80 
FOREST AND STREAM 
In Quest of the Prairie Chicken 
Wood Hollow Days—How Three of the Elusive Birds Were Bagged After a Still Hunt, and the Mysterious 
Disappearance of the Rest of the Covey 
By Robert Page Lincoln 
HE encroaching tide of civiliza¬ 
tion spells more or less a tale 
of destruction to the wild 
game contingent; this for the 
reason principally that it brings 
with it an added number of the 
hunting element, who kill in 
season and out, without any 
exceptional regard for the continuation and per¬ 
petuation of specie or species of anything con¬ 
nected with fin, fur or feather; also, and greatly 
so, from the fact that the settlers and those 
agriculturally inclined do away with the valuable 
cover and feeding grounds so much a necessity 
to the perpetuation of the birds. 
The hard winters of the north are therefore 
greatly a drawback, and they inevitably work 
havoc among the ranks of the feathered folk; 
and since protective laws do not tend to give 
them any help the gradual, very perceptible with¬ 
drawal of these wonderful minions of nature re¬ 
solves itself, conclusively, into one thing, so 
dreaded by the true sportsman and lover of 
nature—oblivion. And yet for all that, clinging 
tenaciously to the edges of civilization, these 
same game birds will hold out for a long time, 
coming as they do, often in bevies, if it be quail, 
and greater covies, be it of partridge and of 
that supremely excellent individual, the prairie 
chicken. 
The latter bird in some sections is never noted, 
and yet in other places they will be found in 
goodly numbers. I have found- that they occur 
in places where they are sometimes least ex¬ 
pected, and where they are most unhindered in 
their life. Drawing in close on civilization, Na¬ 
ture provides them with a happy faculty for 
attenuated alertness that is a most estimable 
safeguard to them against destruction. This 
alertness provides them with the sense, first, of 
choosing just the right ground at critical times, 
such as during an open hunting season, and such 
as, when winter closes down is rigid and for¬ 
bidding. In parts of the west it has been found 
that the prairie chickens gathered together have 
become a veritable scourge as destroying the 
farmers’ grain on field and in sheaf—this uttered 
not upon authority but upon fairly well appre¬ 
ciated information. Leastways be it said that the 
prairie chicken in our north country, in this 
decade, is far from actual obliteration, and with 
good laws enforced for their protection we will 
yet have them with us in round numbers. 
Easy means of transportation, from place to 
place, of a great number of hunters with trained 
dogs to scent out and locate the game has meant 
a fearful setback to all game birds in the pres¬ 
ent day, the principal sufferer being undoubtedly 
the aforementioned prairie chicken. Were man 
to hunt solely upon his own native ingenuity 
there would be a wide difference in our bird 
census, but no such thing is the universal rule. 
Given a skillfully bred bird dog, with a line of 
true royal blood back of him, is it any wonder 
that slowly but surely the last birds are making 
their stand against the inroads of Man. 
The motor cycle, the automobile, the trains take 
hordes of hunters forth, and where success is 
not attained in overflowing measure surely it 
serves to make the birds more flighty than ever 
and more separated in their natural, time-allot¬ 
ted districts—this remark serving to draw the 
attention of the reader to the fact that these 
birds, may, therefore, be found in the most un¬ 
looked for spots. It also brings out the fact 
that we were given one trial at this hunting 
while at Wood Hollow. It 'had been our idea 
from the first at Wood Hollow to get as much 
variety of hunting as possible, for as many in- 
vidual members of the furred and feathered 
tribe as we could locate, though we would kill 
no more than careful discrimination would allow. 
We had thus far sampled a number of the de¬ 
lights of the Wood Hollow Country and meant 
yet to find more before we called the halt and 
made for our home retreats. 
