578 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Oct. 14, 1911. 
tried it a couple of times, but now I guess they'll 
let me alone. I only care to hold the office a 
matter of eight or ten years longer, anyhow, 
when I'm going to retire. Then I'll have a litt.e 
more time for fishing.” 
‘‘Just a moment, Squire,” began Ellis, when he 
was again interrupted: 
“I haven't forgotten your question,” the Squire 
remarked, ‘‘but every person that’s rode, walked 
or skated up to my front gate in the last thirty 
years has asked me how Hollisterville got its 
name and also how long I’ve been Squire. You 
didn't, but you would have done so before you 
got away, so that’s off your mind. Now, just 
because you didn’t I'm going to tell you how to 
know when black bass are biting. Just get down 
out of that machine and come on the side porch. 
I don’t care to have your chauffeur hear what 
I've got to say,” and the Squire led the way in¬ 
side the yard. 
“Now,” said the o’d gentleman after he and 
Ellis were seated, “you must promise never to 
repeat what I'm going to ted you. All right? 
Well, you don't know Sausenhamer, over at 
Salem, but I do. He's a great fisherman—black 
bass fisherman, and knows he’s got enough when 
his wagon box is full. He also knows when he 
gets skunked, and if that happens, too often he’s 
likely to get grouchy. You See, all the ponds 
around here are owned by different people of 
course, and they put boats on them to rent out 
to fishermen, charging a doliar to a dollar and 
a half a day, according to how many are in the 
boat at one time. Naturally, Sausenhamer don’t 
like to pay a dollar for nothing.” 
Here the Squire looked at Ellis as if wishing 
to be substantiated in his statement, so the latter 
said, “Certainly. One usual'y wishes for re¬ 
sults,” and the old man continued: 
“Well, one day last July, Sausenhamer goes to 
Goose Pond, and I saw him toward evening 
driving through the village with more fish than 
the law allows, and a few more than a good 
sport will catch. Next day he came by my p’ace, 
knowing that I had seen what was in his wagon, 
and to'd me he had found a stavin’ good place 
for bass, and did I think I’d like to take a hack 
at it. You bet I would, of course, and in a few 
days we went together, and we didn't get a fish. 
Sausenhamer was knocked out. In a couple days 
we tried again, and got one or two little fellows 
Then I knew Sausenhamer was a liar and hadn’t 
showed me the right pond. But he kept on go¬ 
ing, and paying his dollar, when back he came 
one night with another load of fish. He had a 
tub filled with water and half a dozen live four 
and five-pound bass in it in h : s wagon. 
“‘What you going to do with them live fish?’ 
«ked him. 
' to experiment with ’em,’ he said, ‘to 
't get out of paying good dollars for 
that tub full of fish home and 
1 ’ttle 10 x 12 pond back of his 
vs he throws in to them a 
bing of that kind. They 
(we sometimes call him 
hing. He figures that if 
’d be eating all the time 
fing big fish they’d be 
stand a good filling 
’•now, though, for 
yself. Still, I’m 
ring you?” 
“Oh, no. Go right on. I’ve paid a few dol¬ 
lars myself only to fish all day without a bite. 
I'm anxious to hear how your friend succeeded,” 
said Eilis. 
“All right, let’s get down to it. Sausenhamer 
feeds those fish three days, sometimes crickets, 
other times toads, bugs, grasshoppers, worms and 
so on, and they’d only sniff at them. Final'y, 
about the fifth day, when he’d chucked in a bug, 
the whole bunch made a grab for it. Well, in 
half an hour Sausenhamer bad a boat under 
him out on the pond just a slashing into the big 
fellows. He took good care to keep some of 
them alive, and he took out the ones he first 
had in his own pond and put in the livelier ones. 
And that’s the way Saucy gets the best of the 
S OME years ago, when E. Hough was furnish¬ 
ing Forest and Stream with his Western 
letters from Chicago, he wrote most enter¬ 
tainingly of a quail-shooting trip down in Ten¬ 
nessee, and told about “an onery looking” pointer 
dog that could find birds when the other dogs 
cou.d not. So they came to depend on this 
dog more and more, and he was known as the 
“meat dog” of the bunch. 
