433 
from under his eyesight. Therefore are contin¬ 
ual keenness and a calculating vision prime req¬ 
uisites. I believe in sport and shooting only 
when care and consideration are shown. Per¬ 
sonally I look with disdain upon the man who 
will go out into the squirrel woods with an au¬ 
tomatic shotgun as his weapon; or any shotgun 
for that matter, save when quail hunting he 
wishes to try his hand at this sideline. Squirrel 
hunting has been set aside for a class of men 
who rest secure upon a cherished standard. One 
keen, clean shot, and a result, a decisive result, 
is more to be revered than a series of hunting 
pockets bulging with red and gray bodies, 
brought to earth with the scatter-gun. 
The still-hunter never heralds his presence 
with a bombastic Fourth of July celebration; you 
will see him edge along cautiously from tree to 
tree, pausing, resting, peering out. You will see 
him leisurely taking his rest under the giant 
oaks, enjoying the full splendor of a benevolent 
autumn sun, watching in 'between the branches 
for some evidence of the sly ones. Perhaps he 
will puff contentedly at his pipe; it is all in the 
joy of a perfect day, and the perfect still-hunter 
walks unto “heaven” when facing his day’s sport, 
and walks toward “paradise” upon his triumphal 
return. Because the still-hunter lives close to 
the very heart of Nature and Nature’s solitude, 
emulating her silence to a marked degree, 
he is able to see and hear what the average 
hunter passes by. He has more than killing at 
heart; he also has Nature, and Nature’s brilliant 
studies at heart. Give me always the hunter who 
will find rapture in small things; whose gaze is 
more than the passing glimpse. Give me the 
hunter who is a student of natural processes; 
who will find in all secluded environments a 
breath of charm and interest; who, after his 
day’s sport, can look back upon hours of view¬ 
ing wonderful works of Nature; the insects at 
their work, the trees, the skies, the constantly 
changing array of incidents that make up an 
absorbing and everlasting autumn day. Because 
the true still-hunter, through delicious necessity, 
attains all of these blessed factors of appeal; be¬ 
cause of this the still-hunter belongs essentially 
to his own class, and in that class makes all 
of his days in the woods of worth. These he 
may look back upon when recollection’s wheel 
is set turning, and he will have a deeper and 
wider happiness for it. 
Because I (find no blatant enemies of peace 
in the ranks of the still-hunter; because of this 
I hold it one of the most pleasing of all pastimes 
extended to the outdoor element. Who can 
saunter out into the silent and ever-changeable 
woods in the months of autumn without feeling 
the spirit and rejuvenation of it all. There is 
just enough of the primal forces inherent in one 
to make the hunt stir the latent blood corpuscles; 
one widens in hope and happiness. The invig¬ 
orating winds add zes't to every hour, and every 
mile has some charm to replenish the never-fail¬ 
ing store. I do not believe in aimless and un¬ 
gauged slaughter. Such brutal killings belong, 
not to the present enlightened day, but to the 
inconspicuous stone-age and its unreasoning at¬ 
tendances. My trips into the hunting world 
have never blazed out in this respect, and I am 
heartily glad of it. I have killed little, and 
FOREST AND STREAM 
loved much. I have made the getting of the 
game for my meal but secondary. I have always 
found Nature ready to supply any seeming lack. 
Preservation is my rule and I live close by it, 
for Nature has taught me that valuable lesson. 
Nature says: “From my storehouse take that 
which is necessary to sustain you in subsistence 
and in happiness, but reap sparingly and pre¬ 
serve much.” This law I follow; it is the law 
of the true still-hunter, and he who follows this 
law preserves the true and well-gauged balance, 
the balance Nature always recognizes and would 
have us, as part of her great scheme, recognize! 
Ah, the autumnal moon, when the first frosts 
have lowered upon the land in freshness and in 
charm. Oh, those crisp and delicious mornings; 
the sun never so sweet to view; the land never 
so enhancing. Then let us take down the little 
gun. It is a twenty-two caliber. It is a repeat¬ 
er. At sight of the blue and glistening barrel 
the heart throbs acclaim. We fill it up with 
those small pellets, pour several boxes of the 
same into our pockets, and then we are off 
down the road, our companions, the leaves and 
the grasses and the silent trees now arrayed 
in full-fledged loveliness. It is in the early morn¬ 
ing hours that the squirrels will be on hand to 
present themselves. Early morning and twilight 
are the still-hunter’s delight; then he is in his 
element. After a pleasant sauntering down the 
Open Road, he will in the course of events 
reach his destination. Now will an added sense 
of keenness and shrewdness envelop him; his 
day of enjoyment has found its birth. Into that 
realm of stately monarchs, they who have weath¬ 
ered full many a howling winter, he will tread, 
carefully, wisely. The gun is in hand. On en¬ 
tering that domain of quietude there will be not 
one hint of life save the wind, pleasantly gypsy¬ 
ing through the branches, or the southward slop¬ 
ing birds, awaking the echoes with their notes; 
for the stillness of autumn is the very personifi¬ 
cation of the name. The art of squirrel hunting 
demands of one a recognized rule, without which 
'there can be no true success. It demands of one a 
slo'w and noiseless progress and much of patient 
“freezing” or standing, perfectly still, to await 
the first move on the part of the hidden ones. 
