FOREST AND STREAM 
725 
December until May in a large cage, and offered 
them every kind of insect I could get, many 
that young chicks eat at first sight, earthworms, 
cutworms, grasshoppers, crickets, locusts, flies, 
etc., and even when all food was withheld for 
two full days, these quail would not touch or 
become in any degree interested in any insect. 
Still further, I have examined contents of crops 
and gizzards of many quail under magnifying 
glass, yet never once found a trace of any mat¬ 
ter resembling insect remains. Their food in 
Ohio where I formerly lived consisted, during 
the shooting season, at which time I examined 
their food, of corn, picked up where scattered 
when husking, wheat, buckwheat, oats, ragweed, 
foxtail, and other weed seeds. Here they get 
practically no corn, wheat or oats, and their 
main source of food is acorns, buckwheat, weed 
seeds. Like chickens they eat great quantities of 
foliage, clover, wintergreen, sweet fern, sorrel. 
T WENTY-FIVE years make a vast differ¬ 
ence in the feelings of a man. If I could 
call back these twenty-five years, I would 
boil with enthusiasm over the killing of a deer, 
while to-day, it would only cause a momentary 
excitement. As we grow old the blood runs cold. 
We find that there is a vast difference between 
the enthusiasm of youth and the excitement of 
old age, although they are really the same nerve 
disturbances. But these logical observations are 
not pertinent to my story of the killing of my 
first deer and it will be best for me to forget 
them and try to throw the enthusiasm of youth 
into my narrative, that it may be more interest¬ 
ing. Every story has a preface, however, and 
the above is mine. 
In my teens, I had all the love for dog and gun 
that a youngster could inherit and I loved the two 
better than my soul. I had followed the rules 
of a sportsman from snowbird to quail; rabbits 
being the largest of the mammals to fall to my 
gun. I had followed these rules from childhood 
to manhood or from sling-shot (now called flip¬ 
per) to the double-barrel shot gun and rifle. The 
greatest amount of my shooting, up to the time 
of my writing, had been done with an old 
muzzle loader. The breech loader had been in 
use for several years, but I had not been fortu¬ 
nate enough to own one until this time. When 
I came into possession of this coveted weapon 
that loaded from the rear, I began thirsting for 
larger fields and larger game to kill. 
Possessing an old brother in whose footsteps I 
had followed as to fins, furs and feathers, who 
had, at my age, deserted the parental roof-tree 
or the old home place in an inland town, for a 
more congenial and wilder country; I wrote to 
know if I might visit him. He was more than 
agreeable and I packed for the trip, starting with 
the highest hopes and the greatest expecta¬ 
tions. 
This was to be my longest railroad journey up 
to this time. I was to change cars three times 
enroute and this caused me no little uneasiness 
and speculation. I made the second lap, however, 
without mishap, arriving at Clarksdale, Miss., 
grass, turnips, etc. Quail examined last fall had as 
many as four acorns in crop and gizzard, and 
ruffed grouse as many as eleven, and quail were 
bagged in the fields that had nothing but rag¬ 
weed seed and grass to eat, and an examination 
of the ragweed seeds showed not one with a 
kernal or germ within the shell. There surely 
could no't be much nutriment in such food. The 
quail and rabbits are not large like those of Ohio. 
Our spring is late, and quail are later in break¬ 
ing up into pairs than I have before known 
since keeping a record. The earliest I have 
known them to begin their spring love song was 
on April 21, and the latest until ithis year was 
on May 7, 1912. This year I heard “Bob White” 
first on the morning of May 10, before 4 o’clock 
The whip-poor-wills had been screaming an hour 
earlier, and the robins nearly as long. The brown 
thrashers were singing their sweetest, a note 
could be detected occasionally of the dainty little 
My First Deer 
By Mique Webb. 
about noon of the second day and there I took 
the Minter City branch railroad for my destina¬ 
tion. 
At the time, this branch was newly built and 
had been in operation but a short while. It ran 
into a wild and woolly country among a wild and 
woolly people. I had but thirty miles further to go 
but it proved a long thirty miles. The train was 
a combination affair of one day coach and an ex¬ 
press car combined, coupled with a dozen or more 
freight cars. We had made many stops and there 
was much wrangling among the crew. I was 
deeply interested in all that I saw of this new 
country. I sat in my seat and drank in its new¬ 
ness. There were but three passengers besides 
myself and these were tough looking and entire¬ 
ly non-communicative. 
