Mov. 2S, igo%.] 
FOREST AND STREAM 
429 
even a rotten stick before he tried to escape. Somehow 
all snakes seem afraid of me, and I must look one stead- 
ily in the eyes from the first if I would strike it ere it 
rushes away. Malty leaped after him in a fearful rage. 
He fell into the swift water, now- so muddy that nothing 
could be seen an inch below the surface, for the rain 
had been literally pouring down for several minutes, and 
the sky was aflame with blinding lightning. “Great Jove” 
hurled his mighty thunderbolts, right and left with such 
apparent recklessness that we, couldn’t imagine whether 
he favored our side or the snake’s, or was against us all. 
A great pine was so near me that I ran on to another 
which had fallen long before and bridged the creek (a 
standing pine is not a safe ■ companion in a thunder 
storm). Not that I felt much safer there, the pine was 
still too near; but I could not. desert Malty now— poor 
little “fuss-and-trouble,” she had always heretofore been 
so nervous about thunder. But on this occasion she 
seemed to defy everything to capture that snake. Per- 
haps she had made solemn vows of vengeance during her 
long illness. 
As the snake struck the water another and larger one 
appeared at its side with wideopen mouth. This was 
more than Malty could forgive. She rushed out on the 
log beside me and instantly hurled herself down upon 
them, and all disappeared in the torrent. 
Now comes the wonderful, the amazing, the incredible 
part of the story. I can’t say how it was. I can’t ex- 
plain it. I only know it really happened, and was no 
dream. 
Of course. I expected her to reappear in a moment, and 
my mind worked very rapidly. I wondered if she would 
be bitten under water; if, under such circumstances, the 
bite would be harmful, if she could find or catch a snake 
under water, etc. But she did not come up; neither did 
afiy snake. I searched the water from bank to bank with 
my eyes; down stream, up stream, carefully scrutinized 
the shores. No dog. No snake. No living thing. I 
was alone with the flood, the ear-splitting thunder, the 
blinding lightning, the roaring tempest. Had I lost that 
faithful, loving, thinking, passionate dumb brute forever ? 
Had some large aquatic monster actually swallowed her? 
Or, had she caught in a network of roots. Ah ! that was 
it! The only likely thing. I had read of such a fate 
overtaking land animals. 
I was tempted to plunge in — I was wet as could be 
already. But I believed I could search the bottom more 
quickly with a pole, and every second was most precious 
now. She might be struggling in awful agony on the 
bottom, might be drowning, might already be past help. 
I am not ashamed to say that I prayed for that little 
dog, while mentally recalling instances wherein I had 
been unkind and unjust to her. Never had she seemed 
so precious to me. 
Sentimental? Silly? Yet, I believe all true sportsmen 
capable of so loving any really worthy dumb companion, 
only some would not admit it, even to their dearest 
friends. I certainly would not confess this “weakness” 
in Forest and Stream if I believed its readers, in the 
main, held the contempt for animals that some do. I 
quickly found a long pole, with which I rapidly but care- 
fully prodded the bottom all about. It did not come in 
contact with anything that felt at all like any animal. I 
was in despair. 
Suddenlv I heard a sound very different from the noise 
of the elements. I could not decide, what nor whence it 
came. It seemed faint and far away. I soon decided, 
however, that it was near, and moved about to get the 
direction ; whereat I noticed that it became more distinct 
as I neared the south shore, so I crossed over. Then I 
noted that it came from the ground. I kept on until I 
stood directly over the spot. The sound now became a 
furious, though muffled, barking, and the ground shook 
like the deck of a boat in a storm. 
“Is it possible? Is Malty here, under this ground? 
How did she get here? There must be an outlet under 
the water ! Humph ! too much like a novel !” I mentally 
exclaimed. 
“Malty ! Malty !” I called aloud, and began tearing at 
the sticks and roots that were in part exposed, for I dis- 
covered that this was a drift thinly and irregularly cov- 
ered with earth, although a space of two or three yards, 
between it and the creek appeared solid ground. 
I soon, had her uncovered, but she was so eager after 
the snakes that she paid no attention to me, but kept on 
digging, barking and growling. The passages among the 
sticks were so narrow and tortuous, however, that the 
snakes kept eluding us for a long wTile, and I do not 
now recollect whether we got any of the snakes or not. 
My joy at her exploit made me comparatively indifferent 
to all that happened afterward for the remainder of the 
day. 
