356 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Aug. 26, 1911. 
The Oldest Powder Mill in America 
dPOE) 
<JFP0E> 
Built by Du Pont in 1802 and still standing on the banks of the Brandywine, near Wilmington. Del. 
That experience counts in the manufacture of powder as in 
everything else, is evidenced by the following scores made at the 
Registered Tournament held at Portland, Me., August 15th and 
16th, 1911. 
ALL the average honors won by sh )oters using Du Pont 
Smokeless Shotgun Powders. 
Lester S German. 
R. L. Spotts.... 
H. C. Kirkwood. 
Silas Adams .375 x 400 
Dr. E. F. Gleason.375 x 400 
E. E. Reed.373 x 400 
J. S. Fanning. 
E. Randall . 
W. G. Hill .367 x 400 
391 
X 
400. 
.D11 
Pont 
.381 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
.378 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
375 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
375 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
373 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
373 
X 
0 
0 
.Du 
Pont 
369 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
367 
X 
400. 
.Du 
Pont 
The New England Individual Championship won by 
Silas Adams, of Portland, with the remarkable score of 98 out 
of 100. Mr. Adams used Du Pont Smokeless. 
The long run of the Tournament made by Lester S. German, with 
133 straight. 
We will send a “No Place for a Frog” picture, lithographed in 15 colors, on receipt of the 
fronts from 4 loaded shell paper cartons showing that the shells have been loaded with any brand of 
Du Pont Shotgun Smokeless Powder. 
Infallible—Ballistite—New SchuHze—New E. C.—Du Pont—and Empire 
Send the carton fronts to Advertising Division Desk No. 3 , Du Pont Building, Wilmington, Del. 
E. I. DU PONT DE NEMOURS POWDER COMPANY 
established 1802 Wilmington, Del. 
*>>» > >>» ********* >» > > > > » ****** > > *» 
A Classic for Sportsmen 
AMERICAN BIG GAME IN ITS HAUNTS 
s .- Boone and Crockett Club Series - 
Edited by GEORGE BIRD GRINNELL 
An invaluable work not alone for the sportsman, but for the student and lover 
of wild life. Treats of big game preservation and protection in the broader sense; 
tells of the habits, habitat and life history of the larger wild animals; touches upon 
the problem of the public forest domain, and is rounded out by interesting hunting 
reminiscences by such leaders in the fraternity of big-game hunters as Madison 
Grant. Paul J. Dashiell, George Bird Grinnell, jas. H. Kidder and W. Lord Smith. 
Bound in cloth, library edition, heavy paper, richly illustrated, 497 pages. 
Postpaid, $2.50 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO., 127 Franklin Street, NEW YORK CITY y 
Gr<«3t3rjt:<3t:« < < < < <<<<«*<*<3t3t3t3tj«3t3t3t3C3t3r3t 
THE OTTER'S WORK. 
On the river bank beneath the fall floods had 
laid bare the gnarled an'd twisted roots of a 
willow tree; behind them a cave had been hol¬ 
lowed out by fast flowing water, and here the 
otter—nomad of the animal world—found snug 
retreat while the sun of April days beat down 
upon the river. A four-footed gypsy, the otter 
in his wanderings came back time after time to 
this haunt beneath the shelving bank, resting 
there, it might be, for days or weeks, until 
some taint of man. some visit from an over- 
curious dog, sent him forth once more upon his 
travels. 
Night fell upon the river and faint mist rose 
from the low lying fields. Pale moths flitted, 
ghostlike, through gathering shadows; a bat 
circled overhead, while from the copse on the 
brow of the hill a fox—red wood dog of the 
gypsies—stole out in search of his next meal. 
Night, with its magic transformation of all 
things common, struck land and water to new 
life. Trout rose in the river, pursuing the pale 
moths that fluttered to and fro; in time the 
moths grew weary and dropped on the water— 
that moment proved their last, for with sodden 
wings they were slow to rise and the trout 
seized on their prey. In the copse a nightjar 
called; the brown owl sallied out upon his noc¬ 
turnal hunting, while over the crest of the hill 
rose a full moon, and beneath its light the river 
shone like quicksilver. 
There was movement, phantomlike, in that 
hover beneath the gnarled willow tree; very 
cautiously the otter stole to the opening and 
paused there, alert for tainted scent of man in 
the air or on the grass. Most shy of all wood¬ 
land creatures he halted, invisible, for many 
minutes; then at last there was an almost im¬ 
perceptible movement of the water—the fisher¬ 
man reassured was abroad. As he swam down 
stream moonlight caught the wet hair upon the 
otter's back, his glistening whiskers could be 
seen and the trail of his thick tail, while on the 
surface of the water his eyes shone like beads. 
An evil moment this for trout or even sal¬ 
mon, since all day the otter had fasted and now 
he was sharp set. Downstream he passed, his 
lithe body following the river current until some 
movement on the river bank came to his keen 
ears—was it the hated tread of man at which 
the otter’s blood runs cold? In an instant he 
had dived and vanished, only coming to the 
surface again beneath the shadow of the wil¬ 
lows. There for a while he floated loglike until 
at last, since all was silence again except for 
“plop plop” of rising trout, he glided from out 
of the shadow and swam toward the salmon 
pool. All his movements were strangely phan¬ 
tomlike;. silently he swam, silently he dived; 
silently now and again he left the water and 
crept through the tall grasses by the river bank, 
gliding among them like some gigantic eel. 
Before the salmon pool was reached the otter 
stayed his hunger with two or three frogs hop¬ 
ping in lush grass near the bank; as he passed 
on again the skins and eyes of these unfortu¬ 
nate frogs remained as a monument of the re¬ 
past. Then a few minutes later the otter halted 
once more; his whiskers twitched and quivered, 
his head sank low. There was a tainted smell 
abroad; surely not long ago man—curious form 
which haunts the river bank by day clasping a 
long, lithe pole—had stood among the reeds, 
had pressed down the dewy grass. Silently, 
stealthily, the otter took to the water again— 
moonlight glistened on his dark head and beady 
eyes—soon he was separated by many a curve 
of the winding river from the scent that chilled 
his blood. 
In the salmon pool, which lay deep and dark 
beneath overhanging banks, there was rare 
sport that night. Down the side of the falls 
where water splashed and roared foaming white 
against hindering boulders came the otter glid¬ 
ing through the shadows; he halted above the 
pool and gazed at its black surface, then slipped 
from the rock and swam against the current, 
his jaws, wide open, raised above the water. 
In the pool some minutes later a salmon 
fought desperately for life, but all in vain— 
there came a time when on the silt and sand of 
a neighboring island the otter dragged his prey 
