Sept, i, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
335 
CAMP ON LITTLE SANDY. 
Photo by C. L. Stratton. 
scene of the shooting. None of the bears were 
within sight, and on going down the hill they 
saw that the wounded one had sufficiently re¬ 
covered to get up and walk away. About the 
spot where it had fallen it looked as if two or 
three buckets of blood had been spilt on the 
ground. The Boss had the curiosity to measure 
The distance from the spot where the bear had 
fallen to the prints made by his own feet, when 
he shot, and found it just ten feet. 
They then went on to the place where the bear 
had been lying when first seen. Here at the 
foot of some large trees they found holes, such 
as a dog will dig on a warm summer's day, 
scraped in the dirt and pine needles. And it 
seemed as if the brutes had been traveling, and 
on reaching this cool, shady spot, had scraped 
out beds for themselves and lain down to sleep. 
On being awakened they were as cross as human 
beings might be under similar circumstances, and 
the biggest and most savage of them had let his 
temper get the better of him, and had made the 
attack. Returning now to the spot where the 
bear had fallen they took up its trail. There was 
no difficulty about following it, for the animal 
was bleeding freely. For a quarter of a mile 
they kept on after it, through the timber, and 
then it passed out into a little park. Here the 
tracks of the four others were seen, and the five 
kept on together for some distance. There were 
still heavy snow-drifts in many of the ravines 
and low places, and this snow was packed so 
hard that the feet of the men as they walked 
over it made no prints upon it. The tracks of 
the unwounded bears sunk into the snow an inch 
or two, but the feet of the wounded one made 
tracks eight inches deep by measurement, thus 
affording some indication of its size and weight. 
The men followed the trail for about^ a mile 
and a half, when it entered some low junipers 
where a man could not see six feet ahead of 
him. At this point they concluded that they had 
gone far enough, and very wisely turned about 
and returned to the ranch. 
The Boss told me that he was never so scared 
in his life as he was when he saw three bears 
coming toward him, and he confidentially in¬ 
formed me that he didn’t believe his face re¬ 
covered its natural color for three days after the 
encounter. Yo. 
Old Nebraska and New Minnesota. 
Aitkin, Minn., Aug. 20 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Your editorial “Bring Back the Elk to 
Nebraska" has struck a responsive chord. Not 
that I ever expect to see the elk restored to 
the sandhill country of the Platte, Loup and 
Niobrara rivers, but because that and the coun¬ 
try east, as far as the Platte and Loup, was the 
stage on which I did my first stunt in big-game, 
hunting. And a great hunting ground it was, 
too! Not a lasting hunting ground like northern 
Minnesota, where deer, bear and moose still 
linger after many years’ settlement, for the big 
game of Nebraska disappeared before encroach¬ 
ing settlements like frost before the morning 
sun. But to him who followed close in the 
footsteps of the receding Indians, it was great. 
In the sandhills and along the streams, elk, 
white-tail deer, black-tail deer (“mule deer," 
some stickler will say), antelope, countless 
wolves, coyotes, beaver, otter, wildcat and the 
like, and, before the advent of the Union Pacific 
Railway, buffalo; while on the lower rivers the 
greatest wild goose country the world ever 
knew could be found. It was indeed great, and 
its like will never be known again. I suppose 
one might see more game of that kind in and 
around Yellowstone Park now than a season 
in the sandhills of old would show, but that 
kind of garden game does not appeal to me like 
the real thing. 
It is a far cry from the plains of Nebraska 
in the sixties and seventies to the woods of 
northern Minnesota in 1906. but did any one ever 
work in the garden through the hot days of 
June, July and into August, and hear jacksnipe 
whirring overhead at almost any time? Well, I 
have this year; and it seems to indicate that 
the snipe have nested here in large numbers, 
though we see but little of them. Woodcock 
also nested in considerable numbers, though I 
believe they are all gone now. Mallard and 
wood duck also nested numerously in this 
vicinity. It has been rather dry this summer, 
with no severe storms, and very favorable for 
the young grouse, of which there are four kinds 
here, namely, spruce, ruffed, starptail and 
pinnated. Yet with all this game, it is no 
slaughter country such as the Dakota prairies 
for chickens or the great prairie marshes for 
ducks. Most sportsmen would feel disgusted at 
a day afield in this country, as here one gets 
the maximum of recreation and the minimum 
of meat. The inaccessibility of the country pro¬ 
tects the game. 
