/ 
notice that they were all facing the 
same direction? Do you know that the 
cricket makes the chirping noise with 
its wings? Do you know that the com¬ 
mon potato bug has tiny lice? Do you 
know that the common garter snake 
has no fangs, but will strike at a stick 
if you tease it, and a snake’s jaws are 
not permanently hinged? Do.you rec¬ 
ognize a shrew when you see one and 
know that it is the smallest living- 
warm-blooded animal on earth? And 
how about the tracks in the dusty road 
and along the banks of the streams and 
lakes? What made them? 
In the water you may see many in¬ 
teresting things. Here you see a clam 
or a craw-fish with its skeleton on the 
outside of its body. There goes a baby 
June-fly, sailing about in its boat made 
from a joint of a weed about an inch 
long, with only its head and front part 
of its body protruding from the hollow 
of its boat and cradle. And there goes 
a water spider, skating about on the 
air in its self-made airship. On the 
shore you may see the g-olden plover. 
He has come from the far Northland, 
and is on his way to South America to 
spend the winter. And again you may 
see a bobolink soaring up in the sky. 
What a beautiful singer he is, and what 
a pity it is that in the South he be¬ 
comes an outlaw, where he is known as 
the destructive rice-bird. 
In your ramble you come upon a 
small nest with eggs of two sizes. The 
cow-bird has put its eggs in the nest 
of a field-sparrow, for the sparrow to 
hatch and bring up its young. Here 
and there you see a gopher busy feed¬ 
ing; first sampling this food and then 
that, and when he gets fat enough be¬ 
fore the cold weather sets in he will 
curl himself up in a ball and go to 
sleep within his den, hibernating all 
winter. If you should find him in the 
winter time he would appear stiff, cold 
and lifeless. But if you took him into 
a warm place his muscles would quiver. 
Soon he would straighten out, blink 
his eyes and sit up just as cheerful as 
ever. 
And there are noises that may be 
heard if you listen and recognize them. 
You hear the faint bark of the red fox, 
the whistling call of the young prairie 
chicken, and the answering cluck of 
the mother of the flock. There goes a 
bumblebee. It enters a hole under a 
rock. Soon another one follows. If 
you will take the trouble to investigate, 
you will probably find a little of the 
sweetest honey that you have ever tast¬ 
ed, and the cones are not made from 
wax, either. On a weed you would 
probably see a cocoon, containing a 
grub which in time would go through a 
metamorphosis, coming out a beautiful 
butterfly. At your feet is an ant hill 
with its army of ants so well organized. 
Scientists tell us that they make war 
on rival colonies, taking their young as 
prisoners and making slaves of them, 
and that they harvest and take care of 
a crop of a certain kind of weed. They 
even keep plant lice which they milk. 
You may find an arrow head of flint, 
a tooth of a buffalo, or other relics of 
the bygone days. Then you may see a 
piece of gray rock of the same kind as 
they get in gold mines in Montana. 
Where did it come from and how did 
it get there? How can anyone feel 
lonely with so many wonderful things 
all about him, and so much company. 
“Where there is never a clod nor a 
blade too mean to be some poor cre- 
ture’s palace.” Where there are so 
many sweet-smelling flowers, with their 
many varying shapes and colors. Where 
every sound one hears except that 
brought about by the wind is caused 
by some living creature. 
If you have come from a hike in the 
country and only succeeded in getting- 
tired, it is because you are not curious 
enough. In this case you must take les¬ 
sons from a young child. Take interest 
in your surroundings. What happy 
days were those when any little thing 
could make you happy. How we did 
ask questions, and what a delight it was 
to be able to roam about investigatng 
and enjoying the gifts of nature. If 
you have arrived at the stage where 
you see only the road before you and 
hear only the jingle of money, you are 
indeed to be pitied. 
J. B. Cecka, 
North Dakota. 
Dear Forest and Stream: 
HE average hunter said: “In order 
to get a deer or two, you have to 
go to Canada or Maine.” 
I said: “I’ll go to New Hampshire.” 
“They are all killed off in New 
Hampshire, and you will come home 
empty-handed,” replied the A. H. 
“I’ll try, anyway,” I said, and I did. 
I had five days to spare, and the sea¬ 
son opened on the 15th of November, so 
I secured my hunting license, packed 
my grip and on Sunday morning I was 
off to the great out-of-doors, and after 
deer. 
I arrived at B-station at 1 p. m., 
and after a four-mile ride in a little old 
“Henry,” I got to the place and to my 
friend John W., who greeted me with 
open arms and a chicken dinner. My 
first question was: 
“John, any deer around or any 
tracks?” 
“Plenty of deer and plenty of tracks 
if that is what you are looking for.” 
After making myself comfortable I 
got into my hunting togs, and it being 
Sunday the 13th, two days before the 
deer season opened, I decided to take a 
walk in the woods and look around a 
bit without my Winchester 30-30. The 
ground was covered with a blanket of 
snow and a little crust, so my first wish 
was for a little more snow and no 
crust. Sunday afternoon I saw three 
handsome deer. A big buck, a big dop 
and a small doe. What a feeling crept 
over me! After a good supper and a 
smoke I turned in, and to my great 
surprise, when I awoke Monday morn¬ 
ing, I saw a light snow flurry, with 
prospect of an all-day snow-storm, and 
sure enough we had it, and had it 
good. About noon my old friend 
Austin W. arrived in his auto from 
Maine. Both were glad to see each 
other, and wished each other the best 
of luck for to-morrow the 15th. I will 
say here that Austin was brought up 
there and knew the country from A to 
Z. Well, after a few words we turned 
in. He went to his place, about half a 
mile up the road, and I stayed at John 
W-’s. Our agreement was to meet 
at the old school house at 6 a. m., Tues¬ 
day morning, which we did. The hunt¬ 
ing conditions were made to order. 
About six inches of soft snow, no crust 
or anything to mar the day. After a 
mile of tramping through old apple 
orchards and thick woods we picked up 
two tracks, and the fun began. Austin 
was off like an Indian, and so was I. 
After an hour of tramping through the 
soft snow I heard the crack of a rifle, 
and was hoping that Austin got him. 
I saw mine once of twice, but was in 
no position to shoot. About 10 a. m. 
I heard again, very near by, five shots 
in succession, but I kept following my 
track right along. After ten minutes 
or so I came to the open, and to my 
great surprise and disgust I saw blood 
on the very same tracks, and a little 
further over I saw a man’s footprint 
coming towards my deer tracks. 
I stood for a moment and then de¬ 
cided to follow it up. Not more than 
200 yards away a stranger was in the 
act of cutting the throat of an eight- 
point buck. Yes, sir, eight points. 
“Well, you got him, but I drove him.” 
“I thank you, although I don’t know 
you, but you are some good dog.” He 
said he had been following a track 
when this big boy came ploughing 
along, so he thought he would take a 
crack at him, which he did. I kept 
going and looked for a new track. 
After a mile and a half of tramping I 
reached Pine River Pond, and being 
thirsty I stopped for a drink of water, 
and then kept at the edge of the pond. 
Not more than 100 feet from where I 
drank I picked up a new track of a 
small deer. It had come down from the 
hill to drink and had left a goodly 
amount of droppings there, which, after 
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