A Cougar Hunt. 
The eastern portion of Douglas county, in 
Oregon, consists of mountains and forests. The 
district includes a portion of the 'western slope 
of the Cascade range, and two or three series 
Of spurs. In the center of the region is a 
large flat basin extending from Diamond Lake 
to Fish Creek. Part of the valley is in heavy 
forest, but there is also a considerable portion 
covered with a growth of short scrubby bush. 
In places thickets of young fir have started, 
standing three to five feet high. This land at 
one time was covered with forest, but frequent 
forest fires have left nothing but fallen logs, 
over which the young fir and the bushes have 
sprung up. So barren is this particular section 
that it is called the Desert, though the character¬ 
istics do not fit the ordinary conception of a 
desert. 
In this part of Douglas county there is good 
.hunting for blacktail deer, bear, and even 
cougar, locally called panther. Ordinarily to 
find the cats a good dog must be used. The 
dog must not be afraid of the animal, for a 
panther fears any kind of dog that is not afraid 
of it, and will take to a tree when driven by 
such a dog. 
Three years ago Steve Ragy, Pegley, Jim 
Rand and myself camped for two weeks at Big 
Camas, near the Desert. All were novices ex¬ 
cept Rand, who was an old hunter and guide. 
Near us was a band of sheep. The herder, Jack 
Lorenz, a Mexican halfbreed, had for a com¬ 
panion a thirteen-year-old Indian lad named Bill. 
The third night after our arrival at Big 
Camas a panther killed two sheep. One was 
carried away a quarter of a mile and partially 
eaten, but the other was left untouched where 
it had been knocked over at the edge of the 
herd. The sheep were not in a corral, and so 
had to be protected by the herder and his dog, 
Shep. 
We called at the herder’s camp next day. As 
we approached, two dogs seemed to be having 
a terrible fight. One sounded like a sheep dog, 
the other like a terrier, but on coming nearer 
we could see only one dog. 
“Aw, that was jest the boy,” said Lorenz. 
“Teasin’ Shep. He’s jest as good, as a dog 
himself. Kin bark like one and sabes jest as 
well.” That was high praise for the boy. 
In the course of the hour we spent filling our¬ 
selves with gossip of the woods, Lorenz asked 
us to go after the panther which had killed the 
sheep. We agreed to start the next morning, 
as we concluded that would do as well as the 
present, as the panther would be certain to stay 
around the band of sheep until either killed or 
chased away. 
We ate our breakfast at four and went to the 
sheepherder’s camp. Lorenz was almost crazy 
with anger. During the night the panther had 
made another visit to the flock and this time 
had slaughtered a ewe. Shep had caught the 
panther, but one blow of its powerful front paw 
had killed the dog. 
There were six of us on the animal’s trail. 
Near Fish Creek canon we found the body of 
the sheep in the center of a huckleberry patch, 
partially devoured. By careful work Lorenz 
trailed the brute to the edge of the canon. We 
had climbed only half way down the steep rocky 
bank of four or five hundred feet when out 
from a stunted growth of trees jumped our 
quarry. Ragy, Pegley and I fired as the animal 
ran down the hill. Lorenz waited for it to come 
in sight in an opening down the canon, while 
Rand watched one up the canon. But the pan¬ 
ther crossed the creek on a small log and dis¬ 
appeared up the other wall of the canon with¬ 
out anyone getting, another shot. On the log 
we found small splotches of blood. At the top 
the trail ’ was not so clear, but after beating 
about we jumped the panther again. We traced 
it for a hundred yards among a tangle of fallen 
logs and brush. There was no standing tree 
within a quarter of a mile, and ordinarily we 
would have had no show to kill or even see 
the panther, but Lorenz and Rand thought he 
might be s : ck from his wound, and not able to 
run far. Besides, a herder often loves his dog 
better than he would a wife, and Lorenz had no 
intention of letting the brute get away. 
Just as Rand and Lorenz expected, we came 
on the panther again. This time it was I who 
caught a glimpse of it as it dropped behind a 
big log. I fired, but missed. Further on the 
bushes became less thick, and the trail led to¬ 
ward a clump of scrub pines. Ragy, Pegley and 
I circled around the bushes and Rand, Lorenz 
and the Indian lad searched the other side”. 