Did any readers ever carefully raise a fine 
garden and then see your dearly beloved neigh¬ 
bors of wood and field gather most of it? 
Makes you wish the gun might be abolished 
and the sword of Justice beat into a plow share, 
don’t it? I have taken the toes off several coons, 
shot several woodchucks, and if they don't 
watch out, some of Mr. Fullerton’s live stock 
will be seen going round with a whole field of 
corn and beans growing out of their back and 
sides next year. 
E. P. Jaques. 
A Minnesota Game Country. 
Balsam, Aitkin County, Minn .—Editor Forest 
and Stream: I think a good many readers of 
Forest and Stream will be interested in. the 
game of this part of Minnesota. We are in what 
was ten years ago a game paradise, but because of 
pot-hunters and Indians is not nearly so good as 
then, but still about as good as can be found near 
any railroad. 
There are many deer left, and for the last two 
years they have increased. It is nothing strange 
for us to see ten or twelve in a bunch in the 
woods during the winter. There were hundreds 
of them all through this country last winter, 
north and east, of Sandy Lake in Aitkin county, 
and west and north of Prairie Lake in St. Louis 
county. 
Many moose are left here; we see a good many 
and more sign during the closed season, but few 
are killed during the open season, except by 
local gunners who know, where to look for them. 
Bears are numerous, but on account of their 
shyness few are killed, and they are usually run 
on to by chance. During the fall you see their 
work on the white and red oak. There is hardly 
an oak that is not stripped of its nuts. Grouse 
are very plentiful if you know where they have 
not been shot out. Two years ago between 2,500 
and 3,000 birds w'ere taken out of McGregor, be¬ 
sides other local railroad points and what were 
killed by the local hunters. Last fall partridges 
were rather scarce on account of the wet spring 
and summer, but we had a good winter for the 
old birds, and there is a great crop of well-grown 
young ones for the lover of partridge shooting. 
We have a good number of native ducks 
hatched out here in the numerous rice lakes, be¬ 
sides more than our share of the northern flight. 
It is unfortunate that we have no local guides 
who take the foreign hunter to the good lakes. 
They will advise you to go to some lake that is 
easy to get to—even if they know that within a 
few miles there are myriads of ducks, and the 
hunter is often badly disappointed. I know of 
one case of two Duluth gentlemen dumped down 
ten miles from nowhere at a lake where they 
stayed several days and only killed one duck, 
while within a few miles of them was one of the 
finest duck lakes in Minnesota. I know of half 
a dozen good rice lakes where there is never a 
shot fired at a duck during the winter season. 
It is not necessary to say anything about fish. 
We have all kinds of them, except trout, in any 
number you want to angle for Sandy Lake. 
A Day with the Woodcock. 
Some eighty miles from Boston is the small 
town of W. consisting of two stores, a small 
hotel, and about forty houses; and about a mile 
from the village is some of the best woodcock 
cover in Massachusetts. One morning last Octo¬ 
ber, my father and I started for this cover. As 
it was pretty near the last of the month, we did 
not expect to get a very large bag, because we 
supposed the flight had all gone. 
We arrived at the shooting ground about seven 
o'clock. Ben, our English setter, had no more 
than got into the cover, when he stiffened on a 
beautiful point. I sent the dog along, and up 
jumped a woodcock, at which we both fired—and 
I guess, we both hit it, by the looks of it, when 
Ben brought it in. Neither my father nor I are 
what you would call good shots, and to get 
the first bird made us feel in very high spirits. 
The dog flushed a partridge out of our sight; 
and then we hunted for about two hours, with¬ 
out starting a thing. Father said, “Well, I guess 
the flight has all gone.” He had no more than 
uttered the words, when I happened to look at a 
brush heap, and behind it was Ben, with his head 
extended and his tail as rigid as a board. I 
spoke to Dad, and as I spoke, up jumped the 
little brown beauty, and sailed away, amid the 
bombardment from two double barrels. But I 
have said we are both very poor shots, so this 
did not surprise us at all. We followed that 
bird and started her four times, and every time, 
one of us got a chance to shoot, but did not hit 
her. Finally, after hunting for her about an 
hour, I managed to wing her, and Ben retrieved 
her. 
It had got pretty near noon, and so we de¬ 
cided to get to the team, and eat our lunch; but 
it was an awful short noon hour, as we were 
anxious to hunt. 
