192 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 2, 1905. 
for I could get no response. I was afraid to leave the 
deer for fear I would be "unable to find it again, not 
being the woodsman that my brother is. Finally I hit 
on a scheme that promised, success. I hung my hand- 
kerchief up as high over the deer as I could reach 
and started toward camp, marking my trail by stick- 
ing bits of paper on bushes at intervals of seventy-five 
or eighty yards. Coming out at last into an old field, 
I marked well the point where I left the woods and 
hurried on to camp. Tom was its only occupant. I 
penciled a note to the manager to send a mule, and 
started. him off with it, and just then Tripod hove in 
sight. “Did you get him?” he asked. 
“Yes, and he’s a whopper.” 
“I heard you shoot and then your calls for me, but 
the wind was against me and I couldn’t make you hear 
my answer. Are you sending for a mule?” I re- 
sponded in the affirmative, and he said, “Well, send 
for two.” He then told me how he had jumped a buck 
and two does, shooting at the former, how they dis- 
appeared behind some bushes before he could get an- 
other shot, and how he heard a fall with a great crash 
such as might have been caused by an elephant, and 
found the deer about 200 yards away in a fallen tree- 
top, stone dead. It was another spike buck. 
By dinner time both deer- were in camp. Only 
twenty-four hours in camp, and three fine bucks to our 
credit. 
Just across the chute, only a few hundred yards 
away, was the camp of an old trapper and fisherman. 
His habitation consisted of a tent fly with a bunk in- 
side and a pantry made by elevating an ordinary wooden 
box on poles just outside the tent. The edges of the 
fly were several feet above the ground, so that the 
wintry winds had free access to the inside. Although 
old, gray and deaf, the old man did not seem to suffer 
from exposure, and was doubtless pretty thoroughly 
hardened'. He would sit by our camp-fire with us in 
the evenings and relate the experiences of his wild life, 
and would occasionally take a meal with us. He knew 
every inch of the woods for miles around, and talked 
entertainingly of his nomadic existence. 
We learned of some outrageous slaughter by certain 
game hogs from New Orleans who had been in camp 
a few miles down the river several days before our 
arrival. They hunted with dogs and killed nineteen 
deer during the week of their stay. Louisiana has 
since passed a very good game law, requiring non- 
residents to take out a license, prohibiting the killing 
of does and turkey hens as well as fawns, and limit- 
ing the number of bucks and gobblers that can be killed 
by one person in a season. Much to my regret, I had 
to leave camp the next day and return to civilization. 
The rest of the party remained for several days longer, 
but added only squirrels to the bag, our three bucks 
being the only big game killed. Tripod scorns squir- 
rels when there are any deer or turkeys about, and 
continued to hunt big game, but had no luck. Mr. 
Austin and Mr. Lancaster saw eight or ten deer drink- 
ing on the river bank or crossing the stream, but 
could never get quite close enough for a shot. 
All of our friends had venison for several days after 
my return home, and a pretty pair of antlers hangs 
over my mantle, under which are two enlarged pho- 
tos, one of the deer on the mule, and the other a view 
of our camp, which was dubbed “Camp Venison.” 
Jo Bo. 
Louisiana. 
The Elusive Wild Turkey. 
The wild turkey (like the red man) has almost en- 
tirely disappeared under the influence of civilization and 
the modern firearm. You seldom hear of a turkey being 
bagged these days, through sections that abounded with 
them as recently as twenty-five years ago. The would- 
be Nimrod must be sharp and altogether patient if he 
ever hopes to bag the wise American bird. I well re- 
member my first experience in wild turkey shooting, 
which occurred some ten years ago in the Santee River 
swamp and goes to show how one will be led into count- 
ing full-grown gobblers before the eggs are even 
hatched. 
I had been wild duck hunting all the morning with no 
great success, and was in the act of crossing a slough or 
waterway via a log about the size of one’s leg, when I 
noticed the leaves about me had been scratched into 
little piles and dust sprinkled thereon. Although I had 
never seen the like before, I needed no one to tell me 
turkeys had been using this place not only as a feeding 
ground, but had been taking dust baths just as domestic 
hens do. I had often heard old hunters tell how they 
had baited a place such as this, and after building a 
blind, had succeeded in killing as many as seven at one 
shot, so thought I. “1 will do likewise,” and away I 
went for some shelled corn, and getting about a quart, 
crawled back about 200 yards only to find the birds had 
not returned. 
