April 13, 1907-! 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
577 
DR. BEAN’S PLAQUE (OBVERSE). 
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and, if possible, excel our afternoon’s shooting. 
When they were ready to start, the liveryman 
rom whom we had procured our outfit drew up 
vith the same wagon for their use, seeing which 
:>ne of them said, “Take that wagon back to the 
)arn and hitch to your long-bodied, three- 
heated one. That won’t begin to hold our 
lucks.” This was done. They spent the day 
?oing over the same ground which our party 
lad, and at night drove into town, tired and 
lisgusted, with never a feather to show for 
heir exertions. 
The most novel duck hunt that I remember 
was one in which I was a spectator. In the 
j. ?arly ’50s, many bands of Indians came to the 
vicinity of our little town, usually in the fall. 
There were small bands of Brules, Yanktons 
tnd occasionally a small party of Ogallalas. I 
lever saw the Winnebagos but once, when they 
'ame into town, numbering about 600, practi¬ 
cally all that were left, the tribe having been 
; ilmost exterminated in a battle a few years 
irevious by the Sioux, near the present site of 
^ed Wing, Minn. The parties which came 
nost regularly and remained longest, were Sacs 
nd Foxes, generally called Musquaquas. These 
ndians still own and live on a small reservation 
tear Tama City, Iowa, and others of the same 
ribe are on a reservation near Holton, Kan. 
A large tribe had come for their annual trapping 
Cud hunting, and, as I knew many of them, I 
pent several days in their camp. One bright 
ool afternoon in October, a young buck said 
o me, “You come, me show how catch duck 
live; no shoot.” He gathered up a bunch of 
ong dried grass, willow twigs and leaves, and 
•eckoning me to follow, went nearly two miles 
o the edge of a large timber slough, the banks 
>f which for some distance back were covered 
vith willow and other brush. Cautiously and 
j loiselessly he made his way through the bushes 
tntil a view of the water could be had, ourselves 
emaining unseen. A large flock of butterballs 
vere swimming near the lower end of the 
lough. Going back, he divested himself of 
>lanket and what little other wearing apparel he 
■ iossessed. Picking up the hay hundle, which 
vas built around a sort of skull cap or head 
overing, with openings for the eyes, and ad- 
usting it on his head, he slipped silently into 
he water. Getting in a position where I could 
vatch him, I witnessed the gradual floating to¬ 
ward the ducks of the small partly-submerged 
>undle of dried grass and twigs, now stopping, 
urning around, advancing a few feet and then 
checking again, naturally and deliberately, as 
if moved by the current, until it was in the midst 
of the flock, without exciting any suspicion on 
their part. Suddenly two of their number were 
jerked under water, the balance of the flock 
arising with loud quacks and flying away. In a 
minute or so the Indian emerged from the 
water, holding a duck in each hand by the legs, 
shook himself, and shifting his hands, wrung 
the neck of first one duck and then the other, 
threw them on the ground, and with the Indian 
“Ugh,” said, “Me got um. Had to have.” 
The Captain. 
Dr. Bean’s Work Rewarded. 
Dr. Tarleton H. Bean, the State Fish Cul- 
turist of New York, was for many years asso¬ 
ciated with governmental scientific work in the 
United States National Museum and United 
States Fish Commission, in Washington. More 
recently he was chief of the departments of 
Forestry, and Fish and Game at the St. Louis 
World’s Fair and served there as a member of 
the superior jury of awards. For his services 
to Germany during that exposition he was 
decorated by the Emperor of Germany as a 
Knight of the Imperial Order of the Red Eagle, 
and he has now received from the Imperial Ger¬ 
man Commissioner-General to the World’s Fair 
at St. Louis, Dr. Theo. Lewald, a beautiful 
bronze plaque in commemoration of his associa¬ 
tion with the commissioner-general upon the 
work of the superior jury. 
This plaque was cast in bronze by Messrs. H. 
Gladenbeck & Son, Ltd., bronze founders, Berlin, 
from a design of the sculptor. Professor Peter 
Brener, Berlin, a member of the Senate of the 
Royal Academy of Arts, and represents Germany 
and America. The motto on the obverse: 
ARTA. ARTIS. VINCULA. (Close are the 
ties of industrial life) has been supplied by Pro¬ 
fessor Bruno Keil, at Strassburg, in Alsace-Lor¬ 
raine. On the reverse the German House with 
adjoining cascades of the World’s Fair is de¬ 
picted. 
