4 i 6 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[March i6 } 1907. 
five yards away. The grass reached his belly 
and had the effect of reducing the size of the 
target. Knowing the tendency to overshoot 
when aiming down hill, I took very careful aim 
and was entirely successful in doing exactly what 
I determined to avoid. Surrounded by his 
harem, he fled toward the plains and I again 
tried to detain him but failed. 
It was rather a mournful luncheon, we had 
that day, down by the stream where the buck 
should have kept us company. George had 
done exceedingly good work by putting me very 
close to several fine bucks and I simply shot 
holes in the atmosphere. 
In the two days of antelope hunting I had 
shot six times and had scored but one hit, and 
as 'we must now retrace our steps to camp, we 
could not expect other opportunities in the same 
parks, so I brooded and thought how my partner 
back in camp would have accepted any one of 
my neglected opportunities and how he would 
“rub it in” when I made confession. 
The end of the day and also of our journey 
was near at hand when George, whose interest 
and patience and energy were never exhausted, 
wished to inspect a park which lay to one side 
of the route we had traveled, and which was 
quite difficult of discovery because of its .narrow 
and winding entrance. Proceeding with great 
caution we eventually found ourselves upon a 
bluff, and in the grassy field below and about 
150 yards away were two antelope with fawn 
which had detected our approach. Since a pair 
of antelope would answer my purpose as well 
as two bucks, I resolved to take a shot at one 
of this group, although the fading light caused 
them to seem a long distance off. I banged 
away, one of them fell and immediately several 
others ran from under the bluff to join the 
rapidly fleeing trio; at the same time still another 
bunch ran up the bluff to our level about eighty 
yards from us. A buck was with this last divis¬ 
ion of the herd, and as he stood contemplating 
a safe line of flight, I shot at him. Instantly 
every animal, excepting the one first shot, dis¬ 
appeared from view, although I felt confident 
my aim was true and George believed he had 
heard the bullet strike. While he went to the 
one visible unfortunate, which proved to be a 
fawn instead of a doe for which I mistook it, 
I made a search for the buck and eventually 
found him, stone dead, fully 100 yards from 
where he started, with a bullet hole through him 
behind the shoulders. My average was now im¬ 
proved to three hits for eight shots and so it 
will remain for some time to come, I fear. 
Having obtained my full quota of antelope, we 
rode out upon the plains on the following day 
for entertainment. We saw but three small 
groups of antelope and these had been shot at 
so frequently as to be exceedingly wild. In 
each instance we merely saw their white disks 
a half a mile away as they went like the wind 
over the prairie. 
Many hunting parties were encamped here¬ 
abouts and the frequent report of firearms was 
disconcerting. Antelope are being killed off 
so rapidly, the impression prevails, that the next 
Legislature will declare a close season for the 
protection of this unique animal. Whether the 
present law, limiting the number taken to two 
for each license, is observed or enforced is 
doubtful. Foreign sportsmen seem to be the 
worst offenders, and near the camp site we oc¬ 
cupied, midst empty marmalade jars and cartridge 
boxes bearing the name of English manufact¬ 
urers, were found enough hides and whole car¬ 
cases of unskinned animals to suggest a sorry 
slaughter by our predecessors. Lippincott. 
Baltimore, Md. 
Death of an Old Sportsman. 
Thomas H. Roe, who died at Newburg, N. Y., 
March 6, was the oldest member of a remarkable 
family. He was 100 years of age last November, 
and two sisters who survive him are 99 and 90 
respectively. Mr. Roe was born and raised in 
New York city, and when a young man shot 
wildfowl and small game in the region now 
covered by residences on Washington Heights. 
Loafing Along the St. Johns. 
It was more like a morning in early April 
than January, as the launch Harriet passed under 
the railroad bridge and headed up the river. A 
soft southwest breeze ruffled the water, the sun 
shone warm, and a blue haze blurred the west 
shore line and the broad expanse of water ahead. 
It was a morning to recall the Indian summer 
time. Aboard were K. S. Haines, owner; Will, 
Mac and I, with Butler, the colored cook, and 
Peter and Blanche, pointer and setter. 
I had joined the party at the eleventh hour, 
and had little idea of where we were going or 
how long we were to be gone. I asked about 
this, but the answer was: 
“Oh, we are going up the river for a couple 
of days or so; just going to loaf along, stop any¬ 
where we care to, and intend to have a good 
time without worrying about such things as time 
and destination.” 
Nothing could have suited me better, for 
when I take to the woods I do not like to be 
governed by a schedule. 
A few miles above the city we saw small 
bunches of ducks, and the guns were put to¬ 
gether and shells laid out, but those ducks had 
evidently served as targets many times, for they 
CANE GRINDING. 
had the range down to a certainty, and after 
trying to get within killing distance of several 
small flocks, we gave up the attempt. 