I then set about preparing for a sunrise slaughter the 
following morning. I dug a trench about eight feet long 
by three inches wide and scattered the corn in this. A 
large log partly hidden by scrub cane served me for a 
blind. It was twenty feet from one end of my trench 
and from behind it one could get a raking shot along the 
entire trench. 
I was in my blind an hour before daylight crouched in 
a most uncomfortable position, with the mercury about 
twenty above. Every minute seemed' an hour, and I be- 
gan to fear that should the turkeys come I would be un- 
«ible to cock my gun, for my fingers were ■ becoming 
'■'utely numb from the cold. After what seemed an 
daylight at last began to appear, but no turkeys; 
^urkeys, 8.30 nothing doing. The sun came 
' out somewhat. About 9 or thereabout 
of rising and stretching my limbs 
” having been in- one position , 
' I heard the unmistakable 
j^‘'»ards to my right in 
“•'g my gun inch 
' ■"'■e attaining 
'''n and 
After one or two more put-puts, down came a fine 
old gobbler, then another, and another, until the ground 
in front of me appeared to be one mass of red legs, green 
and brown feathers and gobbler beards. First one then 
another, then two would eat, but I was determined to 
wait until several were eating at a time when I could get 
their heads in line. At last the opportunity came; at 
least a dozen began eating the corn at once. Now came 
the ticklish moment. On bringing my eye down along 
the barrel I found my gun-sight ranged too high, and the 
only remedy was to raise my body higher, which would 
never do, or back further away from the ■ log, which 
would also- bring me in good line. I decided to adopt 
the latter course and began moving back inch by inch 
until my gun covered about the center of turkey popula- 
tion, then clinching my teeth together I pulled both trig- 
gers at the same instant. 
There was a tremendous explosion, the recoil kicking 
me entirely over on my back. If the reader ever shot 
black powder early in the morning in a swampy place, 
he knows what was doing in the matter of smoke. I 
could see nothing for some seconds, but the whole 
swamp seemed to be one mass of flapping turkey wings, 
dead leaves and dust, to say nothing of the blue powder 
smoke. I ran out from behind my blind expecting great 
slaughter to meet my excited gaze, but not a feather of 
a turkey was left to tell the tale. 
I was dumbfounded, what on earth could have kept me 
from killing at least six fine turkeys, I examined my 
shells, thinking possibly no shot were- put in them, but 
found them O. K. After rubbing my eyes and walking 
around I went back to the log over which l had shot, and 
what do- you think I found? In backing away from the 
log, trying for a better range, my gun muzzle had come 
slightly belov/ the upper curvature of the log and had 
blown away a clean groove about the size of my wrist 
across the top of the log. Such of the shot as were not 
rendered useless were deflected Tar above the turkeys’ 
heads. This also accounted for the gun kicking me with 
such a vengeance. 
Since then I always advise a novice to shoot the first 
turkey he sees, even though it be a small hen. “A bird 
in the hand is worth two in the bush.” W. O. H. 
Quail of the Mexican Llanos. 
Tapachula, Mexico, xA.ug. 4 . — Editor Forest and 
Stream: The papers you sent me were duly received; 
many thanks. I do very little hunting these days, as up 
here in the coffee district there is not much to hunt, and 
the trip down to- the coast is a long and tiresome one. A 
few weeks ago a friend and myself went on the llanos 
for a quail shoot. We had no dogs, but each of us had 
a vaquero- ,to do- the retrieving. We rode about twenty 
yards apart in order to find the bevies. In about two 
hours’ shooting we killed forty quail, one pigeon and 
four rabbits. At least half of the game was killed from 
the saddle. I do not think a dog could be used on ac- 
count of the heat and the very high grass. 