This adventure suggests several interesting questions 
for naturalists and sportsmen to wrestle with, and I 
would be much gratified to see the subject discussed in 
Forest and Stream by its well informed readers, espe- 
cially by men of such wide experience as Cabia Blanco, 
Hardy, Captain Kelly and Jaques. Can a dog trail any- 
thing on or under water? - Does- a dog open and use his 
eyes under water very commonly ? Can a dog use his 
teeth effectivelv under w'ater wdthout strangling? I have 
myself received evidences that say “yes” to all the fore- 
going, but warit better proof if possible. How many 
of you have known dogs to perform really useful or in- 
teresting feats under water ? Please speak up 1 What 
more widely interesting subject could you suggest to 
lovers of adventure or students of natural history? 
Water and . dogs. The sportsman’s chief delights. . 
Since writing the foregoing I have noticed with sincere 
sorrow that, our beloved fellow-contributor, Cabia 
Blanco, has passed on to the happy hunting grounds, and 
even at thid late date I must ask to be permitted to de- 
clare my admiration and respect for him. So much has 
been said in his praise that I might seem_ simply follow- ; 
ing popular opinion were I to indulge in an extended 
laudation, so I wdll offer but one special tribute: 
He was truthful, he was true to nature. My own com- 
paratively limited experiences convince me ofiThat, but 
instead of praising his style — ik'-was too brief, too tantal- 
izing; I often wished for details. There was never a 
word’ too much, nothing tiresome. L. R. Morphew. ; 
-- ■ * 0 -“ ^ - 
All cofnfnuniccitions foT Forest and Stream tnust , bt 
directed to Forest cmd Stream Pub. Co., New York, to 
Xifeive (fttention. We have_ no other oMee, j 
The Deer Park on the Farm. 
•Sierra City, CaL— Editor Forest and Stream: The 
literature ol venatic. sports and pursuits is ever most 
interesting to me, and I presume it is so also to the 
generality of disciples of St. Hubertus, as is the fish 
story to the worshippers at the shrine of Izaak Walton. 
I turn almost instinctively to any yarn spun by a 
hunter, when I see it in print, particularly when I need 
diversion from the thoughts of my regular vocation. 
Furthermore, I desire “to get en rapport,” as the 
spiritualists would say, with my surroundings if in a 
game country, and nothing seems so effective to that 
result as a-- periodical like Forest and Stream, for 
perusal, or any story on hunting and game no matter 
what its source. Sometimes the story may be found in 
publications not of the class. Recently I picked up a 
copy of the Farm and Home Sentinel, of Indianapolis, 
and found an article by the editor in regard to the 
American deer and its association with man. Think- 
ing it might be entertaining to others, I take the 
liberty of submitting it. Wm. Fitzmucgins. 
.Less than half a century ago it was very common 
in some parts of this country to see a certain portion 
of the larger farms permanently devoted to game — • 
especially the native white-tail deer. The “deer park” 
was an important part of such farms, particularly to 
those of the old-fashioned gentlemen who settled the 
“military scrip lands”- of midland and southwestern 
Ohio. These people brought with them the customs 
of their fathers from Virginia and the Garolinas. It 
seems hardly possible now to consider the small ex- 
pense attending the founding and maintaining of a deer 
park in the earlier days of what once was the “North- 
western Territory.” 
Land, of course, v^as much cheaper then than now 
and the animals themselves could almost be had for the 
asking. To-day the “deer park” among farmers and 
even among country gentlemen is almost unknown in 
the Central West. In the old days the deer were no 
more of a luxtury than are the farmers’ flock of turkeys 
to-day. A herd of deer increases rapidly, are not 
costly to feed, are easily kept in flesh and furnish 
venison for a large family, besides leaving plenty of it 
for market. 
One of the staff writers of the National Stockman 
and Farmer, of Pittsburg, while on a visit to Washing- 
tonville, Montour county. Pa., was invited to drive out 
to a farm one mile- away to see some deer fed. In re- 
lating the story of his trip he says: 
“I was surprised to find that a plain Pennsylvania 
farmer was keeping more than one hundred deer in a 
grove by his home. I spent a night in the home of this 
farmer, and when I awoke in the morning three deer 
were at their feed troughs near the house awaiting 
breakfast. During the next hour I counted seventy- 
five more as they moved out of the dense grove, making i 
their way toward the feeding ground. As they apr 
proached with light “step and grace of motion some 
fawns playing and sdnie older deer watchful, I was 
sure that no prettierTarm scene existed in America. 
