can tell boys pretty 
well now. That is what Bill was. I got him out of a 
whipping later on. 
"What sort of a tree is it?" I asked. "An old dead 
chestnut about two feet through. That man has a job on 
hand now before he gets the coon; but I want that tree 
down; I need it for firewood, my dead wood is scarce 
here now and I must cut live wood. I can find a better 
use for live hickory now than to make fire wood of it." 
That man would not cut that tree down and cut it up 
if I paid him to do it; though he will put in a day hunt- 
ing a coon worth twenty-five cents when he and his boy 
might earn two dollars husking corn for me. That would 
look too much like work, though." 
"How does he live?" 
"He has a little place down on the creek here that he 
works, or his wife works. She does most of it, I guess." 
The boy came back with the ax, a new one of the red 
jacket brand, they were good ones. 
"Let us go and see that coon hunt," Mr. M. said; and 
we followed the boy across the fields to the tree that the 
coon was in or on. The man was the exact picture of 
the boy; I need not ask him if he was the boy's pap. 
An old muzzle-loading rifle was leaning against a tree, 
and a dog lay at the foot of the tree the coon was in. 
The dog seemed to be fast asleep; it was of a breed that 
are nearly as useful wdien asleep as when awake.. He 
was part hound, but the hound part of him was so small 
that the rest of him — the sooner part — spoiled him for 
hunting anything except a beefsteak. • 
"Your dog must have missed the coon, sir," I said to 
the man. 
"Yes, sir, he can miss anything except, his dinner. He 
never misses that when the old woman throws it out to 
him. Get out of the way, blast you,". giving the dog a 
kick; then taking the ax from his son he spit on his 
hands, and asked, "I don't suppose you care if I knock 
this tree down, Mr. M.?" 
"No, chop it down. You can have the coon, leave me 
the tree." 
The man knew how to chop if he did not want to 
work. He was working hard now. Ev^ry two chops 
he gave the tree sent chips the size of a dinner plate fly- 
ing out of it. He had been at work about five minutes 
when the coon that had been in the hole up there, if 
there was a hole, came .out and, climbing down to a 
lower limb, let go and dropped within ten feet of the 
dog's nose. He might as safely have landed on his nose. 
The dog was too busy just now dodging chips and watch- 
ing the chopping to have any time to attend to coons. 
The coon had got several more feet away before the 
dog had got his ready on. He had no doubt been 
chopped out of trees before and knew what to do next. 
The boy, who had been hanging around me ever since we 
had come, now gave a yell and started. Had the dog 
kept out of the game, the boy might have got the coon, 
he had further to go than the dog, but he had caught up 
and was passing when he either fell over the dog or what 
was more likely the dog fell over him, and while they 
were getting things untied, the coon increased his lead 
and making for a big white oak that stood near the top 
of the hill, began to climb again. Had I had my shot- 
gun I could have stopped that coon long ago ; but I don't 
know if I should have done it. My sympathies were with 
the coon at this stage of the game. A man and a boy. 
an ax, a dog, and a gun, ought to make a combination 
strong enough to capture one coon, I thought. I prob- 
ably would have kept out of the game. Pap threw down 
the ax now and made a break for the new tree the coon 
had gone up, and where he was out of sight. 
"Don't cut that tree," Mr. M. said. "I don't need it 
now, and don't want a $25 tree destroyed to get a twenty- 
five-cent coon." 
I began to look for the coon and finally saw him about 
half-way up the tree. He had his hind feet on a limb 
close to the trunk and was hugging it closely; he seemed 
to be trying to form part of the tree. I pointed him out 
to Pap. 
"Git the gun. Bill," Pap says, his eyes glued to the 
place the coon occupied. Bill got the gun and I noticed 
a half grin on his face as he handed it over. 
Pap, taking the gun without removing his eyes from 
the coon, threw the hammer up, then pushing it up to 
his shoulder sighted, and pulled the trigger. Nothing 
happened. 
Taking the gun from his shoulder Pap examined it. 
There was no cap on the nipple. "Bill," he yelled, "what 
did you do with this cap? Don't lie now, I saw you 
foolin' around this gun a while ago, dod gast you, can't 
you let anything alone? Where's that cap?" 