I was shaving bacon for our morning meal 
one day, and was putting the finishing touches to 
coffee and other delicious things when Daniel, 
who had been absent for two days, entered with¬ 
out much ceremony and I could tell from the 
looks of him that he had news on hand of no 
mean order. It may be mentioned in passing 
that we had heard some days before, from a 
farmer down the line, that prairie chickens had 
been seen close in on his stubble. He gave us 
this information much for the reason of our 
friendship and the fact that much of our spare 
game had gone to his table. At first I doubted 
the veracity of this assertion and dispatched 
Daniel to find out the truth of it. I now sus¬ 
pected what he had up his sleeve. 
“It is true, then?” I queried. 
Sure, ’ said Daniel, a rosy, daybreak-smile 
surmounting his beneficent countenance, the 
while he took a deep breath. “I found those 
chickens just where he said they were. They 
have been there now for at least a week, he 
says, and he don’t recollect ever having seen 
them here before, but that’s all wrong. I have 
seen many of them here, and only last year shot 
some. It is quite a hike down there, but if you 
fellows want another bit of variety, just come, 
I will show you where they are.” 
“Has Brown hunted for them at all?” I asked. 
“Of course he has tried.” 
“He couldn’t hit the side of a barn,” re¬ 
sponded our youth. “And no. He hasn’t tried 
in the least. They are there and if we are any 
hunters at all, then we get them sure.” 
With determination I went out and shouted to 
Fred. His early morning ax was resounding 
down the glade as he built backlogs and fire¬ 
wood for the night fires. He came in bearing 
a log, of cominous dimensions. 
Would you mind hunting something that you 
manded of him. 
“Name it,” urged Fred. 
“Guess what?” 
“Well,” drawled Fred, shifting his cud 
thoughtfully and with determination the while 
he searched Daniel’s illuminated features. “I 
may suspect what it is. Perhaps you have locat¬ 
ed those chickens.” 
“You guessed it,” I assured him, “Just that, 
and much more. Prairie chickens. That not 
only puts the final crimp to it, but it will make 
another delightful reminiscence to weave into 
durable shape for this winter as we toast our 
shins before the fire. Just that—prairie chick¬ 
ens. Daniel has spotted a covey, he says, down 
on Farmer Brown’s stubble.” 
“Good enough!” said Fred firmly, sinking his 
double bitted ax deep in the log. “That’s what 
I call business. So you got a line on them, Dan?”' 
“Bet your life,” responded Daniel. “They 
were there when I was last on the ground, un- 
hunted, and they didn’t seem over shy at that. I 
flushed ten of them and they were only a short 
distance before they dropped again to ground. 
There is no reason why they are not there now.” 
Well, let s get to going then,” encouraged 
Fred. It is a quite a hike there and we ought 
to strike them before high noon is upon us. 
Let s make the breakfast as speedily as possible 
and get under way.” 
We circled the table and soon had our break¬ 
fast where it would do its work to utter satis¬ 
faction, and then donning our coats, and taking 
our guns and loading up on ammunition we 
sallied forth our thoughts leaping into life at 
the bare intimation of what was to be. I knew 
we had planned something that might be an 
entire failure. To still hunt, practically, for 
chickens is one thing. To hunt them over the 
setters or the pointers is another. In choosing 
the former we complied with all the rules and 
regulations of modern sportsmanship. 
On the way to our destination Daniel took us 
by way of the creek and showed us the den of 
a mink that he intended garnering in among his 
furs for the coming winter. In the yet soft 
mud was plainly showing the track of the occu¬ 
pant. 
I have a bait house down here a ways,” ex¬ 
plained Daniel. “1 have kept it baited with fish 
a long time. Many animals have come to it. This 
bait house is in the water and there is only one 
entrance. The bait is in back. I always wade 
in the water when I go there so as to leave no 
scent. I have had traps set there in the door¬ 
way of that bait house for a month or more, but 
I have had sticks thrust in between the jaws and 
the pans, you see, so that they will not snap. 
Thus the animals have become used to stepping 
on them. Some day, though, I will take out 
those sticks and when some nice mink steps on 
the pan it will go off. See?” 
“I used the same system,” I said, “when I 
