Jan. 14, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
55 
My next two shots went low; I could see the 
bullets strike the water underneath and beyond 
him, Alphonse said “You are shooting too low, 
shoot higher.” I replied “I am out of ammun¬ 
ition, give me another clip.” Loading, I fired 
five times at the shoulder, hitting the bull three 
times an inch or two apart in the centre of the 
shoulder, and once at the base of the neck, the 
other bullet barely touching the skin of the 
back. Still he went on as if nothing had hap¬ 
pened, and before I could get the contents of 
another clip into the magazine he was up on 
the bank and gone. 
Alphonse started for the canoe, I following 
close at his heels, and in a minute we had the 
canoe out into the deep water and were 
paddling down stream to pick up the trail. 
At about the place we thought the bull went 
out we saw a big moose track and beached the 
canoe, but soon saw that the track was an old 
one and that we had stopped too soon. 
We tried to go through the bushes to pick up 
the trad, but found them too thick. The guide 
then went around the edge of the stream, and 
in attempting to follow, I went into the mud 
half knee deep, and in trying to extricate my 
feet fell flat on my back. Fortunately the mud 
where my back was, did not have the consistency 
of that which held my feet. I caught a limb and 
pulled myself out to firmer ground. The guide, 
unaware of my predicament, called out, “Come 
here quick. Here he is!” 
I had been thinking all this time that per¬ 
haps after all my shooting the moose would 
get away from us, and when I heard Alphonse 
call, I naturally thought the moose was making 
a stand and that he might move on at any mo¬ 
ment. It can therefore easily be imagined how 
anxious I was to get close to him, but how I 
was to get to this right then was the point, for 
I had tried to go through the bushes and failed 
and along the edge and bogged, so I said “I 
don t see how I can, for I’ve bogged up in the 
mud trying to follow you.” The guide’s “You 
have got to, come on,” was enough, I was 
sure then that if I did not get there instanter 
the moose would be gone, and rushed around 
that bit of unstable ground so quickly that there 
was not time to get stuck in the mud again. 
Fifteen or twenty steps up the bank lay the 
moose, stone dead. The vitality a big moose 
possesses is marvelous. 
The first thing I did was just what, I am 
told, everyone does: I caught hold of the head 
to examine the antlers, and as I pulled the head 
over so that I could the better see the left ant¬ 
ler, there was a good big piece of velvet still 
sticking on to the tips of the points, for which 
I was very glad. This was my first moose, and 
with all of its wild setting, all who have ex¬ 
perienced it know how I felt, and those of the 
great brotherhood of hunters who have never 
killed a big bull moose will have to wait until 
they do before it will be possible for them fully 
to appreciate how one feels, for I do not be¬ 
lieve it possible to express it, like so many of 
the finer feelings. It was about two o’clock 
when I killed him, and after standing around 
admiring the big fellow, Alphonse got out his 
metal tape measure and said "“what is his 
spread?” I said “48,” he said “54,” but 
both had overshot the mark; it was 45^ inches, 
and while not as wide as some, the antlers were 
very symmetrical, with 23 points and 15-inch 
blade, good enough for me, and I was happy. 
Think how far I ad come for caribou and 
moose, and now thal I had them, why should I 
not feel good? I did. 
Out came our hunting knives to take off the 
head and hide, the hair of which was a rich 
dark color almost black. We were or 6 
miles from camp, and after we had finished tak¬ 
ing off the hide and head we loaded them in the 
canoe and took them to the landing, and from 
there to camp, three and a half or four miles, 
we had to take them on our shoulders, which 
we did by taking turns, first one with the head 
and then the other. The trail from the landing 
to camp was over logs, rocks, down and up, 
in places the trees growing so close, it was al¬ 
most impossible to get through, and it was 
dark when we finally reached camp. And didn’t 
we strut in, you say? well, perhaps we did, and 
I don’t believe you would censure us for it. 
Gilbert and Albert were much surprised, for 
they had not heard our shots. 
In addition to the heads and hides I took out 
with me both of the front feet of the caribou, 
which I had mounted as ink wells for my two 
boys. To the youngest I gave the caribou head, 
and to the oldest the moosehead, one of the 
front feet of the moose I had mounted with a 
thermometer, which together with the hides, 
nicely tanned with the hair on for rugs, I gave 
to my wife. The piece of velvet, the birch 
horn the guide used to call, and some pieces of 
our spruce bed I kept for myself, together with 
the memories of the pleasantest trip of my life. 
