March 16, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
4 T 7 
and thought we would follow it and see what 
the country on the other side looked like. The 
road led out on to a hill and in the distance 
•was a farm. From a chimney on one of the 
outbuildings poured a volume of black smoke, 
and as that was a pretty good indication of 
cane grinding and syrup boiling, we decided that 
a glass of fresh cane juice was about what we 
needed to quench our thirst. We received a 
cordial welcome and were given seats in the 
shade near the brick furnace holding the two 
kettles of cane juice, where we could carry on 
a conversation with the farmer as he skimmed 
the boiling. juice and tended his fire. 
On coming back to tbe boat from a squirel 
hunt in the creek hammock, Mac and Will said 
they had found a cow lying down in the mud 
at the edge of the water; that she had evidently 
been there several days, and was either hurt or 
too weak to get up. Taking a coil of rope we 
all went back • to see if we could get her up. 
The bank sloped down to the water quite 
abruptly, and the animal was lying with her 
hindquarters in the soft mud. The roots with¬ 
in reach of her head had been rubbed smooth 
and the bushes stripped of their leaves. Putting 
the rope about her horns we dragged the animal 
up oiit of the mud, but with all our efforts were 
unable to get her on her feet, so we pulled 
down a lot of green moss and left it within 
reach. I do not suppose it contains much 
nourishment, but cattle will eat it when hard 
up for forage, and it is at least filling. Mac, 
being the only one. in the party who understood 
such things, took a look at the ears for marks 
and made a note of same—some kind of upper¬ 
cut or overcut, and bit—thinking to tell any 
any farmer he met of same. 
While out in the woods that afternoon we 
ran across a man who said he owned the cow 
and that he would send a boy down with some 
corn and oats. The day following we went 
back to see if she was still there and found 
her in the same position. There was no sign 
of the corn or oats, but the pile of moss had 
disappeared, so Kendall went back to the launch 
and returned with the boat hook and a bucket, 
and after giving her all the water she would 
drink we pulled down another supply of green 
moss. Strange how some people care for their 
1 stock. 
On one of the ridges’ we had hunted over 
we had seen plenty of turkey tracks, and it got 
to worrying us that we "Could never start them, 
eariy or late. Finally Mac suggested we try 
and roost them. I had made up my mind to 
I try to catch some fish that afternoon, as the 
day before T had seen an old darky with a 
few speckled perch. When the boys had gone 
I took the small boat and rowed up the creek 
a short distance. After fishing some time and 
having no strikes, a squirrel began to bark in 
the swamp, so back to the launch I rowed for 
j my gun. The cook put me across the creek 
1 and I started into the swamp to try to locate 
t the squirrel that had been making so much 
racket. Darkness follows fast in the wake of 
the setting sun in this southern country, and 
I had about made up my mind to return to the 
j creek and hail the launch for the small boat, 
when a gray scampered up an oak tree about 
thirty yards away, followed a second later by 
t another. Getting in a couple of quick shots, 
they both fell. The reports seemed to wake up 
the owls, for two or three started in, asking 
each other what the trouble was all about. 
Some time after I reached the launch the 
boys were heard returning. They seemed to 
be in good spirits, and when they got aboard 
my squirrels were sniffed at, for they had 
roosted the turkeys—six or seven of them, 
i They had strung out several hundred yards 
apart in the edge of a creek swamp just before 
sun set, and soon afterward Mac heard a turkey 
fly up in a tree. It was followed by five or 
six others, scattered about in different trees. 
They were just out of range, and Mac said he 
| was afraid to make a move—even to brush away 
a troublesome old swamp gallinipper that kept 
drilling into his face—until it got quite dark, 
i Then he quietly withdrew, and on a large stump 
. in the edge of the pine woods he hung his hand¬ 
kerchief to mark the location. He met Will and 
Kendall on the way back to the boat, but they 
had seen no turkeys. 
Supper was a lively meal that night, and natur¬ 
ally there was a good deal of bantering as to 
who were to be the lucky ones in the morn¬ 
ing. The cook was questioned as to his ability 
to cook a turkey, and replied with a broad grin, 
“Jes’ fotch along yo’ turkey; I’ll tend to de 
res’, ” and became so enthused with the idea 
that during his dish washing out on the after 
deck he lost our only skillet overboard in seven 
or eight feet of water. This gave us something 
to do besides talk, for unless that skillet was re¬ 
covered there was a probability that stews three 
times a day were to be added to our menu. 
After much angling, Mac’s patience was at last 
rewarded, and up came the skillet, hooked 
through the hole in the handle. A sigh of re¬ 
lief went up as it was safely brought aboard. 
Then the interrupted turkey talk was resumed 
and B. B. shells rummaged for among the duffle. 
I had neglected to bring any, and as I was using 
a 16 gauge and the others 12 gauges, I had 
to remove the shot from a couple of shells and 
replace them with B. B.’s. 
We were astir by 4 o’clock next morning, and 
over a breakfast of bacon and eggs and strong 
coffee, agreed that it would be best to pair off, 
will’s turkey. 
