December, 1917 
FOREST AND STREAM 
591 
I called that tale-bearing red-squirrel 
names I wouldn’t apply to a snake. 
lay of the land and even if I did get fussed 
a bit I would trust to my compass to bring 
me back to camp. Moreover I knew if I 
stuck to the river valley up or down I 
couldn’t go very far astray. 
This being settled Rube said he would 
take Larry to a big’logan about five miles 
down stream and back from the river a 
couple of miles at the head of a brook 
where Rube said moose sign had been plen¬ 
tiful when he was in there the week before. 
I told them I would hunt up river so as to 
keep away from their precinct. Then we 
each pocketed a lunch and started in oppo¬ 
site directions, parallel to the river. 
After I had left camp half a mile behind 
me I slowed down, began to step softly, stop 
often and rubber. I’ve always had better 
luck still-hunting than any other way. I 
presume this is because I am a punk wing- 
shot. I know sportsmen who go smashing 
and crashing thru the brush and when they 
jump a deer they can get him on the fly, 
but when I flush a buck right under my 
nose it always agitates me so that I forget I 
have a rifle in my hands until he is a mile 
and a half away—and then it’s too late! 
When I’m moving in the woods I know 
jolly well that I can’t compete with a bull 
moose or a deer in hearing, seeing, or scent, 
but if I stop, look and listen often Eve got 
some show of a broad-side standing shot. 
W ELL, I pussy-footed it along the 
ridge by the river for perhaps an 
hour, then I picked out a good 
cover under an ole bull pine and cam¬ 
ouflaged myself where I could see over 
a good area, determined to play a wait¬ 
ing game in the hope of -something 
worth while on four legs turning up. 
It was not long until a faint rustle came 
from uphill and presently a neat little year¬ 
ling doe stepped daintily into the open and 
gave the space below her a careful once¬ 
over. Then she wig-wagged an “All’s well” 
with her tail and went on with her browsing 
as she worked down toward me not more 
than ioo feet distant. I was in plain sight 
of her and more than once when she raised 
her head she looked me straight in the eye. 
The wind was in my face and if she saw 
me I meant no more to her than a stump 
so long as I did not move. 
Then suddenly the good-for-nothing mis¬ 
chief-maker arrived—that little gossip 
and tattler of the woods, the Red Squirrel— 
the pesky little busybody who is forever 
sticking his blunt nose into other people’s 
affairs. He ran up a pine just beyond the 
doe and stopped on a limb for a look- 
around. Of course he saw me the first 
glance. You don’t have to move to help a 
red squirrel get his lamps on you—be you 
ever so mdtionless he can spot you out at 
a hundred yards. Then what did he do 5 
When that bullet struck above me I knew No witnesses were present when I broke 
I d been taken for “Black Jack.” the world’s record for speed. 
Why he stamped his hind-feet on the limb, 
flicked his tail and hollered as loud as he 
could yell: “Hi, all you deers and mooses 
within sound of my voice! Here’s a sport 
squattin’ under a tree with a rifle in his 
paws! Beat it everybody, and be quick 
about it, or take the consequences!” 
A T the first outburst of the red rascal 
the little doe’s head went into the 
air with a jerk—with fear in her eyes 
she took a quick look around and tested the 
air, then she tucked her tail low and slunk 
quickly and silently to cover like a dog. I 
knew that impudent little red cuss had 
spoiled the woods for me as far his voice 
would carry, so I came from under the pine 
and picking up a stone sent it whizzing 
within a foot of his perch. Chattering he 
scrambled around the pine and seating him¬ 
self on another limb he called me seven 
times everything I called him. Then I went 
on up the river in disgust. 
When the sun was well overhead I sat 
down on a log and disposed of my lunch. I 
was just finishing a pipeful when my ear 
caught the measured ponderous stride of a 
moose crossing a deadwater of the river a 
little distance upstream. I could hear it 
distinctly and was sure I was right, first 
that it was a moose (probably a bull) and 
second, that the animal was crossing on 
my side and would travel on up the slope! 
