170 
FOREST AND STREAM 
February 7, 1914. 
tridges or even for not having shot the smaller 
pellets first. With each effort to rise he seemed 
to grow weaker, as he went flapping, flapping off 
in a wave-like motion. I felt certain that he was 
fatally wounded, and would drop dead where he 
stopped, but unfortunately for me there was no 
ground under him, as he was flying over the back¬ 
water. Though it was February I waded after 
him until I got into the water up to my armpits. 
The shadows were falling fast and with every 
step the water got deeper, so with much disap¬ 
pointment I gave it up, feeling that my turkey 
was dead, but it would have been too much for 
a tyro to carry two turkeys home from his first 
hunt, therefore, I must be content to return to 
camp with one good prize, and the consolation 
that I had brought him down with my first shot. 
Upon retiring that night, I thought with some 
amusement, how the raccoons were sniffing the 
savory odors from that fine gobbler in the back¬ 
water, and could not get to him, unless they swam 
or built a raft of cypress logs. 
On my second turkey hunt, as the skiff landed 
at the west bank of the little Homochitto we saw 
a fresh turkey track, and of course the guide 
said that he had just flown over that morning, 
maybe he had, but it was then sunrise. We were 
not on a yelping and gobbling hunt that morning, 
but rather a stalking effort. I had heard wonder¬ 
ful accounts of “Bull Skin Ridge,” where I looked 
in vain for a range higher than the rest of the 
swamp—a mile to the west of the river, so I se¬ 
lected that as my territory after being duly 
warned by the guide as to the danger of getting 
lost, ’though I had spent much time on hunting 
trips into the swamps of the Mississippi valley, 
and found by experience that I was a fairly good 
woodsman. 
I hiked toward “Bull Skin Ridge,” and as the 
guide had posted me about the blazes made by 
former hunters to mark the spot, I found “Bull 
Skin Ridge,” and ’twas almost as flat as a race 
track. I also found some very attractive three 
toe and a heel foot prints, which pleased me far 
more than the topography of either ridges or val¬ 
leys. I began to follow the tracks of several tur¬ 
keys, and after walking a few rods, could see 
only one track before me. While I stood by a 
large cypress tree listening, my ear caught a 
pu-t, pu-t, and upon looking in the distance 
whence came that alarm signal, I saw a turkey 
.standing on an old log in easy range. I was car¬ 
rying a full choke Winchester Repeater, and 
wdiether or not using a gun that I was not accus¬ 
tomed to made me slow, by the time my gun was 
up to the shoulder the turkey was hammering 
the tree limb like a woodsman who had no in¬ 
tention of sparing trees or anything else, for he 
stood not upon the order of his going, for away 
he flew to the tops of the tall cypress trees, and 
then setting his great wings, he sailed off. The 
cover was quite thick, hence my only chance 
would have been in a very quick snapshot, which 
I did not get. I walked on following the one 
track, and came to the edge o'f the troublesome 
back water again, and there of course the turkey 
track ended, but I noticed that the water over a 
soft mud bottom was perceptibly muddy, and I 
swung off to the left on a narrow peninsula, run¬ 
ning down into the shallow water. When I had 
almost reached the point of land, up flushed the 
turkey, whose track I had followed for an hour. 
Before the turkey had registered many beats I 
sent a charge of No. 6 chilled shot straight into 
him, not twenty paces away, and as he began to 
struggle for breath, to keep aloft, it did not seem 
necessary to use the rapid fire process, so I 
pumped in a new shell and waited and watched. 
He gave up the ineffectual attempt to arise to 
the tree tops, and setting his wings he sailed 
straight ahead. I knew that he was mine just as 
surely as though I had him thrown over my 
shoulder, tramping back to camp, and this inci¬ 
dent corroborated the belief that my second tur¬ 
key had gone to a watery grave. I paced the dis¬ 
tance as well as I could through the shallow 
water and after going one hundred and twenty 
paces, I found my turkey lying on the surface of 
the water, with wings wide spread and the sur¬ 
face of the water looked as if he had tried to 
shed all his small feathers at once. I felt a lit¬ 
tle weary after the long tramp and picking up 
my turkey, I walked back a few rods, and found 
a dry spot on which to eat my luncheon and en¬ 
joy a smoke. 
While smoking and incidentally seeing how 
many swamp mosquitoes I could dope with 
strong tobacco, I heard the report of a gun fol¬ 
lowed by shouting. I answered the latter and 
in a few moments one of the guides hove in 
sight. When he came up he assured me that he 
thought I was lost, and had been following my 
tracks for two hours, and when I laughed he 
asked me to point out the direction of the land¬ 
ing whence I had started, and when I did so to 
his satisfaction he seemed quite surprised, but I 
assured him that I was not a tenderfoot in wood¬ 
craft. After having him smoke a cigar with me, 
we walked leisurely toward the boat landing. 
Like a small boy I always wanted to feel the 
burden of my own game bag, so I would not 
hear to the guide’s carrying my turkey, and upon 
seeing a very attractive log heap and brush pile, 
a few rods to the right of our course, I went 
cautiously toward it, looking for another turkey, 
but not dreaming that I would find one at that 
late hour, when up flew another fine gobbler, with 
a tremendous rush—while we all must have an 
excuse for not stopping a good flush—and as I 
hadn’t shown gumption enough to let the weight 
of an 18-pound dead turkey off of my left shoul¬ 
der to try another shot, I sent him a charge of 
No. 6 at a gobbler fighting his way skyward 
among the sappling and vine, and I did not know 
which one stopped my shot, only I didn’t score 
and stop the turkey, but tried philosophically to 
conclude that it was not my good fortune to bag 
two turkeys on the same day. When we met at 
the Little River to terminate what had been to 
me a very enjoyable turkey hunt, I found out that 
I, a tyro, was again the only one in the party 
who had bagged a turkey, and in thanking my 
good friends for their congratulations and the 
great pleasure they had given me, I said “’Twas 
nothing but luck gentlemen—pure luck.” 