Mac and Kendall going together, while Will and 
I pooled our chances. A whistle was to be the 
signal to get ready to shoot. It was a dark, 
threatening morning when we left the launch, 
and as we trudged through the woods in single 
file a light rain fell. On nearing the swamp, 
Mac found his handkerchief, and as we gathered 
about the stump he pointed out a large dead 
tree in the swamp as our beacon. Will and I 
were to head for that while he and Kendall 
were to strike into the swamp about seventy-five 
yards lower down. On reaching the edge of 
the swamp I took the lead and began to feel 
my way through the dense undergrowth. It 
was a tedious job and we were a long time 
traveling a short distance, but at last were near 
the tree Mac had indicated. It had stopped 
raining and was very silent in the swamp, the 
only sound heard being the drip of rain drops 
from the trees. The clouds began to break and 
the waning moon shed a pale light through the 
thick foliage. Presently Will touched my arm 
and pointed to a tree about thirty-five yards 
distant. On a bare limb sat a turkey, plainly 
outlined against the sky through a ragged break 
in the foliage. Daylight seemed slow in making 
its appearance that morning, but at last I gave 
Will the nod, and as he brought up his gun 
I gave the signal, followed by the report and 
fall of the turkey through the underbrush. It 
was Will’s first turkey, and though he says he 
did his best, the turkey hit the ground before 
he could reach the spot. 
A few minutes after Will fired we heard the 
signal below us, followed by two shots, but no 
turkeys came our way. It seemed Mac and 
Kendall had gone into the swamp too far, and 
at the report of Will’s gun they had seen some 
turkeys on the roost back the way they had 
come in, but they flew before they could get 
within range, Mac taking a couple of chance 
shots at them. 
After spending three days in hunting the 
country on the south side of the creek we took 
the rowboat and went up the creek as far as 
our first landing place, going through the low 
swamp on the north side to the pine woods. 
Getting through the swamp was more of a job 
than we had anticipated, and if it had not been 
for the unusual dry spell we would not have 
succeeded. 
The sun was so warm we did not hunt very 
long, and after killing half a dozen birds we 
returned to the launch and made up our minds 
to leave for new territory. After dinner we 
ran down the creek, crossed the river and en¬ 
tered Doctor’s Lake, an arm of the river reach¬ 
ing back to the west several miles, forming a 
lake of respectable size. We followed the north 
shore around to near the head of the lake, then 
crossed over to the south side and ran up Swim¬ 
ming Hole Creek a short distance to the county 
bridge, where we dropped anchor. 
There were a number of farms in the neigh¬ 
borhood and we had some fair quail shooting, 
though the weather was too warm for long 
tramps. We put in a couple of days very 
pleasantly and only regretted we did not have 
more time at our disposal, but the loafing days 
were over and it was time to start on the home¬ 
ward trip. Geo. A. Irwin. 
Game Law Violation. 
A violation of the game law in which the vio¬ 
lator has the sympathy of many persons interested 
in game protection has just been made public, 
though for some time known to a small number 
of persons. The facts are these: 
Mr. E. W. Deming, the Indian and animal 
painter and sculptor, who resides at No. 5 Mac- 
dougal alley, this city, went hunting last fall to 
Maine. With him were an officer of the N. Y. 
Zoological Park and a fellow artist of Mr. 
Deming. They reached Maine in the latter part 
of November, lawfully killed a number of deer, 
and returning to New York expressed the car¬ 
casses of four deer tagged with the Maine license 
to Mr. Deming’s address in New York. They 
were brought back, so that the artist might make 
scientific and artistic studies of them. 
The animals came without concealment on the 
train and through the Grand Central Station to 
Mr. Deming’s studio, where they were used for 
these artistic and scientific purposes. They 
reached New York Dec. 3, last, and the carcasses 
were followed to Mr. Deming’s studio by Game 
Warden Overton. About a month later, Mr. 
Deming was served with a summons and com¬ 
plaint in an action brought in Supreme Court by the 
Forest, Fish and Game Commission, to recover 
$600 for having four deer in his possession after 
Dec. 2. The case never came to trial, but was 
compromised on the payment under protest of 
$200 by Mr. Deming. 
Mr. • Deming’s standing as a sportsman is well 
known, and while there seems to be doubt that 
he committed a technical violation of the law, it 
is clear that he did it in ignorance, and that he 
greatly regrets it. It seems as if the penalty that 
he has had to pay is an unduly severe one. It 
seems also that the express companies that 
handled the game and had it illegally in pos¬ 
session, for hours, or days, ought also to have been 
brought to book. We are not surprised that Mr. 
Deming and his friends feel that he has been 
hardly treated in the matter. 
“Hunting in Africa.” 
Oakmont, Pa., Feb. 22. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: May I suggest that Captain Wm. 
Cornwallis Harris’ account of his hunting trip in 
South Africa is a much more interesting work 
than Gordon-Cumming’s, as well as a much earlier 
one? I do not know where it may now be had, 
as I have it only in Waldie’s Library of the 30s. 
Wm, Wade. 
