1016 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Dec. 24, 1910. 
Tisdale’s Fox Hunt. 
Tisdale and I set forth one day on a fox 
hunt. It was Tisdale’s ambition to have his 
young dog follow a fox, as he had never been 
on a fox track in his life. 
During the night there had been a light fall 
of snow which l^ft the woods and fields en¬ 
shrouded in a fleecy mantle. Soon after break¬ 
fast we started down the beach toward Truro, 
and it was not long before we came across the 
trail of a fox, and Tisdale followed it, having 
his dog in leash. 
The tracks led us across the main road to 
Provincetown and meandered about in devious 
fashion, making it at times difficult to follow, 
but we kept at it faithfully, until, upon a plain 
in the far distance, we saw an antiquated wind¬ 
mill, a relic of the settlers of early days. 
The trail took us through a deep gorge for 
some distance, and when we emerged therefrom 
on the plateau above, we found ourselves in the 
immediate vicinage of the old mill. The wind 
had swept powerfully during the night, leaving 
the ground bare of the snow in many places, so 
that we went slowly and cautiously along to 
make sure of not losing the track. 
In the meantime the dog had shown no signs 
whatever of interest, but had followed along 
with Tisdale holding the leash during all our 
peregrinations, until we came up to the foot of 
the old mill. Here the dog raised his head and 
began to sniff the air. Soon he started off in a 
direction at right angles to the course we had 
been following, pulling stoutly at the leash 
meanwhile. 
Presently we came upon the skeleton of an 
old horse, and here were innumerable tracks 
of Master Reynard on every side. Evidently he 
had been gnawing the denuded bones and trying 
to appease his appetite upon very scanty re¬ 
mains. 
It remained for us at the whining and insist¬ 
ence of the dog to advance in the direction he 
desired, as he pulled strongly at his leash and 
dragged Tisdale hastily after him. The trail 
led directly back to the highway, which we had 
so recently crossed, and we recrossed it. 
Tisdale turned to me in an encouraging man¬ 
ner and said: “Bear up, brave heart, and the 
colonel won’t be in it.” He alluded to Colonel 
Ryder, who had gone down toward Wellfleet 
with his favorite dog, old Sport, and left us to 
our own resources, as he did not wish to have 
his sport spoiled by an untrained dog. Tisdale 
wished to show him that his dog and himself 
were equal to any emergency. 
On, on, we went, the dog straining at the leash 
and Tisdale half funning behind him and occas¬ 
ionally stumbling over some obstacle hidden be¬ 
neath the snow, so that time and time again I 
expected him' to be dragged headlong to the 
ground, and to see the dog escape his grasp. 
But he managed to keep his feet, and we now 
came to a long patch of scrub oaks, into which 
the dog dove headlong, dragging Tisdale after 
him. I followed on as best I might. As I had 
no dog to pull me along, I was fast losing 
ground, when Tisdale shouted: “Come here! 
.Come here! The fox is not far off. He has 
gone into this patch of scrub oaks. His tracks 
go in every direction, a sure sign he has been 
looking for a convenient place to lie down, and 
he is liable at any moment to be jumped from 
his hiding place. Keep close to me until we 
come to the wood road just beyond, and then 
you hold back there and keep your eye peeled, 
for I know the fox is laid up near by.” 
I did as Tisdale directed, keeping close to his 
heels until we came to the road, and there I 
waited. Tisdale went on, the dog straining at 
the leash and dragging him through the scrubs 
at a pace that kept him in constant uncertainty 
as to whether his next step would land him on 
his head or his heels. I could not help laugh¬ 
ing, as I saw them go, the dog jumping forward 
and Tisdale holding back and uttering frequent 
ejaculations, as some stout twig smote him across 
the face. When they disappeared I knew that 
much devolved upon me in this stern chase, for 
Tisdale had no thought of himself shooting the 
fox. He wanted his dog to follow, and me to 
get it. I selected a position where I could see for a 
considerable distance both up and down the road. 
I waited for possibly some ten minutes, al¬ 
though it seemed longer, for a downfall of sleet 
had commenced, and every particle that struck 
me froze to my clothing, so that I expected soon 
to be like Hawthorne’s snow image. All at once 
the silence was broken by a series of the most 
startling yells I ever heard, emanating from both 
Tisdale and the dog. The game was afoot, no 
doubt, and above the yells of the dog who, at 
the starting of the fox, had pulled Tisdale head¬ 
long into the snow and broken the leash and 
followed the fox. I could hear Tisdale shout¬ 
ing: “Look out for him! Look out for-him! 
He’s started. Look out! Look out!” 