EXPORTATION OF FOXES. 
In the neighborhood of 500 foxes of all kinds, 
valued at a figure in excess of $200,000, were 
shipped from Saskatchewan points to Eastern 
provinces during 1913. From Prince Albert 
alone more than 100 silver foxes are said to 
have been exported, and it is expected that the 
catch of 1914 will exceed that of last yea: con¬ 
siderably as there are far more person^ inter¬ 
ested in trapping these valuable animals alive 
than formerly. 
The business became so active that it aroused 
considerable interest in the minds of those who 
were in close touch with the situation, and from 
time to time recommendations were received by 
the department to have legislation enacted to 
regulate the exportation of these valuable fur¬ 
bearing animals. Acting upon these recommen¬ 
dations the subject was introduced at the recent 
session of the Legislature, and after due delib¬ 
eration the Game Act was amended, providing 
a close season for foxes between May 1st and 
August 31st. To enable the Department to keep 
some check on this industry and to encourage 
the breeding of fur-bearing animals in our own 
province, 'the amendments provided for a fee of 
$100.00 for each black or silver fox exported 
and $15.00 for each red or cross fox. Both 
amendments were passed without opposition and 
received the hearty support of the members rep¬ 
resenting the districts most deeply concerned :n 
the new legislation. 
THE ENGLISH SETTER. 
(Continued from page 174.) 
English will not change their type to a lighter 
kind of dog to suit the tastes of other people. 
All or nearly all of the well known Mallwyd dogs 
which come across are broken dogs, and there 
can be no denying that Tom Steadman of 
Mallwyd, Dinas Mawddy, North Wales, has kept 
up a wonderful type of dog not only full of good 
looks but having plenty of size. In many setter 
kennels where the home blood has been stuck to, 
the progeny has dwindled off into nothingness. 
It is only natural that a continual intermixing or 
intermingling of the same family blood will bring 
about a weak and degenerate race. But Stead¬ 
man, like Laverack, has evidently solved the 
problem of keeping his English setters up to the 
size; and while recently at the English shows it 
was noticed that the Mawddy setters are as big 
as ever-—if not bigger. Withal this, they are 
handsome and full of quality. 
There will be a great treat in store for anyone 
who cares to visit the excellent show of the West¬ 
minster Kennel Club at the Grand Central Palace, 
New York, February 23-26. Surely it will be a 
sight for sore eyes, for the English setters now 
owned in the United States are above the aver¬ 
age. There are so many good American-breds, 
as, indeed, is befitting the excellence and pedigree 
of their forebears. I have heard of a new one 
owned by Mr. Edward Berwind Chase, of 
Philadelphia, Pa. Mr. Chase has devoted 
much time and money to his chief hobby—and 
that is the bird dog. When he lost Champion 
Lansdowne Lena the other day, he had the sat¬ 
isfaction that the beautiful creature had left 
three nice puppies sired of Deodora Prince II. 
We Will see a large entry of the Chase owner¬ 
ship of pointers and English setters at the West¬ 
minster. The Chase kennels will be now known 
as the “Bob White.” The new setter of Mr. 
Chase’s breeding we are to look upon will be Bob 
White Masterpiece. He is out of Sirdar Lady 
Madcap, and by Bloomfield Bruce. Lady Madcap 
is by Champion Mallwyd Sirdar out of Champion 
Madcap; Bloomfield Bruce is by Bruce of Salop 
(one of the best field dogs ever brought from Eng¬ 
land), out of Champion Meg O’Leck, a wonder¬ 
ful winner both in England and America. Bob 
White Masterpiece is just over 2 years old. 
Among other exhibitors of English setters may 
be those who put down their very good dogs last 
year. Among the owners were: Alfred Schick- 
erling, Jr., of Red Lion Kennels, Dudley S. C. 
Donnelly, William Hexamer, Dr. James E. Hair 
(who judged in 1913); L. J. Beecher, Berkeley 
Kennels; E. M. Kissick, Ben J. Ankenbruck, Wil¬ 
liam Sporer, Charles Bart, Samuel H. Wood, 
Frank Reilly, Mrs. C. J. Ryan, Meadowview Ken¬ 
nels (A. G. Hooley); William Van Mater, Jr., 
Lockton Kennels; F. Windholz, Dr. Frank B. 
Donohue, W. E. Mason, H. H. Tucker, Mrs. 
Faith Bullard Innes, Mrs. Sarah E. Tallman, 
Donald Kennels, S. W. Carey, Jr., Willowbrook 
Kennels, Mrs. Eugene Rubino, H. M. Beck, H. 
A. Cassidy, Robert West, Will F. Maguire, H. M. 
Posten, Joe Lewis, Harry D. Kirkover, Mrs. A. 
W. L. Armstrong, H. M. Woolf, Charles H. 
Phelps, Dr. H. J. Goubeaud, John Brett, W. 
Ziegler, Jr. It will thus be seen that the pros¬ 
pects of the English setter—the most beautiful 
of the bird dogs—were never better. 