"I got it here," Bill said, taking it out of his mouth 
and coming forward with it. 
Pap gave Bill a withering look that boded no good for 
the boy later on, then fishing another cap out of his 
pocket put it on, then carefully aiming at the coon that 
had not moved since, fired and the ball struck the tree 
a few inches above the coon's head, a good line shot but 
too high. 
The coon now probably thinking this to be only a sight- 
ing shot quickly changed his base, moving by the right 
flank, if he had ever studied Upton, and disappeared 
around the tree. 
Pap was mad now clean through. "Dod gast your mis- 
chievous hide, I'll skin you alive for this; you have been 
aching for that thar whippin' for a hull week now. You 
will .git it." 
"Oh, no he won't, sir. You must not touch him. Re- 
member that." 
"Why the blazes must I not?" 
"Because I say so. I am the agent of the Humane 
Society, sir, and I warn you not to whip Bill. If you do 
I shall arrest and fine you. I don't want to do that, sir." 
"Can't I thrash my own boy?" 
"No, sir, nor any other man's boy if I know it. I won't 
allow it." 
"How is that, Mr. M.?" Pap asks. :;. 
"It is just as he says, if he is the Society's agent, and 
he says he is, he can arrest you on sight if he finds ybu 
abusing Bill." 
"But I only want to whip him." _ . ; _ 
"Yes, of course, but your whipping might seem to him 
to be abuse, and his word goes. You let Bill alone while 
he is around here." 
"I reckon I'll have to, I won't whip you, Bill; but dod 
gast you, I ought to do it." 
This stuff I had given Pap would hardly go with even 
the average Butler county farmer ; but I had taken Pap's 
mental caliber and thought he would swallow it. I had 
about as much to do with the Humane Society as I had 
with the Government of Turkey. Bill had been watching 
me out of the corner of his eye and trying hard to keep 
from laughing. I had a higher opinion of Bill's intelli- 
gence than I had of his father's. 
Pap began to load the rifle again. Pouring more pow- 
der out of an old powder horn into a small loader he had 
tied to the horn, he next emptied it into the barrel, then 
rammed a patched ball down on top of it, then capped 
the gun, shaking his powder horn close to his ear he said, 
"I hain't got a dod gasted grain left. If this load don't 
git him, we won't git him at all." 
"I'll insure that coon at one per cent, premium and 
take his notes for the deferred payments," I told him. 
Mr. M. began to laugh, but I don't think that Pap 
quite grasped my meaning. We began to look for the 
coon again, but nobody could see him; he no doubt saw 
us, though. 
"Well, " Mr. M. said, "let us go down here." ^ Then to 
Pap: "After you get that coon, or don't get him, come 
down and take dinner with us ; bring the ax home with 
you, and don't cut any green timber, I have none to waste 
here." 
We went home and in about two hours Pap and Bill 
came down. They had not got the coon. Pap had seen 
what he thought was the coon. Had sent his last charge 
at it only to find out he had been shooting at a coon's 
nest. Bill had told him what it was but had deferred 
telling him until after he had seen how close Pap could 
come to missing it. 
"And he knew what it was all the time, too, dod gast 
him." 
They sat on the porch and Mr. M. made a contract 
with Pap to have him and Bill husk the corn off of a 
ten-acre field that he said would turn out about 600 
bushels. This would be doing very well here; they don't, 
raise many 150 bushels of corn here to the acre, nor do 
they often do' it an3'where else but in the agricultural! 
papers. Pap and Bill could make $2 a day at this job; 
it would pay nearly as well as would coon hunting, I 
thought. 
After Bill and Pap had gone, I took my gun and went 
down through Mr. M.'s orchard to hunt quail. Mr. M. 
had told me that there were a few quail on his place and 
more further out on his neighbor's lands, and I could 
keep on after I had covered his land; the next farm was 
posted, but I only need tell them that I was his guest if 
they tried to stop me. 
I found a few quail in the orchard and got more in the 
meadow below it. The birds were very tame. Mr. M. 
and his neighbors had been feeding them last winter 