Among inquisitive creatures the squirrel leads. 
The hunter enters the wood; the animals will 
cease their acorn-shelling labors and rest, listen¬ 
ing and watching; but the hunter does not move. 
He stands as though graven from stone. 
In course of time some curious and impatient 
fellow will chatter out a challenge, and will 
essay an advance upon the figure, so still, yet 
which only some time before actually moved, and 
had every evidence of life. There he is! In be¬ 
tween that cluster of leaves! Your eyes have 
searched every covert for some evidence of the 
wily ones, but hitherto your quest has been un¬ 
rewarded. But now, there he is! Quickly the 
gun comes to shoulder; it is brought to bear up¬ 
on the small head. Crack! down he comes with 
a thud to the ground, still and lifeless. The re¬ 
ward of the day and hour. Nor will the still- 
hunter move. Others are around; again silence 
will lay its hand upon the immediate surround¬ 
ings. Bright eyes have witnessed the fallen 
form. Bright and curious minds have sought 
to unravel the great mystery but have failed. 
C-h-hirrr ! a—chunk-k ! comes an impatient de* 
mand from the right. The hunter shifts his 
gaze and smiles as he sees his quarry leaning 
over on a branch, his little ears pricked forward 
inquisitively. The unerring engine of destruc¬ 
tion swings ominously and the little head on the 
end • of the gun holds to the minute target. 
Crack! an echoing spit, and the silence is broken 
as the body plumps to earth marking the second 
kill. 
This was all done very easily, cleanly, thor¬ 
oughly; it told of a nerve, keen and unswaying; 
it told of practice and care; it told of a nerve 
not quite in the average. The still-hunter mostly 
kills by shooting for the head. Therefore he is 
every ‘bit of extraordinary. He never begins his 
day in a rustle and bustle, high-strung nerves, 
and disjointed thoughts. He sets out, resigned 
and cool and determined; his convictions firm, 
and his energy dauntless. Through the silent 
wo'ods he will make his way. The energetic 
spiders have woven trapeze work from branch 
to branch, and those nets of gossamer will gather 
around his face, but he will rub them away and 
continue, ear better than ever, alert, his every 
faculty responding to the pleaSarit demand. 
Here a red squirrel darts up a tree, and attain¬ 
ing a swaying perch, will cling there, barking 
saucily, menacing the intruder with a scandalized 
voice, absolutely viewing no other side to the 
jargum'ent. Red Squirrel, who Fobs the bird 
nests so promiscuously, tumbles from his hap¬ 
hazard resting-place and goes to add to the 
spoils in the fateful pocket. So on and on, one 
wood after another, till the sun, shining brightly 
through the haunted silence and shadows, marks 
the end of the morning shoot and rest for the 
hunter. There is the noonday meal beside some 
pleasant stream; there is the note-taking, and 
the survey of all things; the leisure and the nap 
upon the freshly-fallen leaves. The charm of 
the autumnal landscape is sure to have effect 
upon the mind of the still-hunter. The peace¬ 
fulness of all things are to him firm and assured 
conclusions; he may build upon these a multi¬ 
tude of passing and lasting glories. If he is a 
trapper, he will study the signs along the stream, 
pointing to the state of the fur supply for the 
coming season. See! here is the track of a great 
mink, but made the night before, or even this 
day. With the end of his sensitive finger he 
touches the tell-tale print, and a subtle intelli¬ 
gence is directly communicated to his far-sighted 
brain ; he is told that it was made but shortly ago. 
With careful feet he makes his way along the 
stream, his progress silent, and his eyes, as 
never before, reading the scenes about him with 
consideration and benefit. He finally comes to a 
hole in the bank, above some driftwood. Bend¬ 
ing down, he detects an upward wafting odor, 
and he knows it is the home of a mink who 
here, in the days of summer, reared a family of 
young. He takes note of it, intending to come 
back that way very soon with his traps. In 
one glance he sees the sapling that will make 
the spring-pole, since there is not sufficient water 
to drown the catch. Further on will be found 
evidence where a racoon has come down to the 
water in search of clams and other fresh-water 
specimens of eatables. Further on is found a 
(Continued on page 453.) 