My shooting chum, W. P. Gilreath, has a 
pointer which, I believe, has covered more terri¬ 
tory and found more birds than any other bird 
dog in the Southern States, and for years past 
be has been known as the “meat dog” by those 
who have had the pleasure of shooting over him. 
Pete was raised and trained by a market 
hunter, and as a “meat dog” was what he 
needed in his business, be worked on Pete’s 
education until he was satisfied with the result, 
and had the law prohibiting the sale of game not 
gone into effect a few years later, the chances 
are Pete would never have known any other 
master. 
I had heard a good many stories about Pete 
before he came into my friend’s possession, so 
the first time we bunted him I was more or less 
prepared for some of his actions. The dog was 
a wide ranger, and unless closely watched, had a 
habit of suddenly disappearing, for when he 
struck a scent he wou'd drop his tail, crawl up 
to the covey and lie down. If you were not 
close at hand and the birds began to scatter, 
Pete would back out, circle the covey, driving 
the birds together, crawl up as close as possible 
and again lie down. Having done his part, he 
expected you to come up behind him, locate the 
huddled-up birds, and turn loose with both bar¬ 
rels. That was what he was used to, and when 
we would walk in and flush the covey he would 
get up, cock his head on one side and look at 
us in a way to make one laugh. 
A friend hunting with us one day, and wit¬ 
nessing Pete’s round-up tactics for the first time, 
remarked that a man didn't need a gun to get 
birds with that dog; a litt'e practice in throwing 
a cast net would do the business. 
Early one morning while driving out the Kings 
man who rents the boats. If they’re biting in 
his little pond, they’ll be biting in the big one,, 
and then’s the time to go after them. So any 
time you feel like going fishing when you are— 
are you going?” 
“Yes,” replied Ellis, “I’m going to take a run 
over to Honesdale before supper, so I’ll be on 
my way.” 
“All right, son,” replied the Squire, “if you 
must go. How old are you, boy?” 
“I'm just fifty-three,’’ responded Ellis. 
“You’re quite a young fellow yet,” said the 
Squire, “but you're old enough to know a promise 
is a promise, and Sausenhamer and I are the 
only people that know of this, and I’m sure you’ll' 
be mum.” 
road, one of the young dogs struck a trail in a 
iarge field alongside the road. We had Pete in 
the wagon with us, and pulled up by the fence to- 
watch the young dog. The dog apparently 
covered every foot of ground, striking it hot and 
coid, but could not locate the birds. We had 
about come to the conclusion that a hawk had 
scattered the covey, but as Pete was whining and 
trying to get out of the wagon, we thought we 
would see what he could do, and turned him 
loose. Clearing the rail fence at a bound, the 
old dog went to where the youngster was still 
trying to pick up a trail that would lead to game, 
and nosing him aside, took the lead. After fol¬ 
lowing first one trail, then another, only to have 
them cross and recross or play out entirely, Pete 
began circling, and though he frequently picked 
up the scent on his casts, it seemed to be only 
in spots, with no connecting trail. Presently 
Pete headed back in our direction, and we were 
at the point of driving on, but when he came 
to the fence, he started slowly around the field 
next to the fence. On the far side of the field 
he stopped, cleared the fence and disappeared. 
Hitching the horse we grabbed our guns and 
hiked across the field, arriving at the fence very 
much out of breath. Beyond the field was a 
strip of woods that had not been burned over in 
'several years, and the wire grass and under¬ 
growth were heavy. We caught a glimpse of 
Pete in this tangle while we were sitting on the 
fence recovering our breath. Following the dog, 
he led us through this strip of “rough,” across 
a small branch and into a cornfield beyond. 
When he came down on a point we were within 
seventy-five yards of the farmhouse. No one 
was in sight, but from the kitchen chimney rose 
a cloud of smoke. Neither Will nor myself 
fancied hunting in anyone’s dooryard, but still 
less did we relish the idea of leaving those birds 
without burning a little powder, considering the 
crooked trail they had laid for old Pete; so leav¬ 
ing Will standing guard, I went up to the house 
and explained the situation to the farmer, who 
readily granted permission to hunt through his 
fields. Hurrying back to Will, I found Pete just 
completing a round-up of the covey. When we 
Pete: Meat Dog 
By GEORGE A. IRWIN 
