Dec. 2, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
803 
The doctor shouted. I answered and soon we 
met. 
“What have you got, Doc?'’ 
“What have you?” 
“Nix.” 
“We are mates.” 
“Yes, but let us be hunters.” 
So saying, we started in after the dogs. They 
were still in hot pursuit of what I presumed to 
be a hare, nor was I mistaken. This hare had 
run everywhere, and the dogs were following 
him as true as a line without a break. I would 
not rush into the woods on the other side be¬ 
cause I feared, if I did so, that the hare would 
cross the road, go into the impassable brier heaps 
which there abounded, and so be lost to us for 
good. So I waited, every minute expecting to 
see him at some point leaping out from the 
covert in the attempt to cross to the opposite 
side. But although he came dangerously near 
the border line, yet he was at no time visible, 
and by repeated turns he continued to baffle the 
dogs, and prevent the whole party from getting 
a shot. Suddenly I heard the sound of a gun— 
one barrel only. Then a voice: 
“Halloo! Is that you, Hal?” 
“Yes.” 
“Did you get him?” 
“No ! I think he is a hare!” 
“So do I.” 
Then the dogs, following the quarry, pursued 
him with steady chiding, almost out of hearing. 
I waited patiently, each moment expecting the 
game to appear, until my arm was weary and my 
fingers cold. Suddenly I heard a crackling in 
the dry brush by the roadside below me, and the 
next instant a form came into view in the road, 
and behold, it was the doctor! He had got tired 
of waiting for a shot at anything on his beat, 
and so worked his way back to the point where 
he heard the dogs following. Hardly had he 
reached my side when the dogs stopped bark¬ 
ing, and Paul called out: “I’ve got him !” 
The doctor and I soon came upon him holding 
a huge hare at arm’s length, while Spot and 
Beppo were jumping up to get at it. As we 
arrived, Paul said to Hal: 
“Here, take him, he is yours.” 
“Oh. no,” says Hal, “I didn’t get him.” 
“No, but you shot him right through the tip 
of his nose, and that is the reason he ran so 
queerly. He was seeking for some place to run 
into, and when I came up with Spot I found him 
crouched between these two rocks and trying to 
get at the hare. I walked around to the other 
side, caught hold of him and pulled him out. He 
had just life enongh left to get into this crevice 
to avoid being captured, as all wild animals 
strive to do when severely wounded.” 
So saying, he handed the hare over to Hal 
who was mightily pleased to get him, as he had 
not fired a gun, nor been in the woods for the 
last two years. 
Putting the hare into his bag, Hal said: “I 
started a gray rabbit just a little way back here 
and broke down a twig to mark the spot. I 
will show you where it was, and we can put the 
dogs on, and see if they will start him again.” 
The dogs were put on, but for some time both¬ 
ered over the ground without being able to catch 
the scent. Finally Beppo sung out and each 
hunter sought some favorable position. It fell 
to my lot to get the first glimpse of bunny going 
like a streak, and, although I let go one barrel, 
he was out of sight before the shot arrived, and 
presently Fred fired, and called out he had got 
him. 
We saw six other hunters passing into the 
thickets below us with two dogs, so we thought 
there would be too many for comfort, crossed 
to the other side and worked away from the 
other party with George and the doctor on the 
right of the line, Paul and Hal next, and Fred 
and myself on the left, we advanced. 
For a long time we drove through the brush 
and briers, over stone walls and into swamps 
until finally Fred and I came out on an open 
vista where the woods had all been cut away, 
and cordwood lay in heaps, all ready for the 
teamsters to carry it off when the ground should 
be frozen, and the swamps became solid enough 
to make good wheeling. 
Here Fred called a halt and sat down for a 
while upon a stump to rest. “For,” said he, “I 
have got the grippe, and am not fit to be out, 
and every time I make a jump or get over a 
wall, it seems as if the top of my head would 
come off.” And in truth he looked sick enough 
to be in bed. So we sat there for some time, 
then started through the brush heaps. We had 
not gone ten rods when Fred cried out: “There 
he goes toward that pile of wood. Let’s go and 
look.” Approaching the pile Fred stooped down 
at the point where he thought the rabbit went 
in and called out: “Now, as you have got noth¬ 
ing to-day, and both dogs are with the doctor 
and George, you had better shoot at that rabbit.” 
