Oct. 28, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
643 
Tales of an Ivory Hunter 
By BLANCO 
again visited by several of the same birds, still 
wearing their faded and ragged red leggins. 
To-morrow the game season opens. To-day is 
wash day and shave day and day to shoe horses, 
fix up camp, get lots of wood, etc. Mended my 
carbide reflector and gloves while Jack cussed 
Buck and shod him. Our little mosquito tent 
is a great comfort these last few warm days. 
Saw a big red stag across the valley to-day. 
Doctor made pudding. The roan horse “Wan¬ 
derlust” has lit out and cannot be found. Upon 
suggesting that a Chilcotin Indian might have 
run him off, Jack says: “No, too much afraid 
King George.” Apparently the original King 
George is still the whole thing in this part of 
British Columbia, and all policemen are known 
to the Indians as “King George men.” 
[to be continued.] 
Economical Views of a Backwoodsman. 
Oakmont, Pa., Oct. 14.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: That every man should cling to his 
“bitter end,” the inboard end of a ship's cable, 
is natural, and one of the most amusing illus¬ 
trations of this was exhibited by a Georgia 
backwoodsman away back in 1810 or 1820. 
In those times a backwoodsman—be he hunter, 
trapper or farmer—would set on his powder and 
ball a value next to his rifle. Ammunition was 
hard to obtain. Now, Sodoma, in Alabama, 
across the river from Georgia, was then Indian 
territory, where civilized law did not run, and 
was the resort of all the outlaws and desperadoes 
of the South who raided the country outside the 
Indian territory most vexatiously. Finally, a 
sheriff—a Georgia one, I fancy—concluded that 
law was not the thing for the lawless, invaded 
Sodoma. With a large posse he captured the 
worst of the ruffians and was about to stand 
them up to be shot, when a backwoodsman in¬ 
terfered. 
“Say, sheriff,” he remarked, “powder and ba l 
is d-d scurse with me, and it costs money, and 
that’s scurser still. What’s the use of wasting 
good powder on them air skunks? Why don’t 
ye tie ’em along a rope and tie some rocks be¬ 
tween ’em and dump the hull caboodle in the 
river? Then we kin haul up the rope arter a 
hour and settle another bunch.” 
1 his struck the sheriff as sound reasoning, 
and he saved ammunition by resorting to the 
water treatment. 
I am very sure that this was a story in my 
boyhood books, when invention of history was 
not as active as it now is, and what clinches 
this in my mind is, when the first lynching in 
this State occurred the mob intent on lynching 
was persuaded to let the law take its course 
until an old Pennsylvania Dutchman set forth 
that the trial would cost the county several hun¬ 
dred dollars, and why not save the county that 
money by hanging the man themselves, where¬ 
upon the crow’d “economized.” 
As soon as that account appeared in the daily 
press I was reminded of the similar economy of 
the Georgia party. I may add that there can be 
no doubt of the Eastern Pennsylvania “economy” 
as it was “in the papers”—one way and another 
—for several weeks. Wm. Wade. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
N EW YORK CITY, Oct. 5 .—Editor Forest 
and Stream: About a month ago 1 saw 
in the New York Sunday Sun an article 
headed “Blue Views of Business” and was in¬ 
terested to see a short account of an interview 
between “William Buckley, the noted elephant 
hunter” and a Sun correspondent, about the 
Congo. I happen to know Mr. Buckley very 
weil, and the last time I came back from Mom¬ 
basa to Marseilles with him, we had many talks 
seton lake. 
about his favorite game. Pie is a very quiet, un¬ 
assuming man and it was hard to make him te.l 
of any of his many adventures. 
One afternoon, however, while he was talk¬ 
ing to me, I got another friend—A. E. Hoey— 
who writes shorthand to sit behind Mr. Buckley 
and take dowm some of his stories. I got them 
for myself merely because they interested me, 
but seeing Mr. Buckley’s name in the Sun, re¬ 
minded me of them and made me think that pos- 
sib’y some of your readers might like to see them. 
I do not think Mr. Buckley really knew I had 
the stories till I toid h'm of it afterward. He is 
probably one of the last of the “ivory hunters,” 
and told me once that he had shot over four 
hundred tuskers. Blanco. 
Lost and No Water. 
We were once camped on a river that ran 
into the Nile. I came early on the spoor of ele¬ 
phants, but did not come up with them till four 
in the afternoon. Three of them feli to my gun, 
but it was so far from my camp that next day I 
decided—on the mountain and Mahomet principle 
—to shift camp to where the elephants lay. 
I accordingly moved camp close to a nice little 
water pool, the only water for miles round, and 
I believe known to no white man but myself. 
That day I met two rhinos and arranged that 
they should worry no one any more. 
Having fixed up camp, I took out my little .22 
to have a pot at anything that turned up. I was 
engaged in stalking some congoni, when what 
should roll up but a herd of elephants coming 
straight toward me. My gun bearers were some¬ 
what alarmed and suggested an immediate re¬ 
treat to cover, which was quickly made. I 
noticed that these elephants were evidently 
alarmed at something, which I could not believe 
was the report of my little .22. However, there 
was no time to be lost, and my little gun was 
quickly changed for my heavy one, and down 
went a huge bull, from whose side ran a scream¬ 
ing cow. Another bull dropped, and the herd 
stampeded, disclosing an advancing herd of buf¬ 
falo which I now saw had caused the alarm of 
the elephants. 
We made a little detour to avoid this oncoming 
herd, and continued our pursuit of the tuskers, 
but now found ourselves intercepted by two 
rhinos. These were quickly “blotted out” and 
I managed to get near enough again to the ele¬ 
phants to get one in the shoulder and to snap 
the hind leg of another, unfortunately without 
being able to overtake and finish him. 
Dusk was now on us and the problem of get¬ 
ting back to camp was before us. I had two 
dead tuskers on the ground, the tails of which 
I directed to be cut off as an indication to any 
natives that they were claimed, and w r e set off. 
I led the way, but had not gone more than half 
a mile when the porters and gun bearers told me 
that I was gaing in the wrong direction. My 
own impression was that I was right, but I gave 
permission to the most intelligent native to lead 
us his way, merely advising him to look out from 
an adjoining hill to make certain. The report he 
brought from the hill was that he saw the fires 
of the camp, so I conc’uded that I must have 
circled round and made some mistake, and that 
the fires of the camp being a'most in sight, we 
must make for them, so I strolled easily along 
behind the safari. 
We had been going for about an hour, which 
I considered time enough to reach the camp, 
when I asked: “Where is the camp?” They 
all replied: “I don’t know.” “What do you 
mean by ‘I don’t knof,’ ” I said. “You told me 
you knew the road, and now we have lost it.” 
I had now no idea as to where we were, as I 
had left the road to them and strolled along be¬ 
hind without taking any bearings. I said: “We 
must get up another hill,” but there was none 
close at hand. One of the men climbed a tree 
and immediately reported camp-fires in sight. 
We got the direction of these and at once set off 
eastward. Another half hour’s marching brought 
us to another tree, up which one of the men 
