9 G 8 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 24, 1911. 
that night and we were fairly comfortable, our 
slumbers being disturbed only three times, once 
by the horses raising a fuss, once by the dogs 
barking and scrambling over us none too ten¬ 
derly and lastly by a drove of razorback hogs 
which wandered into camp, and upon discover¬ 
ing 11s, ran away with a chorus of sniffs and 
grunts. 
Did you ever hunt or camp with a lazy man. 
If you have you know what a nuisance one of 
the breed is to have along. Well, we had one 
of these abominations with us and he became so 
unbearable that we all united in making it so 
unpleasant for him that he longed to be back 
home. He stood the persecution two days and 
then left us, saying that he was unwell and had 
business which needed looking after. 
The skies wept copiously and everything was 
wet. The greater part of our provisions were 
soon spoiled and we were put on a meat diet. 
We hunted faithfully along this ridge and in 
the flatwoods, but not one deer did we start. 
Every few hours the rain would descend in tor¬ 
rents and we often floundered in water up to 
our waists. On the higher ground quail and 
snipe were abundant and kept getting up all 
around us. I do not remember ever seeing so 
many quail before. Once with a single com¬ 
panion I became separated from the rest and 
saw no more of them that day. We tried stalk¬ 
ing a few sandhill cranes without success, but 
a big fox squirrel ran up in a tall pine, and 
when the rifle cracked, he tumbled to the 
ground. As our larder was very low we re¬ 
turned to camp and got our shotguns, intend¬ 
ing to take a try at the quail and snipe. 
The quail behaved beautifully, getting up by 
singles and in pairs. Each killed his first bird 
and thus encouraged did some good work. 
There was much nice open shooting, but just 
at dark we raised a covey which flew into a 
dense thicket where we had much difficulty both 
in routing them out and in finding them when 
killed. 
It was by this time quite dark and so we 
started for camp, but by some mischance we 
missed the ridge. We waded a great slough 
for several miles but saw no sign of the ridge 
on which the camp was situated. Finally away 
off to the eastward we heard the report of a 
gun and presently made out the faint glow of 
the camp-fire. Our friends, becoming anxious, 
were firing signals. We turned and made a bee¬ 
line for the distant fire, only to be confronted 
by a seemingly impassable morass of saw grass. 
Without hesitation my companion plunged in 
and began floundering across it and I followed 
and was soon sorry enough. The water was 
several feet deep and the ground underneath of 
such a miry unstable nature that I was often 
compelled to grasp the blades of saw grass 
which grew up in rank profusion to prevent 
sinking under altogether. At a point some¬ 
where near the middle of the slough I laid my 
gun across two tufts of stiff saw grass, and 
using this as a rest, recovered my breath for 
the final effort. When we finally did reach the 
opposite side we were tired, wet, muddy and in 
bad humor. During the struggle my leggins 
had came unbuckled and were lost in the mud 
of the slough. They are somewhere in that 
marsh yet so far as I know, for I made no 
effort to recover them but hurried on to camp. 
More days of rain and fruitless hunting fol¬ 
lowed and giving up at last, we returned home; 
empty-handed so far as venison was concerned, 
but with a rich fund of memories of happy, if 
disagreeable, days in the wilderness. ' 
Jn striking contrast with this trip was one 
that followed soon after, for this time instead 
of hunting for a spot dry enough to camp on 
we were obliged to search much the same terri¬ 
tory very carefully in order to procure enough 
water for ourselves and horse, and when we did 
find water, it was so warm and stagnant that 
we could hardly use it. My friend J. and my¬ 
self had long planned this outing, and when the 
fruit crop was marketed our opportunity came. 
Packing our tarpaulin, bedding, guns and grub 
into a little light wagon, we mounted to the 
summit of the pile and drove away one beauti¬ 
ful moonlit evening. We traveled about six 
miles that night and went into camp near a 
little stagnant pond. Next morning the march 
was resumed. Our destination was a beautiful 
camping place near a large hammock where 
game and good water were supposed to be 
plentiful, but although we reached it in due 
time and searched thoroughly for good water, 
none was to be found, although we even dug 
down in the center of an old dry saw grass 
pond. We had neglected to bring along a 
shovel and were obliged to dig with an old 
bucket, which, to say the least, was a slow and 
laborious proceeding. We then concluded to 
push on to a swamp called the Horseshoe 
Cypress—so named on account of its shape— 
but thought first to secure some fresh meat for 
our larder. 