The quail here are the Bob White, a little smaller, and 
the male a much darker colored -bird than those in the 
United States. Some years ago, I think in 1895, I shot 
and presented to Mr. Nelson and Mr. Boardman, who I 
believe were collecting for the Smithsonian Institution, 
a number of these quail, so I suppose you must know all 
about them. The call is exactly like the quail I knew as 
a boy in North Carolina. On these llanos, just below 
Tapachula, they can be found in vast numbers. I have 
flushed with two- or three vaqueros riding alongside of 
me several hundred in a three or four hours’ ride. When 
the grass is burned off in March they can then be killed 
in great quantities. Even then I doubt if a dog could be 
used, as he would get foot sore in a short time. 
On these llanos there are clumps of bushes about thirty 
feet high which do not burn, and here the quail are to be 
found. All one has to do is to send in his Indian boy 
to flush them out. They will then fly to the next nearest 
clump. One takes his stand between these clumps and 
you have fine shooting. I have myself alone killed sixty- 
seven in one evening’s shoot. You must make the boy 
flush slowly so as to give you time to reload. 
I use a Parker cylinder bore. No. 12 gauge gun for quail 
and a Greener choke bore for ducks and turkey. The 
guns weigh 7^4 pounds each, I use nitro powder and 
No. 9 and No. 6 .shot. We also have splendid duck shoot- 
ing, which I will tell you about later. Guatemala. 
[The quail of which Guatemala speaks is very likely 
Colinus minor Nelson, though there are so many mem- 
bers of the family Perdicidas in southern Mexico and in 
Central America that this is little more than a guess.] 
Coon Hunting in the Autun:n* 
Jersey City, N. J., Aug. 26.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: In Forest and Stream of Aug. 5 “Hermit” 
gives a very interesting account of the strategy of a 
mother raccoon, where, at the risk of her own life, she 
brings “Hermit’s” pets to- a safe hiding place, then led off 
the hounds and, I am glad to note, lost them. 
The hounds in question, as I take it from “Hermit’s” 
account, gave tongue while on the track, which gave the 
coon time to scheme out plans for safety. Had they been 
thoroughbred ’coon dogs, that -give tongue only when 
treed, “Hermit” would have seen the extermination of 
his pets. A good ’coon dog coming upon that family of 
’coo-ns, with scarcely any warning, would have sent the 
young up the nearest tree and mother ’coon would not 
leave them to go any great distance. 
’Coon hunting is a sport indulged in by few. I have 
heard it said that a man must have a depraved taste for 
sport to enjoy it; and that reminds me of a story I heard 
told by a friend of mine from Maryland. George always 
enjoyed ’coon hunting and kept two good hounds for that 
purpose. One night as George started out on a ’coon 
hunt with a party of friends, his father hailed him. say- 
ing: “George, say George, why do you boys want to 
tramp the \coods all night for ’coon, when_ you mi.ght 
just as well run our cat up one of these trees and drink 
your whisky right here.” 
With one or two good companions and a first-class 
hoitnd I can enj,oy any night in the fall after ’coons, and 
I firmly believe that if sportsmen in certain sections 
would tie up" their bird dogs for a season or two and use 
*CQpn or fox hounds instead they would accomplish won- 
* tdfward game protection. ; ■< - ' 
With the passing away of Cabia Blanco, of whose 
death I read with regret, Forest and Stream loses an 
interesting and ready writer. His articles, written in a 
simple and entertaining manner, carried with them a 
charm that I, and I dare say, every other reader of your 
valuable paper enj oyed very much. I sincerely hope_ that 
some time in the near future we may see his writings 
put up in book form, to find a place alongside those of 
Fred Mather, two sportsmen and writers of a class that 
are fast passing away. Otto Kim. 
Montana Jottings. 
Choteau, Mont., Aug. 14 . — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Mr. J. M. Wharton, manager of the Clarke Electric Lines 
in Butte, recently visited Kalispell to purchase a buffalo 
from the Conrad herd for the museum at Columbia 
Gardens in Butte. Mr. Wharton selected a yearling bull, 
which the next day was shipped to- Butte, where it will, 
no- doubt, prove a great attraction. 
Henry Good, who lives near Whitefish, was fined $100 
by Judge Erickson, at Kalispell, on the charge of killing 
deer out of season. The deer was actually killed by Mr. 
Good’s brother, but the meat was found in his posses- 
sion, and while he was only technically to blame for the 
killing, he assumed all responsibility when Mr. Lownds, 
the game warden, called on him in regard to it, and he 
paid the fine. 