“A few weeks, befote this time I had visited the new 
Zoo, up in the, Bronx- Park, New York city, where the 
deer is a specialty, and there was nothing there to com- 
pare with the sight upon which this Pennsylvania farmer 
feasted his eyes; twice a day when his deer came out in 
the open for tlieir grain.” This herd belongs to the 
Hon. Alexander Billmeyer, of Washingtonville, Pa. 
The personal lexperiences of the owner with deer is t 
full of dramatic contrasts. Mr. Billmeyer’s original 
start was five .does and a buck. In six years his herd , 
had increased to one hundred head. Every doe usually 
has twins each June. In order to reduce the herd and 
keep it “within due bounds” Mr. Billmeyer sold a large 
number of the animals and prepared traps for taking 
them. This proved unfortunate. On account' of the 
Vv'ild and timid nature the deer became panic-stricken 
and in their terror only twelve were caught in the traps, 
while twenty-two were killed in the effort. In addition 
to the twenty-two mentioned, a large number of others 
in their frenzy dashed themselves against trees and 
fences, many of them were killed outright and others 
were so crippled as to necessitate their being shot. 
Those left became so restless and troubled that both 
appetite and digest' c ' and when winter 
came on they were low m flesh and in no condition to 
bear its rigors. In spite, thcretore, of the greatest care, 
several of the re g lid die 1 ed from the cold. 
Mr. Billmeyer also has ;:£t little herd of elk. The elk 
are much less numerous ,-and less liable to panic than 
the deer. While the latter, always seek shelter from 
the weather in heavy torest and thickets and even in 
sheds and shelters ot man s construction, the elk re- 
main out in the open in .^the very coldest of weather. 
Nature, as with other animals, has provided in a 
wonderful manner tor the care and preservation of the 
young deer. /There is nothing in the animal kingdom 
so beautiful and gracetul, so timid and yet so trustful 
as the spotted, fawns. They are easily “raised on the. 
bottle” : and adapt themselves readily to any new sur- 
roundings' or circumstances. 
The writer went out early one summer morning some 
years ago to kill a “black-tail” deer or two for venison. 
The particular hunting ground was at the base of the 
. Sangre-de-Cristo Mountains, in Colorado, on the San 
Luis Park side. A fat doe was killed. The hunter dis- 
covered when too late that slie had a fawn hidden some- 
where in the mountain oak thickets. When carrying the 
quarters to the pack-horse the feeble cry of a human 
infant was repeatedly heard. As there was no house 
or road, nor even an Indian trail, within eight or ten 
. miles, the presence of a baby wasmmpossible, but the 
writer did mot think of it then as the cry of a fawn. 
The piteous wail ceased and as the horses hidden in the 
ravine were approached something touched the hunter’s 
boot leg, and looking down be found a most beautiful 
fawn two or three weeks old trotting contentedly be- 
tween his feet. The heart of the hunter smote him as 
the little creature so trustfully followed, for the cruel 
fate of the mother was fresh in his mind-; -_Taking it in 
his arms he mounted his horse and carried it home. 
There the tender-hearted housekeeper fed it on rich 
cfiiw’s milk. It took to the food and ways of the whit« 
-iitiO- .... , , ' 
folks from the first and grew amazingly. How it did 
thrive! The kind foster mother allowed it always to 
eat at the “first table.” In a few months it drank coffee 
and tea like others and soon concluded that everything 
tasted better if shared with the housekeeper. From 
that on it drank from her cup and ate from her plate. 
It was inordinately fond of pickles and was so im- 
polite as to clear the pickle dish at every meal. It 
followed those whom it loved constantly about like a 
dog. 
At the end of a year “Jennie,” as the doe was named, 
had grown to be several inches higher than the dining 
table and so strong that soldiers and cowboys alike 
dared not start any “rough house” games with her as 
formerly. Then her troubles, began. 
A large party of ladies and gentlemen came from 
Denver on a camping expedition through the moun- 
tains. _ The railroads had not then climbed the Sangre- 
de-Cristo passes. This party, with a just regard for 
the convefiience of having numerous saddle horses at 
hand, camped for a week near the place bossed by the 
orphaned “Jennie.” The third evening of their sojourn 
the party, were guests at a formal dinner in the ranch 
dining. room. The splendid doe, not being in possession 
of any “company manners,” was ighominiously locked 
up in the private blacksmith shop of the place. 