I made no reply, but cocked my gun locks, 
and as I did so I saw the fox. He was coming 
directly toward me. But at the sound he erected 
his ears and started in the opposite direction. 
As his head came around a good sized tree, he 
presented a favorable opportunity, and I fired 
at him head on. He fell in his tracks without 
motion. The No. 4 shot had penetrated his 
brain. Almost immediately the dog came up, 
as I advanced to give the second barrel, should 
the fox require it. The dog was running and 
barking like mad, and I thought he would tear 
the fox to pieces before my eyes. I pulled him 
off and presently Tisdale arrived and proffered 
his hand and said: “Well done; this will be the 
making of the dog.” 
Tisdale swung the fox over his shoulder with 
his dog leaping up at intervals to catch hold of 
the fox’s tail, as we proceeded right joyously 
toward Deacon Horton’s. By the time we got 
there, it set in to rain in torrents, but we minded 
this not a whit. We had the fox, the fire, the 
pipe and the bowl, and snugly we sat there 
awaiting the colonel’s return. In about half an 
hour he too came in with a fox on his shoulder, 
but wet to the skin. We had a good evening. 
Fox Hunter. 
Manly Hardy. 
Bangor, Me., Dec. 14. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: Among the writers for Forest and 
Stream the late Manly Hardy was a bright and 
shining star. 
Deterred by the weaknesses of the flesh from 
following his early bent and going to' the far 
off fields of missionary endeavor, he turned his 
attention to ; the woods of his beloved native 
State that there he might find'health. Fie found 
it and more, for closely akin to his wanderings 
over trail and waterway in the pursuit of health 
was his adoption of the fur buying branch of 
his father’s varied business interests, which not 
only commercially profited him, but as a trapper 
himself and a buyer he spent many years in the 
closest of relations with the sons of the Maine 
forest, Indians and white men who wrested, along 
with the peltry, the other secrets of Maine’s big 
timber tract. Whenever he was not on the trail 
Or paddling over the invisible trails of the in¬ 
land waterways, he was absorbing from his 
camp mates their stories of experiences that 
Strengthened the truths emphasized by his own, 
or opened new fields of thought and study rela¬ 
tive to the lives and habits of the wood folk 
for whom he had, although a fur buyer and 
trapper, the greatest regard. 
Adding constantly to this store of knowledge, 
his very retentive mind hid it away till he pos¬ 
sessed, in most remarkable degree, a knowledge 
of the Maine woods and waters, together with 
a corresponding knowledge of the inhabitants of 
the same and of the air about him, second to 
no one in his own State and perhaps never sur¬ 
passed among educated men, for Mr. Hardy was 
a well educated and widely read man, who en¬ 
joyed perfecting himself in the study of what 
we are pleased to call “dead” languages, although 
he seldom used this knowledge in conversation, 
unless in his natural use of the scientific names 
of birds and animals. But the information he 
had gathered was so extensive that it was sel¬ 
dom, very seldom, that he could not meet 
promptly and with astonishing readiness any 
problem in natural history that was brought to 
him for solution. He was often the expert wit¬ 
ness for one side or the other, in those disputes 
touching, or perhaps based on, the quality or 
condition of nature of a pelt from the woods, 
and so well was his knowledge recognized that 
there was rarely, if ever, any dissent from his 
decision. Herbert W. Rowe. 
A Nebraska Plaint. 
Whitman, Neb., Dec. 12 .—Editor Forest and 
Stream: When my father moved to Nebraska 
in 1872 there were plenty of buffalo; now there 
are less than 1,000 buffaloes in the United States. 
I have seen three or four hundred elk in one 
herd; now there is not one wild elk in the State. 
There are a few antelope and a few deer. 
These animals are gone because everybody was 
allowed to shoot at all times. I have seen men 
go out and shoot deer, elk and antelope just for 
their hides. Now if we want to save the ducks, 
geese and grouse, we must have a law that will 
put a man in the penitentiary that shoots out of 
season or that uses an automatic shotgun. No 
fine, but a sentence. That will stop this unlaw¬ 
ful shooting. The time to save our game birds 
is when we have them. 
Grouse and chickens are increasing out here 
now, for we have only sixty days to shoot them 
in. Every Italian that carries a gun should pay 
a license of $25, and he should pay another 
license of $50 to shoot in the open season. There 
are boys who will shoot a duck or grouse when 
she is on her nest,' but they would just as soon 
shoot an owl. It makes no difference to them. 
If all hunting were stopped for three or five 
years, we would have plenty of wild birds, so 
everybody could shoot and have: a little sport. 
Just have one open • mbii®v- ; ;Sd|y:^C)ctober. The 
birds could then take care of themselves. 
J. W. C. 
