Dec. 16, 191 i.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
869 
Hunting the Cottontail 
By ROBERT PAGE LINCOLN 
our game, the presence and the hunting of which 
means keeping the well man from becoming a 
sick man, and making the sick man well. The 
State to-day owns almost a million acres of wild 
land. If it saw fit to spend a little of its revenue, 
just a fair amount to make of this tract of wild 
lands a sanitarium supplied with the incentive 
to cause men to take the outdoor exercise neces¬ 
sary to keep them healthy—game for the hunter, 
fish for the fisherman, etc.—it seems to us that 
many an ailing man would, through his own ex¬ 
ertions, be returned to health, and many a well 
man be enabled to retain his vigor, this mean¬ 
ing better health and better citizenship in every 
sense of the word. 
Many men, if given an opportunity, will be 
returned to health through their own efforts, 
and every one of them would prefer to have 
that result accomplished in this way rather than 
to lie on a cot in a hospital or at home and 
to have that return to health brought about if 
at all through the efforts of physicians, trained 
nurses and drugs. 
Again, for many years we have contended that 
hunting was not simply recreation or pleasure 
or a quest for food or a waste of time, but 
over and above all was a training in the use and 
manipulation of firearms, especially the rifle, and 
experience in camping and in traversing the wild 
forest lands, either by day or by night, and a 
training in self reliance, which, together with a 
limited discipline and drill, make the American 
volunteer the equal of any regular on the face 
of the earth. Our hope in time of war is the 
young man who knows how to shoot straight 
and to shift for himself. 
A historical writer upon the subject of “Fire¬ 
arms in American History’’ cites the fact that 
rifles were but little known in the world at the 
beginning of the Revolution, the only two places 
where they were used to any great extent, being 
in America and Central Europe. “After the 
British had been driven into Boston the Ameri¬ 
can generals called to their aid all mid-colonial 
riflemen that could be secured, some of them 
coming afoot from far away Kentucky and from 
intermediate points. Each of them was a hunter 
trained to shoot straight, and to hit anything at 
every shot within the zone of his rifle’s range. 
Accuracy in the use of the rifle made the men 
known as Morgan’s Virginians irresistible, and 
because of the deadly rifle fire of these men they 
were everywhere in demand. Morgan was born 
in Bucks county, Pennsylvania. 
“Riflemen, during the Revolution, did a part 
that could not have been done by any other class 
of men in the world. We all know of the accu¬ 
rate rifle fire of Jackson’s men at New Orleans. 
We all know of the efficiency of the Pennsyl¬ 
vania ‘Bucktails’ in the late Civil War. The 
great majority of these men were Pennsylvania 
hunters. We have read of what the Boers did 
in the late South African war.” 
The success or failure of coming wars will 
more than ever hinge upon the accurate fire of 
the riflemen engaged, and it seems to us it is 
only a display of good business judgment to 
plentifully supply the incentive through which 
our young men will be led to train themselves in 
time of peace so that they may be prepared for war. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
any newsdealer on order. Ask your dealer to 
supply you regularly. 
A CROSS the bleak fields the west wind was 
whining through the bare grasses that 
rose above the snowy mantle stretching 
away on every side. In a far away field the 
corn shocks stood out against the dreary back¬ 
ground not altogether unlike tepees. The new 
fallen snow lay on the thick under crust to the 
depth of two inches and the tracking was of 
the best should the hunter desire to take down 
the gun and journey to the woods and try his 
luck with the small game. Winding in and 
out among the trees were the tracks of cotton¬ 
tails, now snuggled up in cosy retreats. 
The red gods pointed the way and I was im¬ 
pelled to turn my thoughts to the trail, so I 
hurried to the house and made it known that I 
was going hunting. Mother, after her willing 
manner, at once set about making up something 
for a lunch in the woods. Jack, the hound, 
knew what was in view and followed me with 
eager eyes and wagging tail as I donned the 
hunting coat and took down the gun. Loading 
my pockets with ammunition I called Jack and 
hurried down. The dog whined eagerly and 
sought to scratch open the door, and I laughed 
at his excitement, for I felt that way myself, 
only I could keep myself in check. We strode 
along, Jack tugging at the leash, eager to be 
off on some trail in the woods that we were 
passing. But I had other places in view. 