By a little fast footwork I could cross the 
open in front of me and reach the big 
growth in time to connect! With this 
thought in mind I beat it forward as fast 
as possible consistent with the least noise 
and made the lee of a big beech where I 
crouched and waited! There was no wind 
—the valley was as silent as a tomb! What 
had become of that moose? There was 
the faint rattle of a stone down over the 
bank, then suddenly what I was looking 
for bulked big in plain sight from behind 
a knoll and stopped !—as handsome a bull 
as ever wore hair and a long bell! The 
sun flashed on the broad palms of his 
antlers and his black eyes rimmed by their 
whites glistened as his crafty gaze roved 
up and down! Poking the rifle barrel out 
past the beech I cuddled my cheek to the 
stock and was just settling the sights on 
him when—! 
“BANG!” roared a gun from up the hill 
above me and simultaneously with the re¬ 
port there was a “z-i-n-n-g-g!” and the 
“s-p-a-a-t-t!” of a bullet in the beech 
about a foot above my head! I looked up 
in time, to see the splinters fly and note 
where it struck! The bull was already 
out of sight and crashing headlong thru 
the brush while I was thinking faster than 
he was going! 
“Some fool thinks I’m ‘Black Jack!’” 
flashed in my head. My first impulse was 
to spring up, throw down my gun, stretch 
my hands toward high heaven and yell that 
I was not the gentleman I had been mis¬ 
taken for. And yet before I got that done 
I might get another lead-pill—the second 
time in my vitals! My second thought was 
to get away from that place and trust to 
my legs instead of to explanations—and 
that’s what I did! 
Of course all this transpired in less time 
than it takes me to write a few of these 
words. Switching myself around that 
beech and keeping it between me and the 
direction -.from which the bullet had come 
I tore down the hill toward the river! I 
say “tore” and “tore” is right! I believe 
the world’s record for a ioo-yafd dash is 
something like io seconds. Well, I figure 
in my rough approximate way that I did 
200 yards in less than half that time! I 
fell the last 50 feet of the way landing 
with my left hind-foot in my right-hand 
hunting-coat pocket and my elbow in my 
ear! When I got on my feet, there right 
in front of me was a mammoth spruce log. 
That dark, gloomy hole in that log looked 
pretty good to me and into it I dived, pull¬ 
ing my rifle after me. I crawled in as far 
as I could squeeze and lay quieter than 
anybody trying to get back my breath. 
P ERHAPS five minutes passed. Then I 
heard voices which seemed to be ap¬ 
proaching! Presently the voices 
walked up and sat down on the log right 
over my head! There were two men talk¬ 
ing. Here is the conversation: 
“Which way do you s’pose he went?” 
“Up river, likely.” “Do you reckon you 
winged him?” “Naw, never tetched him— 
shot too--— high ! “Why didn't 
you keep pumpin’ ’em into him?” “Didn’t 
I tell you the - - - cartridge 
jammed in the-gun!” “Well, 
goodbye five hundred dollars.” “Don’t you 
b’lieve it—we’ve got two more days afore 
we haft to git back to work and we’ll 
git that-(deleted) yit!” 
Just then a durned little red ant had to 
walk across my nose and I felt a sneeze 
coming on! I nearly busted a blood-vessel 
and two lungs boldin’ back that sneeze, but 
I managed to choke it down. Next my 
knee began to itch! How in Sam Hill, I 
asked, could I scratch my knee wedged in 
the hollow of that log? I couldn’t and 
since I didn’t feel like askin’ either of the 
gentlemen sitting on the log to scratch it, 
I simply let it itch. What I didn’t like 
about their conversation was the profane 
language they used in my presence, but 
I let that go, too, and considered the source 
from which it came. 
Finally after what seemed an enternitv 
they moved off up the river, judging from 
(continued on page 622) 