After rounding Mandarin Point, on the east 
side of the river, we ran up Julington Creek as 
far as we could go to see what the country 
looked like; but after going up the creek several 
miles, we came to a stop on account of the 
hyacinths which completely covered the water 
from bank to* bank as far ahead as we could 
see; the bright green leaves of summer were 
now a drooping mass of rusty brown, because 
of the heavy frosts. They had every appearance 
of being dead, but with the coming of spring 
new leaves replace the old and the whole be¬ 
comes a mat of green, while countless stalks, 
bearing the delicate lilac flowers, nod and bow 
in the breeze as the irate navigator or fisher¬ 
man struggles to pass through this curse of the 
St. Johns and its tributaries. 
We had not taken these hyacinths into our 
calculations, but as there was no getting through 
them we must either return to the river or land, 
and as the noon hour had already passed, we 
tied up alongside the south bank and went 
ashore to look the woods over. This was the 
dogs’ first water trip, and when put ashore they 
raced about and acted as though they had been 
at sea a week. 
We found a strip of high hammock extending 
along the creek, and beyond that rolling pine 
woods and oak ridges. The country looked so 
good for squirrels and quail that we decided to 
stay where we were to do a little hunting. Re¬ 
turning to the boat, we found a good meal 
awaiting us, and the way the food disappeared 
made the cook’s eyes stick out. 
Going ashore again after dinner we returned 
to one of the oak ridges, and it was not long 
before the dogs were on a point. When we 
flushed the birds they went in every direction, 
making the shooting hard, and only three were 
killed. It was impossible to mark down the 
birds, but in going to a small branch ahead, 
Peter came down and two birds were kicked 
up, Mac and Will each scoring a kill; and down 
in the branch hammock Kendall killed a 
squirrel. 
Next morning Kendall and I loafed about in 
the hammock below camp and looked for squir¬ 
rels, while Will and Mac went out in the woods 
with the dogs after quail. While skirting the 
edge of the hammock we ran across an old 
Indian mound. It was circular in shape, about 
thirty feet in diameter and six or eight feet in 
height—or had been originally—but had been 
dug into at some time in the past. I left Ken¬ 
dall seated on a big log near the mound and 
went on some distance. Seeing a spot that 
looked like good territory for grays, I was soon • 
comfortably located with a big magnolia tree 
for a back rest. It was ideal weather for loaf¬ 
ing, and as the sun climbed higher over the tree 
tops, sifting through the long streamers of 
Spanish moss and glistening on the dewdrops 
hanging to the green foliage, my thoughts 
drifted away from the business on hand, and 
between the occasional caw of the crows passing 
high overhead and the hum of insect life all 
about me, I dozed off into the land of fancies. 
When I awoke, and while stretching the kinks 
out of my legs, I heard the report of a gun 
some distance below in the hammock and 
thought I would go and see if it was Kendall. 
After walking some distance strange sounds 
reached me. and I began to have my doubts 
about its being him. The sounds were more like 
those made by a small boy under a persimmon 
tree than those made by the average squirrel 
hunter. But there was Kendall loading up his 
pipe and gazing into space, and lodged in the 
fork of a small limb away up in the air was a 
squirrel. 
“Much luck?” said I . 
“Great sport,” said he between puffs. 
“Heard a squirrel bark, stalked him, shot him, 
then clubbed him—got him half way down. 
Going to shoot him again now and bring him 
the rest of the way.” 
"Hold on, old fellow,” said I. “You’ll fill him 
full of fur at this distance with that gun of 
yours. I’ll take a few throws myself.” 
But the supply of clubs was limited, and after 
a few ineffectual efforts on my part to dislodge 
it, Kendall stepped back and fired, but the squir¬ 
rel only swayed gently to and fro, seeing which 
I said that if he would give me a boost I would 
shin up the tree and get his squirrel. In my 
haste to start up the tree I neglected to remove 
my leggings, and after getting within six inches 
of the first limb I was all in, and in spite of 
Kendall’s comments I began to slip. Securing 
a fresh grip I gained half of what I had lost, 
then slipped again, and between Kendall’s 
laughter and my own, came down with a rush. 
Kendall looked at me, looked at the squirrel, 
sized up the tree, then took off his hunting coat 
and said he was going up after his game. I 
made a stepladder of myself and he walked up 
to the top of my head, and with a parting shove 
that nearly unjointed my neck he was on the 
way up. He did not stop to rest any on the 
way to the first limb, and after that it was easy. 
After we had got our pipes drawing well, Ken¬ 
dall said: 
“Well, I thought I had brought everything 
necessary with me on this trip, but the next time 
I come after squirrels in this neck of woods I 
am going to bring along a pair of climbing 
irons.” 
Further on I killed a squirrel, and then we 
returned to the boat, where Will and Mac soon 
joined us. They had taken quite a trip, but it 
was so hot and dry that the dogs could not do 
good work. They brought in five birds. 
That day we dropped back down the creek 
about half a mile to an old log roll, as it was 
more convenient to the hunting and afforded 
a better landing place. 
While Mac and I were out quail shooting wee 
came to a road leading through a creek swamp 