In a seat directly in front of me was seated a 
gentleman in the roughest of garbs and his 
manner corresponded with his clothes. We had 
been two hours making fifteen miles. We reach¬ 
ed a siding called Tutwiler, so the sign-board an¬ 
nounced and I afterward learned ‘that it was 
named after a noted bear hunter in that locality. 
I supposed this to be a town as there was a store, 
blacksmith shop and one dwelling. The dwelling 
was inhabited by a negro family and was located 
very near the railroad tracks. There were two 
black-and-tan coon or cur dogs sleeping peace¬ 
fully in the yard enclosure. The weather was a 
little cool and the windows of the car were all 
down. Suddenly, the gentleman in front of me 
threw up his window and began shooting at the 
dogs. My attention was engaged elsewhere at 
the time and at the first discharge of his heavy 
forty-four, I was greatly frightened. In fact, 
panic seized me and I leaped up in my seat, strik¬ 
ing my head violently on the wire basket rack 
above. The resiliency of this basket shot me 
back into my seat and left me with a crick in my 
neck that I did not recover from for several 
days. 
The dogs began to hunt cover, and as they ran 
about, panic stricken, the shooter bored holes 
under them that made them frantic, thus increas¬ 
ing his amusement. At the first shot, there was 
song sparrow, when through the screen of my 
wide open window came the long-expected but 
faint “Bob White” of a distant quail. Only an 
experienced ear could have heard it when so 
many other birds were giving their morning con¬ 
cert. A few minutes later quail could be heard 
from every direction, some so distant it was very 
faint, others near by, loud and vigorous, and 
ait all distances between, singing their old-time 
loving and lovable love song “Bob-Bob White.” 
I heard whip-poor-wills first this year on morn¬ 
ing of May 3, and in the evening of that day 
saw first 1914 barn swallow. This morning I 
saw and heard the first oriole, and saw kingbirds 
and chimney swallows for the first. 
As Mr. Chase asks, why is not the beauty and 
songs of birds, the sentiment, sufficient reason 
for properly protecting them? Has ever an im¬ 
portant reform been accomplished by resorting 
to false pretenses? 
a great commotion in the house. An old white 
haired darky and his wife soon appeared on the 
scene. They came out of the house with hands 
and voices uplifted and began imploring the gen¬ 
tleman—“fer Gord’s sake Mister, doa’n kill mer 
dorgs, doa’n kill mer dorgs, doa’n kill mer 
dorgs.” But Mister paid no attention to their 
pleadings until his gun was empty. Placing his 
pistol back in its holster, he lowered his window, 
the train pulled out and beyond a little chuckling 
to himself, the incident was closed. This was 
my introduction to this new country. 
A little later, I arrived at my destination, was 
met by my brother and we proceeded to his 
home. I found a paradise in this territory, that 
is, from my point of view. I worked on quail 
for quite a while, until my brother thought I 
must tire of this, to him, tame sport. He sug¬ 
gested a deer hunt which made me wild with de¬ 
sire. A few days for preparation were neces¬ 
sary and he was careful to see that I had some 
rifle practice. We had no dogs. Still hunting 
was to be the method. 
My brother took me down to a country store 
which was on a corner of his cotton plantation 
and introduced me to some of his hunter friends. 
He told the boys that he was going to “sic” me 
onto a deer and wanted them to give me a little 
rifle practice. If I could prove myself eligible, 
the hunt would be on; if not, I would be left at 
home. 
A piece of note paper was tacked to a tree 
about one hundred yards away and I was given a 
straight forty-four Winchester and told to shoot 
for the nail head, driven in the center. I shot 
six times and hit the paper four, but never touch¬ 
ed the nail. While shooting, I was guyed and 
laughed at and everything was said and done that 
could rattle me and make me shoot badly. I came 
through the ordeal, however, with some credit and 
really enjoyed the experience. A vote was taken 
after the target practice and I was voted in on 
the hunt. 
After my shooting was done some of the others 
proceeded to show me how to shoot. Dimes and 
small coins were flipped into the air and shot 