I stepped back a suitable distance while Fred 
pulled out the leaves, and presently he said: “I 
think I see him. Fire at that hole.” 
I had seen nothing. When the smoke cleared 
Fred pulled out the dead rabbit, so that I had 
fired at a wood pile and shot a rabbit. 
“Now,” says Fred, “I feel better. We have 
each got a piece of game. The match was be¬ 
tween the fat and the lean ; you and I and Hal 
are the lean. The doctor, George and Paul the 
T PIE spring-run of salmon in the Western 
rivers, which usually began late in March, 
was an event of great moment to the In¬ 
dians. While not so prolific as the late or June 
run, which consisted of a different kind of fish, 
the early run was sufficient to insure an indus¬ 
trious angler a goodly feast. 
Upon the June run the savage depended for 
his winter food, and for the purpose followed 
the fish to their spawning beds in the smaller 
streams, which they reached during July and 
August. Here the fish were taken by the thou¬ 
sands with a gaff, for the true salt water fish 
does not strike at a spoon or bait after he leaves 
the ocean. 
The early run came at an opportune time, when 
the red man had almost exhausted his winter’s 
supply of food, and before the “kouse” had 
sprouted on the hills or the deer returned from 
their winter feeding grounds. Improvident In¬ 
dians were put to dire straits for food before 
fat. Let us see how they will come out at the 
end of the hunt.” 
In the meantime at the discharge of my gun 
the doctor had set up a shout that could be heard 
a mile off, telling us to “hurry up; spread out 
more to the east, and work to the north.” So 
we walked toward the north, occasionally shout¬ 
ing, and receiving an answering shout in return. 
But eventually we heard no further shouting, 
and nothing from the dogs. Even Hal, who 
was next in line to us, failing to give us a 
hail. 
We hunted along without shooting another 
thing, until we arrived at Frank’s house. He 
had heard nothing of the rest of the crowd. 
Then Hal soon appeared, who said he had fired 
at a rabbit that had run into a wall, but it was 
so dark that he could not find it. When they 
arrived the others were curious to know what 
we had got. “Why,” said I, “we have each got 
a piece of game, and Hal here has shot two 
pieces. What have you got?” 
“I have one gray rabbit, Paul has a hare and 
a gray squirrel, but George hasn’t had a shot 
to-day.” 
“Then,” says I, “the leans have won.” 
“I don't believe you have any rabbit. You 
didn’t have any dog.” 
“No, but we don’t need one in our hunting.” 
When the doctor saw the rabbit he did not 
believe I shot it. “Yes, he did,” said Fred, “and 
it was a piece of the slickest shooting I ever 
saw.” 
The doctor said no more, but on the following 
day he came to my house and insisted on seeing 
the rabbits and actually went out and dressed 
them to see if there were shot in either of them, 
for he declared that there was something wrong 
about that rabbit of mine, because it was a long 
time after he heard Fred caking for the dogs 
before I fired, and if I shot him he must have 
been sitting up. And he was right; but the leans 
won. 
the fish came. They were often forced to eke 
out a subsistence by spearing the black suckers 
and by peeling the bark of the yellow pines 
which they boiled into a porridge. 
It will then be readily appreciated with what 
delight the cry “I-ot coo-om” (the sa’mon have 
come) was hailed by red friends one morning 
early in April many years ago. For weeks the 
advent had been watched for. Lookouts had. 
been posted above the rapids where the fish would 
break in their ascent, a courier had been sent 
down stream to another tribe to bring back eggs 
for bait. The “tu-at” had made “medicine” to 
bring the fish, and when they came he stalked 
about the camp pointing to himself with pride 
as the saviour of his people. I strongly suspect 
that a warm Chinook wind sweeping up from 
the Pacific had more to do with the arrival than 
his “medicine,” but I sagely kept my opinion to 
myself. 
It was growing dusk when the news came and 
Salmon Fishing with the Nez Perces 
By CHARLES S. MOODY 