During the first three days of July there were turned 
into the several bounty inspectors of Teton county a 
quantity of the scalps of stock-destroying animals. These 
scalps were of coyotes 45, coyote pups 369, wolf I, wolf 
pups 2. Of these skins 216 were presented at Cut Bank, 
105 at Dupuyer, 81 at Choteau, 12 at Conrad, and 2 at 
Lowry. Bird. 
THE MANY-USE OIL 
This unique oil polishes stock and barrel. Use it. — Adv. 
^rnnp=^ire ^Ucherings, 
« 
“That reminds me.” 
How Jim Brown Did Up Old 
Man Mi let. 
During my experience in Texas I heard many yarns 
about the “old days,” mostly told by the light of the camp 
fire. Some of them are well worth repeating, and I shall 
try to give one of the best as nearly as I can remember it. 
The hash-knife outfit was in cow camp one evening in 
what was called the West Pasture, a block of land con- 
taining about 18,000 acres. The day’s work was done, 
and we were sitting around the camp fire after supper. 
Everyone was comfortably tired. The boys had just 
started singing, when an old fellow, commonly called 
“Jim,” rode up. He unsaddled his pony, and_ sitting down 
among us began talking o-ver the range conditions. Some 
influence had made him reminiscent. As the general con-, 
versation died away he turned to the crowd: 
“Boys, did you all ever hear how, back in the seventies, 
Waggoner’s foreman, Jim Brown, did up old man Millet? 
Millet, you know, owned this same ranch at that time.” , 
As no one said anything, he continued : “Brown was 
one of the nerviest men on the range at that time. He 
had to be to hold his job. Millet was a hard one. It used 
to be said he wouldn’t have a man work for him who 
wasn’t wanted for something by the law. He had started 
in a small way, but by lifting everyone’s cattle within 100 
miles he had got his herd up into the thousands. 
“Now, Brown had a bunch of fat steers in the Wichita 
Breaks, which he was fixing to round up and ship that 
spring. Before he got round to it, though, some of Mil- 
let’s boys got over into that part of the country, and run- 
ning into the cattle rounded up what they could find and 
brought them back to their headquarters right here on 
Elm Creek. 
“Brown got wind of this and decided to get those steers 
back. Millet, however, had never been known to let_ go 
anything he fastened on to, so it was a risky proposition, 
with big chances of gun play. Brown took a bunch of 
his boys, and hearing that Millet was rounding near Elm 
Creek, he rode over to look on. 
“Now, as .it happened, old man Millet had gone over 
with his wife to watch the cutting. He was sitting in 
his buggy, his wife beside him, when Brown rode up with 
his boys. Jim alwavs carried his shotgun slung to his 
saddle horn, an’ it proved useful that day. Taking in the, 
situation at a glance, he rode over in front of Millet, 
jerked out his shotgun, an’ layin’ it over his knees, 
turned to- his boys, saying: ‘Jump right in, fellers, and 
cut them out. The first man that shoots, old man Millet’s 
mine. 
“His boys proceeded to ‘jump right in.’ To add to the 
tension, one of them who was heading a steer back of 
Brown, shot straight down at his feet. Brown didn’t 
move, and after his steers were bunched sent them_ along. . 
He waited till they had got a good piece up the trail, then’ 
hung his spurs in his pony and loped after , them.” 
Monte. 
Whistling. 
Negroes and boys may -whistle in the street, — 
The boys because they’re void of better sense, 
And Afric’s sons because kind Providence 
Has gifted them with pipes complete, 
For oft they make a music rather sweet. 
Indeed, I listen with a sort of pleasure 
When they perform in harmony and measure. 
And beat the time with swiftly moving feet. 
And even men may whistle when they hear 
A ta’e that’s somewh'at marvelous and tough; . 
In case like this it may be well enough 
To make their incredulity appear; 
■Yet stilM think most. sensible men with me 
That whistling is a:, bote will heartily agree. 
The current edition of the Game Laws in Brief, sold' 
everywhere, contains all the fish and game laws a sports- - 
man ought to know. It is complete, accurate and up-tCL' 
date, 
