Dec. 4, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
895 
lips” of a quail and the silvery tinkle of a con¬ 
vent bell, was borne up to me on the wings of 
the soft westerly breeze from a little hamlet of 
clustering white cots which lay far below at the 
foot of the mountains, midst emerald pastures 
and golden cornfields, while beyond again 
stretched away mile upon mile of undulating 
forest-fringed plain until lost to view beneath 
the hazy, blue horizon. 
Immediately after breakfast we took our 
twelve-bore guns, and accompanied by the 
Ruthenian peasant and his spouse—the latter 
begged to be allowed to carry my cartridge bag 
—and ordering the driver to strike camp and 
trek on to a certain small township situate near 
the Hungarian border, we set out across the 
mountains to try for partridges and quail; for 
anything, in fact, in the shape of game and 
worthy a cartridge. 
In many places the grass growing on the 
mountain slopes reached well to one’s waist, 
while patches of pine scrub, cranberry bushes 
and other rough cover grew here and there on 
less fertile soil. It was when nearing one of 
the latter growths of tangle that our guide ex¬ 
claimed : “It was here I sighted the roe yester¬ 
day.” Scarcely were the words uttered when 
a covey of eleven gray partridges rose with a 
great todo between von R. and myself, afford¬ 
ing us a right and left apiece. My companion 
scored a brace to his credit while I made a clean 
miss with my first barrel and only succeeded in 
winging a young hen in immature plumage with 
my second. The bird ran into a strip of low 
thorn and led me a merry—and prickly—dance 
for some fifteen minutes before I gathered it. 
By the aid of a pair of binoculars von R. 
marked the remainder of the covey down into 
a patch of cranberry bushes growing about a 
quarter of a mile distant. Without loss of time 
we set out in pursuit of the birds, keeping in 
line that we might walk up any game lying be¬ 
tween ourselves and the cranberry scrub. We 
had not proceeded far on the fresh beat when 
a big hare started from its form almost at my 
feet, and apparently more surprised than scared 
at our intrusion into her sanctuary, away she 
quietly loped, offering such an absurdly easy 
shot that I promptly bowled her over with my 
first barrel. Upon handing the hare to my 
henchwoman, I was somewhat surprised to see 
her take a large clasp knife from the pocket of 
her skirt and then “hock” the animal in quite 
the orthodox manner. No other game was met 
with until the cranberry patch was reached, when 
the partridges rose very wild and far out of 
range. Away down the mountainside they flew 
and were soon lost to sight behind a densely- 
wooded spur. Needless to add, the covey was 
not followed up, but continuing on our way we 
reached the shores of a beautiful little lake, the 
margin of which was fringed with wild rice and 
tall sedges. 
The sun was now at its zenith and although 
mid September, the heat was oppressive. We 
therefore halted in the shade afforded by a wil¬ 
low tree growing on the water’s edge to eat our 
frugal luncheon and to smoke the pipe of peace. 
With my head resting on a grassy mound I was 
dreamily watching the blue aromatic smoke from 
the pipe rising in graceful spirals, when I 
noticed a bunch of mallards wheeling high over 
head as though uncertain as to whether or no 
they should pitch on the lake. Yes! No! Yes! 
The ducks were about to settle. Ah! On to 
the unruffled surface of the water they dropped 
with a series of splashes, and as luck would have 
it, among a clump of high reeds growing on the 
opposite shore to that upon which we were rest¬ 
ing. Yon R. had not noticed the advent of our 
feathered visitors, for—like the good old book¬ 
worm he is—his head was buried in the yellow, 
time-discolored leaves of an ancient edition of 
Spinoza. 
Upon telling him the good news he called the 
Ruthenian, who, with his wife, was sitting a 
little apart from us, and asked how deep the 
water in the lake was. 
“In no part is the water of greater depth than 
five feet, Pane,” answered the peasant. “Then,” 
said my friend, “you wili walk round the shore 
of the lake until you reach yonder growth of 
reed cover (pointing to the belt of sedges among 
which the ducks had harbored). Do not ap¬ 
proach too near the edge or you may disturb 
the mallard before we are ready for them. They 
will in all probability make a circuit of the lake 
when you wade in and put them up, and in such 
case they may fly within shot of us.” 
Having marked and learned my good friend’s 
oration, the man started on his mission, while 
we, taking our guns, went to seek the driest 
foothold obtainable among the dense strips of 
wild rice which flourished in rank profusion all 
round the shore. 