When it was time for Joe to come with his team 
and wagon, I was sorry I had not told him to 
come later, for I was loath to leave the woods 
and Camp Big Moose, and on the morning 
when we-left, with the frost twenty to thirty 
feet high on the spruce trees, the ice half an inch 
thick, the sky as clear as crystal and bluer than 
the ocean, I turned and looked back at the camp 
with deepest regrets that time was up, and bus¬ 
iness necessitated my return to South Carolina 
and home. 
In conclusion I will briefly sum up thfe be¬ 
havior of the .35 caliber automatic. It shot with¬ 
out a hitch, the recoil was hardly noticeable, 
the trajectory was very flat, the clip loading 
device of utmost value, it was light and there¬ 
fore easy to carry. It handled well, as was 
shown by its effectiveness at the caribou while 
on the run and in the thickest kind of bushes 
with only a second of time in which his body 
could be seen. It was a hard hitter, as was 
shown by the explosive effect on the caribou at 
close range, the bullet making a hole the guide 
put his fist in, and knocking the moose down 
when hit near the base of the tail at a distance 
of nearly or quite 300 yards. I would say, how¬ 
ever, get as close as you can, to be more cer¬ 
tain of getting your game, even if you are sure 
of hitting the game at the greater distances, on 
account of the higher velocity and consequent 
greater explosive effect of the bullet. Finally 
I have come to the conclusion that for moose 
the most powerful rifle and cartridge are not 
quite powerful enough, and for my next trip 
I have bought a 405 caliber box magazine rifle, 
which is well balanced and should have great 
stopping power. This is what is wanted, as 
it is possible you may get only one shot, and 
you want that to count. 
F. G. Asbill. 
Hunting the Bobcat. 
The item “Hunting Bobcat” in your Dec. 3 
issue seemed all right until I read the last para¬ 
graph. That caused a smile. 
A number of years ago I spent the winter on 
a sheep ranch about eighteen miles from Eagle 
Pass, Texas. The country was wild then—we 
were 250 miles from the nearest railroad—and 
game of all kinds was very plentiful. 
At the ranch we kept a pack of seven hounds 
bred and used exclusively for cat hunting. Now 
there is no place in the world where a tender¬ 
foot or “short horn” is allowed—I might say 
encouraged—to display his ignorance with less 
opposition than among cowboys or sheep men. 
Reared as I was in Maryland, I have known 
of and enjoyed ’coon hunting all my life, and 
one of the chief pleasures, when we tried a 
’coon, was to cut the tree down, or to climb up 
and punch him out and have him fight the dogs. 
The first cat hunt I went on in Texas we 
treed a bobcat that probably weighed about 
twenty-five pounds. The tree was a mesquite 
and the cat was about twenty feet from the 
ground. According to custom the boys were 
going to' shoot him, when the tenderfoot ex¬ 
claimed, “Oh, don’t do that; let me climb up 
and punch him out and let him fight the dogs 
as we do the ’coons back in the States.” Did 
they let me? Sure; I did not hear one word of 
objection. 
I easily climbed up to within punching distance 
and with a six-foot stick proceeded to punch 
the bobcat that, according to the above men¬ 
tioned article, “has never been known to attack 
a man, even when in order to make it sit up 
and look pleasant it has been teased with a 
short stick among the branches of its arboreal 
retreat.” The bobcat was facing me as I climbed 
up, and his remarks showed he did not care 
for closer acquaintance. At about the third 
punch he jumped and for a month afterward 
I could show proof that he did not jump to¬ 
ward the dogs. Claw marks in both shoulders 
and teeth marks in my arm that I had inter¬ 
posed to protect my face and throat proved con¬ 
clusively to my mind that they will attack, and 
that with very little urging. 
We sailed out of that tree together. I did not 
stop to climb down, just let go everything and 
sailed. Fortunately for me the minute we struck 
the ground, the dogs took a hand, and relieved 
me of my most unwelcome companion. 
When I had time to look around I thought 
the boys were having fits. They nearly rolled 
out of their saddles—we always hunted on horse¬ 
back—laughing at my “great act.” To them it 
was probably funny, but the next time we wanted 
a cat, and we killed dozens of both the bobcats 
and the spotted cats—ocelots—during the win¬ 
ter, we sent for him with a pistol ball. H. L. 
A Tagged Mallard. 
Smithtown, L. I., Dec. 31 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: While -duck shooting Friday last on 
the Nissequogue River at the Wyandanch Club 
I shot a drake mallard tagged with metal band 
No. 2852 M —. 
He was leading (in flight) half a dozen black 
ducks. Can you in any way assist us to ascer¬ 
tain “whence he came,” as someone, judging by 
the number, must be liberating large quantities * 
Simeon J. Drake. 