■ The soup had been served and the dinner was going 
off with all the smoothness and precision possible to 
a table presided over by a tactful woman, assisted by a 
detail -of ; half a dozen men as waiters, when a tre- 
riienddus - racket was heard in the direction of the 
stables, " followed by a crash of breaking wood and 
falling; glass. The dismayed housekeeper barely had 
timeT-o say, “Oh! it’s Jennie,” when around the corner 
of a building she came. With a squeal of anger, the 
long hairs on her back standing out straight, blood 
streaming; from cuts on her face and a piece of window 
sash afoiind her neck, she came leaping high in the 
air and striking the ground on all four feet; her eyes 
blazing with anger, she looked dangerous. Bounding 
into tlic timing room at one leap, she struck the. table 
with a crash, breaking a stack of plates and throwing 
soup in every direction. The gowns of several ladies 
weie ru-ii ed and the neatly pressed scissors-tail of the 
n lie gut-5i^ had a disreputable look ever after. 
I hi settled it. Jennie was to be turned into venison, 
1 t v\ jni I s influence came to the rescue. The patient 
housekeeper “put her foot down,” so to speak, and 
declared that Jennie was practically one of the family 
and; there should be no cannibalism in that mess room 
while 'She had anything to do with it. The next winter, 
however, the passes were piled deep with snow and to- 
ward spring a tobacco famine raged in the valley. In 
the ■ ranch store room was tobacco enough to give 
the fifty men on the place a quarter ration for several 
weeks.. But the door was left open and the deer who 
v\ is pass I riately fond of the weed, had an hour to 
herselb in that forbidden precinct. The result was the 
last tobacco in San Luis Park was eaten, trampled 
under 'loot and otherwise destroyed. The next morn- 
ing. Jennie was treacherous beguiled into “taking a 
walk with the foreman. They entered the cottonwood 
thicker, where the town of Villa Grove now stands, and 
tl ere i o i Jennie died. On the banks of Kirber Creek 
she was buried and there she has reposed for these many 
year It \ ts believed by some that, like the educated 
Indian; - she tired of civilized life, put on the blanket 
Ol the liarbarian and returned to her native pastures on 
the sides ot the Sangre-de-Cristos. 
In the el ildhood of the writer ninety-four acres of 
the farm on which he was born were used for a “deer 
park. T There were many such at that time, some 
larger, .some smaller. In this enclosure were between 
thirtv and lorty deer. These were fed as carefully as 
any animals on the farm and were used for food or 
sold as the welfare of the herd or the circumstances of 
their owner dictated. A few of them leaped the fence 
and were killed by hunters. The Civil War turned the 
attention of men into new channels. 
A small bunch finally remained in the park, led by 
an enormous stag. One day a lady undertook to walk 
through the deer park in spite of warnings. She was 
attacked by the stag, knocked down and her life was 
only saved by laborers who fought the brute with ax 
and pitchfork until so crippled that he had to be shot. 
The owner sold the remaining deer, turned the “park” 
into cultivated fields and from that on no deer have 
been held in captivity on that land or in that township. 
Thus the disappearance of deer parks in the Middle 
West is accounted for. One by one they were 
abandoned for various reasons until practically none are 
left. 
Even considered as a luxury, a deer herd is not so 
expensive, and except for the increased value of land 
could be easily made to pay expenses. In the case of 
the herd spoken of by The Farm and Home Sentinel, 
something over a hundred deer and elk altogether, 
there is but 2,000 bushels of corn, oats and wheat 
screenings fed each year. 
The Goose Came Back. 
The writer was informed by Capt. Handen B. Nicholas 
that his father, the late Robert C. Nicholas, of Bucking- 
ham county, Va., once caught a young wild gander, which 
he tamed, and for a long time it remained quietly and 
contentedly in the yard with the other tame geese. How- 
ever, it disappeared in the spring after it was a year old. 
The following fall Mr. Nicholas heard in the air far 
above him what seemed to him a familiar “honk.” Taking 
out of his pocket a large bandana handkerchief, with 
which he was accustomed to call together the geese by 
waving it when he fed them, he held it up in the air and 
waved it, and to his surprise the gander came to the 
ground with some young getse and a mate he had taken 
in the Arctic regions. They never left their home again, 
but remained all their lives perfectly tame and contented. 
This is not fiction but an established fact, and will be 
corroborated by Captain Nicholas if anyone wishes to 
verify it. It appears to the writer to be strong, steady 
proof of the fact that wild animals reason and are far 
more intelligent than they are generally believed to me,. 
Buckingham, 