The plaque is one of the most artistic and 
most highly prized souvenirs of the exposition. 
Oldest Gun Store to Go. 
A multitude of New York shooting men will 
learn with regret that the oldest gun shop in 
New York is about to be torn down and re¬ 
moved, to make room for the enlargement of 
the Manhattan terminal of the Brooklyn Bridge. 
A considerable area of land has been taken, and 
the old buildings which stood on this land are 
to be removed, and have recently been sold to 
a building wrecker. 
Among these buildings is No. g Chambers 
street, long occupied by J. P. Dannefelser. Away 
back, forty years ago—beginning in 1865—A. G. 
Genez had a gun store here, and later J. P. 
Dannefelser was a tiny errand boy in his employ. 
Genez was one of the best gunsmiths in America, 
a careful and thorough workman and very con¬ 
scientious in all his dealings. He made the small 
boy “Johnny” work hard at the bench which the 
little fellow did not like at all, but which made 
a good workman of him. Genez was a French¬ 
man and died ten or twelve years ago, in Morri- 
sania in The Bronx. The business has long been 
carried on by the former errand boy. No. 9 
Chambers street has been a familiar address for 
men to send their guns to and to go to to make 
all sorts of inquiries, and J. P. Dannefelser is 
not only an excellent gunsmith, but a thoroughly 
reliable man. He is about to move his business 
to 97 Chambers street. 
On the Oregon Trail. 
La Jolla, Cal., April 1 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: My daughter and I had gone from 
central Oregon over to Eckley. Curry county, 
and were boarding with the good old postmaster 
and his most lovable wife. Many of the ranches 
were posted, and there was a “certain feeling in 
the air.” It seems that four sportsmen (save 
the word!) had gone in from California to a 
point north of Eckley and slaughtered a large 
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DR. bean’s PLAQUE (REVERSE). 
number of deer, and this without licenses, and 
in violation of the law, anyhow, as to numbers. 
Moreover, nearly all of the animals were left 
where they were killed. News travels quickly 
in the mountains. 
The miners and ranchers for miles around came 
to Eckley to get their semi-weekly mail. As 
soon as they learned that it was our intention 
to stop at the legal limit we received the most 
cordial and hearty invitations from all over that 
section to “Come over to my place; it won’t cost 
you a cent.” 
There is a mail trail from Eckley to Port Or- 
ford, thirty-odd miles, along the Sixes River. 
Alex has a small shack half-way over. He had 
invited me several times to go to his place and 
shoot deer, so one day Charlie H. loaned me a 
sure-footed horse and I started along the (in 
places) hair-raising trail. About three miles 
from Eckley a four-pointer jumped from the 
trail, turned, and stood watching me from a dis¬ 
tance of 40 to 50 yards. I rolled off the horse, 
on the side away from the deer, threw in a 
shell and held between the shoulders at the base 
of the neck. That buck was my meat beyond 
the shadow of a doubt. 
Arriving at Alex’s we had an early supper and 
then footed it back a mile to the doctor’s shack. 
As the doctor was in Portland we dislocated a 
window, crawled in, and opened the door in 
front of which was a small orchard and the 
ground littered with fallen apples. The vege¬ 
table garden had been wholly destroyed by deer. 
Twilight comes early in the mountains. As the 
sun was dipping behind a high ridge I hauled a 
rocking chair to the front door, leaned my .30-30 
against the iamb and sat down. I had hardly 
completed my arrangements when five deer came 
into the orchard. A spike buck stopped within 
thirty feet of me, its head up, scenting danger. 
It fell in its tracks with a broken neck. 
We dressed and hung the spike buck and went 
to bed. Next morning Alex was up first and 
called me to come out. There, behind the house, 
lay the other buck, shot through the heart. 
I now had two fair-sized bucks and one horse 
to pack them back to Eckley over a steep, rough, 
and, in places, dangerous trail with a load. Alex 
would take no meat, but he saddled his horse and 
packed one of the deer back to Eckley for me. 
Arriving there late in the evening we found 
the good postmaster and his family and my 
daughter, all sitting around the big open log 
fire, waiting for a hot supper of fried trout, 
broiled venison and trimmings. C. 
