December, 1918 
FOREST AND STREAM 
693 
tances had been few and far between. 
The fourth day I saw moose—three cows 
and a young bull in a mirror-like pond close 
to a thicket of spruce. They looked very 
large to me, but Raoul said: “Poof!” 
sneered and promised better. 
Every day as we proceeded further into 
the wilderness the tracks became more plen¬ 
tiful, and frequently moose were visible— 
tremendous fellows in my poor opinion, but 
the head available for me in Raoul’s opin¬ 
ion had not yet appeared. 
Never did I get fuller enjoyment out of 
the woods. I drank in that cool, invigorat¬ 
ing October air, and revelled in the riot of 
coloring to the scenery. Truly the coloring 
of the timber never approached the trans¬ 
cending beauty of the southern hills in fall. 
But the serene stillness of the country free¬ 
dom from the constant trespass of the noisi¬ 
est of all creatures, Man, and the many 
shadings to the violet mists topping the 
woods were irresistibly attractive. The 
moose proved interesting, and the sight of 
a lone caribou was dimly reminiscent of 
tales I had heard of the barrens, and their 
annual pilgrimages. 
Francois, but to me always Raoul, gave 
me many hours to myself. Not that he 
failed to guide me whenever I wanted him, 
but he had frequent occasions to absent 
himself from me, which had not enough 
importance to me to make inquiry about 
them. He always returned in a happy frame 
of mind, and a trifle more tanked up with 
his favorite and almost only beverage. 
There was a promise of rain or possibly 
snow in those unbroken waving rows of 
lead colored clouds. I pursued my way 
where I had frequently seen big moose 
tracks at the upper margin of a clear little 
lake against the woods. I held well into the 
cover, resorting to all the precautions I 
had absorbed in hunting white tails. As 
far as I could judge in the sombre haze of 
that day the distance at which I saw two 
cows must have been at least three hundred 
yards. On the south side of the lake the 
growths screened me well from observation. 
I continued on, working against wind, the 
cows feeding insouciantly, only now and 
then tossing up their heads impatiently. 
By detour of the right of the lake I de¬ 
termined to get around on them, crossing a 
sheet of water of insignificant depth, which 
extended back into a cedar swamp. I don’t 
know how it came about, but almost mirac¬ 
ulously, in the very darkest area of spruce 
back of the cows an immense animal stood 
motionless. For a moment without glasses 
it was difficult for me to realize what it was. 
But I surveyed that spot fully ten minutes, 
and out of the swart surroundings I plainly 
descried the largest wild creature that I had 
ever beheld in its lair. Raoul’s tales had 
good grounds for their fabrication. 
Crouched in the low water growths I 
watched for a better shot, hardly crediting 
the creature with being real until he swung 
his head discerningly from one side to the 
other. He made a step forward. 
I started to work in closer, and took the 
water. Then out of the east back of me in 
a sudden shift of the wind a call of a cow 
(continued on page 724) 
THE SUCCESSFUL GAME HUNTER’S NEEDS 
HUNTING FOR BIG GAME REQUIRES CRAFTY WOOD-SENSE, TRAINED CO-ORDINATION 
OF BOTH MOTIVE AND MENTAL FACULTIES, AND ABOVE ALL, SHOOTING CONFIDENCE 
D ID you ever hear of a hungry cougar 
tearing the brush to toothpicks when 
stalking his dinner? Or did you 
ever see a cat thresh about in the grass 
like a beheaded rooster when hunting for 
mice? No, you did not, for the animal 
hunter possesses a natural woods-sense— 
an instinct to pussyfoot upon his prey un¬ 
awares. 
The most exciting hunting I ever have 
enjoyed was with an old deer hunter who 
never allowed a word to be spoken aloud 
from the time we got in sight of the hunt¬ 
ing ground until the day was ended. Al¬ 
most the instant we left camp he became 
a crafty Indian. Indeed, sometimes it 
seemed as if he was walking in some 
sacred place where to break a twig or voice 
a sound would would be to violate the 
sacred laws of the holy of holies. 
He would steal along, stopping every 
few yards to listen, ever carrying his rifle 
poised for instant action. None of his 
movements were sudden or jerky. He 
never followed a track directly, but was 
constantly circling about to come upon his 
game from an unexpected quarter. He 
must often stop and uncover his bald dome 
to test the direction of the wind. 
Few hunters liked to hunt with Killdeer 
Jim because he scouted so thoroughly and 
slowly that they soon lost patience. But 
he always got his share of deer. I have 
seen him shoot several as they lay sleeping 
in their beds with noses pointed to wind¬ 
ward along their back trail. The number 
that I have seen him shoot on the jump 
would be counted by dozens. He was a 
thoroughbred hunter with a crafty woods- 
sense and unlimited patience. 
The roar of a gun seems to frighten 
wild animals very little. I have won¬ 
dered if it might be from the fact that 
By F. E. BRIMMER 
they mistook it for thunder, which they 
must become accustomed to from infancy. 
But let a leaf rustle, a twig snap, a stone 
roll, a rotten log crunch under foot pres- 
Sitting like Patience on a monument 
sure, clothes or rifle scrape against any¬ 
thing and they immediately take warning 
of danger. 
A few years ago I was called lucky be¬ 
cause I brought a deer within range by 
first shooting ever him. Reasoning that a 
deer was more afraid of the noise that a 
crashing bullet would make than the slight 
crack of smokeless powder, I sent three 
ripping bullets into the brush behind the 
buck. At the first shot he gave little 
sign of fear. As the second bullet clipped 
through the trees behind him he became 
suspicious and the third frightened him so 
that he ran straight to me. 
Watch the man who gets his share of 
the game with the high power and you 
will see a man who steals through the 
woods almost as gently as a kitten. He is 
constantly alert to choose the quietest way 
to go and always watchps the wind as care¬ 
fully as a motorist the unknown road 
ahead of him. Either in the natural state, 
or developed by patient practice, that man 
has one great element of a big game hunt¬ 
er’s success. And that is woods-sense. 
T O be a dependable shooter the hunter 
must use this sixth sense in shooting. 
Did you ever get to wondering if you 
had heart trouble? The more you thought 
about it the worse your little pump be¬ 
came. Certainly you have found that the 
more you thought of sleeping the longer it 
took you to get to sleep. What I am shoot¬ 
ing at is the fact that some of the func¬ 
tions of this wonderful human machine 
are hindered by thinking about them. This 
must mean that there is at work in the 
complicated mechanism of the human body 
a sixth sense. Call it reflex action or the 
subsconscious self if you prefer. The fact 
remains that the brain does many things 
without conscious voluntary direction. 
Ask an old hunter how he holds his gun, 
or if he takes a fine or coarse sight with 
the rifle, and he will laugh at you. Ask 
similar questions of the crack pistol shot 
(continued on page 720) 
