Aug. 19, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
289 
An Anxious Night in Camp 
By A. D. 
wisest to draw a veil of charity over that, for 
after a brave fight he came sullenly to the net. 
I scooped, and instead of shooting away he came 
right on, head first and through the net like a 
bullet. The fly tore out and scarcely could I 
bring myself to salute the glorious fish as he 
disappeared in a shower of white foam. Suffice 
it to say that we discarded the net, and much 
as I dislike to spoil a lovely fish with the gaff, 
the net was mended and laid away for smaller 
fish. 
But what a sight was my five-ounce rod! It 
was strained so badly that I dared not risk it 
again. After all, the heavy salmon rod is a 
necessity for these big fish, and no line or leader 
but the best should be used unless the fisher is 
prepared to lose a big one or swim the cold 
water as the fish runs down stream. 
In a quiet pool far up in the woods we brought 
another salmon to the net and hooked still an¬ 
other, all in less than half an hour. 
The roe of one of the big salmon looked so 
inviting that we determined to cook this with 
bacon for our supper. Carefully I put the big 
roe in the hot pan, already swimming with bacon 
fat, then bending over the blaze inhaled the 
fragrant smell. “Pur-r-r” the roe “lobbed.” 
“Pur-r—pop—pop, pop,” a red hot egg the size 
of a buckshot spattered me just below the fron¬ 
tal eminence. Then “Pop—pop, pop,” another 
and another of the burning missiles struck me 
in the face. Clawing them off and taking a dip 
of cold water I called: “Lieutenant, will you 
please watch this roe till I wash the dishes? Be 
careful it doesn’t burn.” The Lieutenant took 
the pan, lit his pipe, crouched with a satisfied 
grunt before the fire. “Pur-r-r—pop—pop, pop” 
each followed by a visible, tangible jump and a 
smothered term of reproach. I was busily en¬ 
gaged washing the dishes in the river. 
The Lieutenant put the pan gingerly down, 
looked suspiciously and reproachfully toward 
where I was vigorously scouring a plate and 
called: “Say, Charlie, will you tend this roe 
while I get some wood?” 
“Sure,” said Charlie, and leaving his task of 
cleaning a gun he upended a log, curled his long 
legs about it and sat down with the pan, while 
the Lieutenant strolled out into a clump of 
bushes over which I could see his moustache 
bobbing gravely. 
Charlie turned the roe over. “Pur-r-r” it 
“lobbed” in the hot fat, then “Pop—pop, pop, 
pop, and Charlie, with a half dozen hot eggs 
clinging to his three days’ stubble of beard, 
looked over at the Doctor and the Lieutenant, 
both of whom were oblivious. Then, rubbing 
his chin meditatively, he carefully put the pan 
down and cried: “Supper served.” It all came 
out when we found that the roe was nasty to 
taste. Perhaps a chef would have fixed the stuff 
up, but we left it for the big ravens which were 
flying about the camp. 
Sparrows that have made their home on the 
north side of the avenue between Ninth and 
Tenth streets have been deported. Their chatter 
disturbed the audiences in the moving picture 
theaters and the authorities decreed that they 
must move. According rockets were set off be¬ 
neath the trees the other day and those spar¬ 
rows that were not killed or injured flew away. 
—Washington Herald. 
A BOUT the latter end of 1889 I was jour¬ 
neying with three others from Spitzkop, 
Murchison Range, North Transvaal, to 
the Shangaan country and Manicaland, which 
latter district is now a part of Rhodesia. 
We had discarded our wagon at the Murchi¬ 
son Range, made pack saddles and were taking 
the trip hot foot, with four natives, thirteen 
donkeys and four dogs. About five days out, 
being in the inhabited part of the low country, 
where game is very scarce, especially on a foot 
A THIRTEEN-POUND FEMALE SALMON FROM THE 
CODROY. 
trail, the reader can guess our joy on arriving 
one evening, about an hour after sunset, at the 
Oliphants River, and seeing five large koodoo 
bulls grazing on the opposite bank. The sun 
was shining directly in the eyes of the game, 
and although they were not more than 200 yards 
distant, they did not seem to be afraid of us. 
Beckman and I, being the best shots of the 
party, chose our bucks and fired, the bullets 
making two distinct claps as they struck. My 
buck dropped, but Beckman’s ran off with the 
rest, then to our dismay mine got up and ran, 
too, but it was hard hit. There was nothing else 
to do but slip off our clothes, go through the 
river and follow our game, so telling the other 
boys to offsaddle and make camp, Beckman and 
I waded the dark waters of the river which took 
us at our armpits. When you know that there 
are thousands of crocodiles in all those semi- 
tropical rivers, you will understand why the 
water felt colder than it actually was. 
All the dogs came through with us, and at 
once started off yelping on the trail of the 
koodoo. Beckman and I followed slowly, watch¬ 
ing the trail carefully, as all African antelope 
or buck, as they are usually called, when 
wounded will not keep with the herd, but will 
turn out, and if not followed by the hunter and 
killed, will remain away from the others until 
they recover. Often of course they die or are 
caught by the lions or other beasts of prey. 
We had not gone more than 400 yards when 
we saw the wounded buck’s track turn away 
from the rest, being easily able to distinguish 
it from the others, because when badly wounded 
most antelope run with the toes wide apart. In 
another fifty yards I saw the head and immense 
horns of my koodoo. The sun shone straight in 
its eyes and showed clearly the two thin white 
lines on its face. We stopped for a few seconds 
to arrange our plans, while the koodoo kept 
shaking its horns and watching us. 
Beckman said he would do the killing, so I 
agreed and let him go ahead of me toward a 
bush which we both were to reach before a shot 
was fired. As the grass was scant and the thorn 
bushes mostly very low, we had to crawl and 
keep our heads well down to get to the point 
we wished to reach without disturbing the koo¬ 
doo. I had been crawling for several minutes 
and was close to the marked bush, when I heard 
the loud report of Beckman’s rifle. I looked up 
in time to see the koodoo bound away to the 
right of where Beckman stood and headed close 
to me. I was considerably upset to think our 
meal was escaping and made a bad shot. The 
koodoo turned back and made for the river. 
The shots attracted the dogs, which came up 
to us and at once took up the trail. I followed 
at a run and got close enough to see the koodoo 
jump from a high bank into the river, the dogs 
following it. When I reached the bank I saw 
three dogs swimming beside the koodoo, while 
the fourth one was crouching on its shoulders 
and worrying its neck, the koodoo making in¬ 
effectual attempts to dislodge him with its horns. 
I hastily looked up and down the river, but see¬ 
ing only deeper banks elsewhere I jumped from 
where I stood, the weight of my rifle carrying 
me down, down, so that when I looked up from 
under the water it was all dark. I struck out 
toward the middle of the river and soon reached 
shallow water, as a sand bar runs for a mile 
or more down the stream at this point. Then 
I saw two of our natives running down the side 
of the river where our camp was, and watched 
them hide in the reeds until the buck came with¬ 
in a few feet of the shore, then they rose up 
and their heavy assegais were driven straight 
and true through the koodoo’s heart. 
A third native had waded out and I handed 
my wet rifle and cartridge belt to him and swam 
the rest of the distance to where the koodoo lay 
half out on the sandy beach. Before I reached 
it I noticed one of the dogs trying hard to crawl 
up on a big, smooth, flat boulder in the river, 
some fifteen feet from the bank, so I helped 
him up, thinking he was exhausted or hurt from 
his swim and would be able to return to camp 
when he felt like it. 