The sheet of water did not cover more than 
fifty acres and our bucolic beater occupied not 
many minutes in completing his detour. Hav¬ 
ing arrived on the further shore at a point oppo¬ 
site the mallard’s haven of refuge, he took off 
his butties (knee boots) and began to wade 
through the shallow slime and water. A few 
waterhens now emerged from the reed cover 
and then came a couple of gray coots, uttering 
calls of alarm as they flew with their feet skim¬ 
ming the surface of the water. The dusky birds 
passed well within shot of my blind, but were 
allowed to go on their way unscathed. Sud¬ 
denly the mallards, numbering seventeen, rose 
in a bunch from amidst the reeds and followed 
by the loud, “Smotry, smotry” (“Beware, be¬ 
ware”) of the beater. On they came, heading 
a little toward the left hand of von R., whose 
“stand” was about sixty yards distant from my 
own. “Bang, bang!” rang out the Austrian’s 
twelve-bore, and the leading mallard dropped 
with a splash into the water while a second, hard 
hit after carrying on for a short distance, fell 
on a spit of rrtud which had been left high and 
dry by the heavy drouths of the summer. 
The duck did not, as we anticipated, make a 
circuit of the lake, but flew away to quieter 
waters among the mountains, while I returned 
to my grassy mound under the willow with clean 
gun barrels. Shortly after 3 o’clock we again 
started on our journey, picking up a leash of 
partridges, a brace of hares and a few quail as 
we went. 
“Three brace of partridges, a leash of hares, 
a couple of mallards and four quail. A very 
poor bag after so much walking,” I fancy I hear 
someone remark. It was not a heavy bag I am 
bound to confess, but still that quiet day’s rough 
sport among the beautiful Carpathians will dwell 
longer in my memory than many a more im¬ 
portant day’s shooting in which I have taken 
part on strictly preserved moors and manors. 
J. M. M. B. Durham. 
One of <he Mysteries. 
Tacoma, Wash., Nov. 25 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: We are so accustomed in these icono¬ 
clastic days to think and feel that the days of 
the wild West are gone—that the last frontier 
has yielded to the all-conquering pioneer—that 
it comes as a distinct sensation when occas¬ 
ionally we are, as the gamin delivering the even¬ 
ing paper would express it, “Brought up against 
the real thing.” 
A few days ago as I stood in front of the 
fine show window of a hardware company in 
Boise, Idaho, there was exhibited right alongside 
of the newest product in guns a weatherworn, 
rusted and alkali-eaten rifle, attached to which 
was this placard: “Found by C. Ellsworth, 20 
miles northeast of the Vinegar Hills, Cumber- 
lain Basin, Idaho.” 
The gun was of a well known make, .38-55 
caliber, 1873 model, and was fully charged in 
magazine and chamber. The prospector who 
brought it in discovered the arm standing against 
a boulder within a few feet of the frame of a 
tent from which the cloth had fallen away. All 
the accoutrements of a miner’s or trapper’s camp 
were found about in perfect array. The bed¬ 
ding was in order, with cover turned back, but 
decayed and alkali covered. The one-time 
owner’s knife and personal belongings were ori 
a rock nearby, while the kettle was still sus¬ 
pended over a cavity that had once held the 
camp-fire. Nothing was missing save one essen¬ 
tial—the man who had represented the life and 
meaning of this temporary home in the wild. 
Some time, somehow, nature through one of 
her innumerable agencies had taken toll of a 
life in return for the things of which she had 
been deprived by the hunter’s hand. For half 
a decade at least his camp had stood unvisited 
by human being, and nowhere was there a single 
clew as to who this lone man was or how he 
met his fate. One of the many he was who 
have paid the penalty of life in stepping for a 
moment away from the camp never to return. 
What room for speculation is there here for 
those interested in frontier lore. F. C. R. 
Hunting Good. 
New Orleans, La., Nov. 25.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: Reports from various fishermen 
and hunters are to the effect that game and fish 
have been fairly plentiful during the past ten 
days. The warm weather has militated against 
very successful field sports. Ducks have been 
rather hard to kill, as they have been flying high 
and not feeding in the marshes. During the past 
day or two the advent of cooler weather has 
had good effect and the hunters report better 
luck and large numbers of ducks have been 
brought into the market. 
Reports from the several game wardens in 
various portions of the State are quite encour¬ 
aging. Rabbits, squirrels, quail, deer, snipe and 
various other game are plentiful. Scores of 
hunters went out from New Orleans on Thanks¬ 
giving Day to various places, most of them to 
be gone until Monday. The Louisville and 
Nashville trains were crowded with both hun¬ 
ters and fishermen. The number of licenses 
issued to hunters has increased greatly and will 
exceed that of last season. Quite a few visitors 
from the North and East are joining the hunt¬ 
ing parties. F. G. G. 