“Muz be in the bushes,” called Lorenz. 
The Indian lad had no gun, but as we closed 
in with rifles cocked, he threw rocks into the 
bushes and a snarl came from them. We had 
our game cornered, but killing it was another 
question. If we had only had Shep, the bfute 
would have taken to a tree, but Shep had been 
done for. The Indian boy solved the problem. 
Suddenly, with a series of barks and yelps, just 
like a terrier dog, the Indian boy crawled into 
the bushes, uttering his terrific little barks. The 
panther leaped into one of the scrub pine trees. 
Five rifles cracked almost simultaneously and 
our hunt was over. 
The specimen measured nine feet nine inches, 
a large cougar for the Pacific coast. 
E. F. Strong. 
Abnormal Antlers. 
Los Angeles, Cal., Oct. 6. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: The deer, a picture of whose head is 
sent herewith, was shot in the Soledad Canon, 
about forty-five miles from Los Angeles, by Fred 
Gross, a resident of Ravena. The head is about 
two years old, but has nine points on each side— 
the two large ones and the seven small points. 
The head is considered a very rare specimen. 
M. E. Rafew. 
All the game laws of the United States and 
Canada, revised to date and now in force, are 
given in the Game Lazvs in Brief. See adv. 
Hunting with Uncle Hi. 
A series of letters written to relatives by a sportsman 
sojourning at a camp on the Grasse River in the North 
.Woods. 
. . VIII.—BIG SANDY. 
Brother Mell came into camp three days ago 
to see how I was getting along, and he left for 
home this morning. lie carried with him the 
head of a magnificent and famous buck. I must 
give you the story. 
We were sitting in the cabin the evening of 
Mell’s arrival, smoking and talking. Uncle Hi 
had been gone all afternoon, but he came in just 
at dark. We could see signs of portentous news 
in his face, but he did not yield it up to us until 
he was satisfied that he had our close and un¬ 
divided attention. Then he let go in an im¬ 
pressive tone. “Boys,” he said, “Big Sandy is 
alive.” 
“Pleased to hear it,” said Charlie, “but who 
and what and where is Big Sandy?” 
L T ncle Fli disregarded the tone of banter in 
the question and replied: 
“Big Sandy is the biggest buck in these woods. 
He has a head of horns like a furniture store 
and he’s big as a beef. I've known him for four 
years, an’ have tried my dumdest to git him, but 
he gets away every time. He was over ’round 
the sand beach at the pond and I seen him to¬ 
day. His coat never gits very blue—it is sandy- 
like all the time, an’ I call him Big Sandy. I’m 
goin’ to get him this year, you bet.” 
“Tell us all about Big Sandy,” I said. 
“Well, boys, it's this way: About four years 
ago this fall, I wuz over on the pond in my canoe 
takin’ a look around, when I saw this buck. He 
looked big as a cow, but I wuz too fur away to 
shoot at him. His color struck me as strange an’ 
I knew I’d know him among a hundred deer 
after that. Well, next day he came to water 
about four o’clock, an’ I wuz on the point o’ 
rocks waitin’. Crickets! but he did look big 
standin’ there smellin’ the air! Purty soon he 
put his head down to drink and I fired—that is, 
I tried to, but the kettridge didn’t go off. Big 
Sandy did, though. He heard the click of the 
gun an’ he snorted and tore for the high woods. 
I wuz so mad that I almost swore. From that 
time to this I’ve tried all I knew how to get Big 
Sandy. Twice my gun missed fire, once the 
bullet hit a spruce sapling ’tween me and him, 
once I shot low and hit the water under him, 
many times he saw me first. For four years he 
has got away from yer Uncle Hi easy, but this 
is his year to come to me, an’ don’t you forgit it. 
He’s the biggest deer ye ever saw or ever will 
see. He’s a horse, by cooky—a horse.” 
The most intent listener to the tale of defeat 
was Mell, but he said never a word. We turned 
in early, and were up at daybreak the next morn¬ 
ing. After breakfast Charlie suggested that I 
take Mell out for a hunt. Of course, the latter 
was without gun or proper clothing, but we fixed 
him up as best we could. He borrowed Charlie’s 
rifle and made selections from my clothing. The 
rifle was the best fitting thing he had, but we 
sallied forth regardless of appearances. We 