As we went along I had the opportunity to 
marvel at the beauties of nature that had during 
the night touched the land with fairy fingers. 
Here and there on some stunted tree the snow 
had accumulated in little caps that added a 
touch of singular beauty to the sombre wood¬ 
land. On a lonely elm a chicadee hopped about 
uttering its lightsome notes, now seemingly 
standing on its head and now neatly balancing 
on a limb. A woodpecker circled a tree in its 
busy search for some worm hidden under the 
bark. 
Whenever I stopped, Jack strained at the 
chain impatiently and reminded me that I had 
come to the woods for another purpose than to 
admire nature. He would bury his nose in the 
snow and howl after the manner of the beagle. 
That brought me to the present, and I slipped 
a couple of shells in the gun and snapped it 
shut. 
When we reached the woods I released the 
hound. He took to the underbrush, his long 
ears sweeping the snow. Away he went, slowly 
coursing back and forth, snuffing deep in the 
fluffy whiteness. I took up a likely position 
further down the path and waited for the dog 
to start a rabbit. I filled my pipe and had a 
good smoke before the hound gave tongue. 
Clear on the frosty air came the resounding 
bay, and with the gun ready I waited until I 
soon saw the rabbit darting lightly among the 
trees. Now it would stop to listen with one 
paw raised and head turned, then it came on 
at a run, crossed the path, and as it leaped out, 
I toppled it over. Directly the shot had echoed 
out over the still woods, Jack came stealing to 
me with an intense eagerness in his eyes. I 
gave him a pat and retrieved the game. 
Down the trail we presently came to a corn¬ 
field on the south side of the woods, where Jack 
picked up the nearest trail and began baying. 
The trail crossed the field and entered the 
woods, then suddenly turned and came my way 
again. The baying took on a more excited 
pitch as the dog entered the field again yelping 
as though he was on a fresh trail, then stopped 
at one of the shocks and started to scratch. Of 
a sudden the rabbit shot out, and when within 
two good leaps of the woods I turned and 
killed it. 
Further on I shot another one—a shot which 
I am justly proud of. It was a long shot, but 
the little gun has never failed me in a pinch. 
It was now noon, and walking around in the 
woods had given me an appetite. I selected a 
cosy hollow and ate my lunch, sheltered from 
the high winds by numerous trees. Scooping 
the snow away to the ground, I procured some 
dry wood and made a fire, then found a stump 
to sit on, and getting on the side that was free 
from the smoke, I ate my lunch. Jack, seated 
on my hunting coat, had his share, and after¬ 
ward he went to sleep. I lit my pipe and en¬ 
joyed a good smoke. 
Finally, after putting out the fire, we started 
for the woods, where we got two more rabbits 
and a couple of squirrels. It grew considerably 
colder in the afternoon and snow flurries were 
in the air as we set out homeward, cold but 
happy. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
Coming from the ferry across the wide plaza 
adjoining West street on a cool morning, the 
attention of a companion and myself was at¬ 
tracted by a black and white half-wild duck that 
rose from some place among the markets, passed 
over the heads of the crowd of commuters, top¬ 
ped the stacks of a Fall River liner lying at her 
pier, and disappeared toward the harbor. At 
first we took the truant to be a pigeon, for ducks 
do not often fly about the city, but a second 
glance proved our error and brought exclama¬ 
tions of astonishment, while old fellows who 
imagine walking difficult braced up, aligned their 
canes and said, “Bang” with a smile that took 
them back through the years to days among the 
wild rice and cattails of the Hackensack when 
duck shooting was worth while. 
I fancy that this or a similar sudden reminder 
of other days often causes men to chase bucks 
that get into town in the foolish way they do. 
It is not so much that they really want to kill 
a hunted animal, but rather they are taken sud¬ 
denly with the excitement of the thing, and go 
along with the crowd without thinking what 
they are doing. 
* * * 
A Calcutta tradesman has attracted the atten¬ 
tion of readers of a local paper to his announce¬ 
ment that his boots are guaranteed to be excel¬ 
lent missiles for the discouraging of nocturnal 
serenaders of the feline persuasion. 
Grizzly King. 