J. took the rifle and I the shotgun, and thus 
armed, we pushed off through the woods in 
opposite directions. Pretty soon I heard the 
crack of J.’s rifle and knew he had found some 
squirrels. At the same time I espied a squirrel 
scampering among the branches of a large live- 
oak nearby, and just as I was about to shoot, a 
turkey called from the top of the same tree, and 
stepping carefully aside, I saw it perched upon 
a limb close to the body of the tree. It saw me 
at the same time and squatted to fly. It was a 
little too far away for the light shot I was using 
but I let it have a charge and tumbled it off 
the limb, but it recovered itself and made its 
escape into the thicket. Several squirrels 
barked and frisked about in the nearby trees, but 
just then I wanted turkey and refused to be 
comforted by the killing of such common game 
and so returned to the wagon empty-handed. 
J. came in with squirrel soon after and we 
moved on to the Horseshoe Cypress. 
While I rigged up a sort of tent out of the 
tarpaulin, J. prepared a dinner of squirrel and 
stewed prunes. I then dug a small well which 
gave us a limited supply of muddy water and 
we were happy in the belief that we were at last 
located when a Seminole Indian rode by within 
a quarter of a mile from us with his rifle rest¬ 
ing' across his horse’s neck and a long rope 
trailing behind. Pretty soon another swarthy 
son of this interesting and vanishing race made 
his appearance, firing the tall prairie grass as 
he came. 
The object of these men was apparent at 
once; they were going to burn out the swamp 
and drive out any deer that might be using 
therein. It was also very plain to us that our 
camp was in danger, for the high prairie grass 
and dry palm fans would burn fiercely in the 
stiff breeze that was blowing, so pulling down 
our tent and packing up our belongings as 
quickly as possible, we began our retreat. 
Reaching a strip of prairie which had already 
been burned over, we finished our interrupted 
meal. Looking back over the smoking prairie 
to the south of us we passed some very un¬ 
complimentary remarks about the red race and 
the Seminoles in particular. 
Camp was made that night among the giant 
palms along the Sebastian River. It seemed 
as though every night prowler among the 
winged creatures for miles was attracted by the 
light of our camp-fire and assembled about it. 
All sorts of birds sang, hooted and croaked 
from among the tall pines and palmettos while 
bull bats swept about overhead uttering their 
queer noises. 
Next morning I took the rifle and strolled 
along the river bank. Ospreys screamed from 
their nests in the tall pines, water turkeys 
scampered out of sight among the moss-laden 
cypresses, and cranes, curlews and other water 
birds flopped noisily away from their perches 
on dead limbs overhanging the stream, water 
moccasins were sunning themselves on the 
muddy bank, sliding down into the water as I 
approached. Finally I espied a big alligator 
taking his sun bath, but he saw me, too, and 
slid into the water like a flash. Another big 
fellow came tearing down the bank, plunged 
into the water and swam for the opposite bank. 
Only a small part of his head was visible, but I 
put a bullet into his eye. With a tremendous 
splash he disappeared in deep water. When I 
returned to the place later, however, he was 
lying dead in the shallow water near shore and 
I pulled him out. Several more ’gators made 
their appearance, but I did not succeed in killing 
any more. As I wandered along I scared up 
a half dozen or more of those beautiful but 
fast vanishing birds — the summer or wood- 
ducks. 
Gypsy-like, J. and I did not remain long, in 
one camp, and despite our pleasant surround¬ 
ings, moved on to the Red Bear cypress swamp, 
at the edge of which, on a high sandy ridge, we 
pitched camp. A number of pleasant days were 
passed at this place, shooting birds, rabbits 
and alligators or simply idling about. One 
evening I announced my intention of eating 
fried alligator for supper. J. at first ridiculed 
the idea, but at last acquiesced. We had 
thirteen of the ugly brutes to skin before cook¬ 
ing the evening meal and by the time we had 
completed the job my appetite for ’gator steak 
was gone entirely. Late that night, after I 
had retired to my couch and was resting com¬ 
fortably, J. wandered off through the pines to 
look after the horse, when suddenly he called 
out, “Come here quick!” Throwing off the 
blankets I ran to him, with visions of scorpions 
and rattlesnakes dancing before my eyes. When 
I came up I found no snakes, but there piled 
in a heap and glistening in the pale moon¬ 
light in all their hideous ugliness were the de¬ 
capitated and flayed carcasses of the thirteen alli¬ 
gators. There are times when the English 
language utterly fails to portray one’s feelings, 
and when J. laughlingly remarked that he had 
only called me out to select a choice steak for 
breakfast. I simply turned in silence and started 
back to the camp-fire. Presently my bare feet 
came in contact with a cactus, and then the 
