Feb. 24, 1912 
FOREST AND STREAM 
237 
them and ultimately getting only one animal. 
My guide’s name was of historic significance, 
Rutherford B. Hayes. He was a quiet and in¬ 
offensive young man, quite ready to do your 
bidding and possessed of a fair knowledge of 
the woods. 
It was decided that we go out early in the 
morning, hunt a few miles from camp and re¬ 
turn toward evening. For these services my 
guide was to receive $3 per day and besides this 
I would have to pay seventy-five cents a day for 
his board. For short, Rutherford B. Hayes was 
called “Roody,” and he proved ready to do 
anything to please his companion. 
We hunted for three consecutive days, ten 
hours to the day, but we did not see even the 
tail of a deer. However, we discovered numer¬ 
ous tracks of them. Among these we found 
every day here and there signs of some big buck 
which jumped ere we had time to see him. This 
we learned by the fresh large imprints made in 
the soft ground and the fresh earth lying on 
green leaves. But they always slunk away ere 
we came up to them without our hearing a 
sound. This proved that there were plenty of 
deer, but the fault was ours in that we could 
not steal up to any of them. True, some of 
the trees still bore leaves, but there were also 
plenty of clearings where we should have been 
able to discover some deer. 
At the end of the third day’s hunting I and 
my guide sat down to discuss matters and find 
out the reason why we could not locate a deer 
and have a shot at it. Roody admitted that I 
talked less while hunting than any one else he 
had guided through the woods. I also tried to 
walk slowly and cautiously, but after all my 
clothes were not soft enough, hence a great deal 
of rustling while passing through the under¬ 
brush, and then my shoes were an abomination. 
We came to the conclusion, however, that we 
would have to be more careful the next day. 
We were out bright and early. We decided 
to hunt once more on Bear Mountain, where we 
had hunted the first day. I preferred this place 
because there was an old abandoned lumber¬ 
man’s road about three miles in length. I could 
walk through there and Roody could creep 
through the thicket, while if Roody could stir 
up some animal, I would have a chance of meet¬ 
ing it passing along the road. We proceeded 
very slowly, watching every hill, every knoll and 
looking over any place which might afford shel¬ 
ter for the denizens of the woods. 
At 12 o’clock we sat down and ate our lunch¬ 
eon. I began to lose patience. I felt a nervous 
strain coming over me. Roody read all this in 
my face and began to console me, saying that 
no patient hunter in that vicinity ever went 
home without a deer. This enlivened me a bit 
and my spirits rose. And so we continued to 
hunt the lumberman’s road. At i :2o p. m., Oct. 
2, there, eighty yards away, a noble animal was 
walking leisurely around and browsing off the 
underbrush. I could see occasionally the entire 
outline of his form among the trees. 
Up went my rifle and I aimed at the right 
shoulder, a little low. But, alas; the safety was 
on. I immediately released it and fired. The 
shot reverberated through the woods and the 
buck, after making one great leap, came down, 
but as he was not dead, I gave him another shot. 
The first shot went through his heart and the 
second broke his spine. 
“Bang!” It was a feeble report and as I 
judged rightly, came from Roody’s rifle. The 
next moment a stately doe much larger than my 
buck appeared. She came trotting near the dead 
animal, even paused a moment to look at him, 
and then galloped off through the woods at no 
great speed. I could have shot her many times, 
but I refrained from doing this. I had enough 
—one deer—and I did not want any more. 
When all this was over, Roody appeared and 
asked me whether I had seen another deer be¬ 
sides the one I shot. I told him I had. He at 
first apologized for not having hit his deer, claim¬ 
ing that he saw her only fleeting through the 
woods after my shots were over, and then he 
asked me why I did not shoot the doe. I gave 
him my reasons. He was quite angry that I 
did not think about other people needing meat. 
However, he seemed very happy over my suc¬ 
cess and congratulated me. He said: “You 
evening safely to camp. The only thing is this: 
that after shooting a big buck, sometimes 
weighing about 300 pounds, or a 400-pound bear, 
it is much more agreeable to have some boon 
companion along to help you carry the quarry. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
A CURIOUS optical illusion is sometimes asso¬ 
ciated with shooting a rifle fitted with a tele¬ 
scope sight. I have noticed it recently in shoot¬ 
ing English sparrows with a heavy .22 caliber 
target rifle and nitro powder cartridges, the 
smoke from which does not obscure the field 
of view, nor does the recoil move the glass away 
from the object. Most of the sparrows are shot 
from high perches, as bare tree branches, so that 
the background is clear sky. The telescope is 
three-quarter-inch in diameter and it magnifies 
CRANBERRY LAKE AND BEAR MOUNTAIN. 
don’t know how hard I worked to have you get 
that deer.” 
“Yes, I know,” was my curt reply, for I was 
busy feasting my eyQ£ on the fine animal. 
Into the place where the bullet of the little 
.303 came out, you could insert your whole fist. 
He proved to be a spike horn buck, weighing 
ninety-six pounds dressed. Roody displayed 
some skill in dressing the animal. It took him 
but a few moments to disembowel him and clean 
away everything which might spoil the meat. 
He then gave me his rifle to carry, while he 
shouldered the deer and triumphantly we re¬ 
turned to camp. There Roody sewed up the 
middle part of the animal in burlap and stored 
it away in Balderson’s big ice house. 
I told my guide to go home and return in the 
morning when I intended to take my sixteen- 
gauge and go for partridges. Toward evening 
“Johnny” Balderson took me out on the lake 
where I had some fun shooting sawbills. The 
next day we went for partridges. 
Only one thing I regretted there, and that was 
that I could not fish for togue (lake trout) as 
the season was over. I was told that in season 
sportsmen get trout weighing five pounds and 
over. 
In conclusion, let me say, that the place is so 
situated that any one with an ordinary compass 
may hunt without a guide and return toward 
six times, so that a sparrow looms large. When 
a bullet strikes, the sparrow seems to explode, 
the pieces flying in all directions, just like pic¬ 
tured dynamite explosions, and the field of the 
glass is full of flying particles. Of course noth¬ 
ing of the sort takes place, for it is a few 
feathers that remain momentarily in the field 
of view that deceive the eye, while the victim, 
with a tiny hole in the place where a hole will 
do the most good, drops out of the field of 
view, and a wandering tomcat closes the inci¬ 
dent with a meal. 
Incidentally, there are few prettier marks on 
which to hold the cross-hairs of the telescope 
than the little patch of reddish brown on the 
throat of the cock sparrow. 
* =i< * 
If you live in South Carolina it may be that 
you can look forward with equanamity if not 
pleasure to a long winter, for the summers are 
not short and none too cool. Otherwise it is 
difficult to explain what was meant by a Spar- 
tansburg editor who, in concluding a reference 
to Candlemas day, said: “Here is to Mr. Wood¬ 
chuck; may his shadow never grow less.” One 
possessing more or less faith in the old fable, 
and living in a cold region, would scarcely feel 
like saying, “Amen” to the toast if in any way 
it were to be applied to sunshine or shadow on 
Feb. 2. Grizzly King. 
