JAN. 20, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 

piece of bottom land where the cover looked 
good. We had gone but a little way when I heard 
him calling in an excited manner, and thinking 
that he might have become hopelessly involved 
trying to negotiate a bit of blackberry patch, went 
to him. 
“Oh, Papa!” he exclaimed, “if you had been 
here you could have shot a bird.” Thinking he 
had flushed a sparrow, I was strongly tempted to 
threaten him with a sassafras sprout for giving 
me the unnecessary trouble of coming to him. 
“What kind of bird,’ I inquired, not too 
kindly. ‘Quail,’ was the prompt answer. 
“No!” was my positive reply. ‘ 
“Indeed I did see one, Papa.” 
“How do you know it was a quail?” 
“Why it flew this way” (jerking his arms up 
and down violently), “and went like this’— 
(blowing through his closed lips with a very fair 
imitation of the noise of a quail flushing). 
“Where did it fly to?” 
“Right up there (pointing) in the woods.” 
“Can you show me where it lit?” I asked, scep- 
tical yet hopeful. 
“Yes, Papa,” with assurance. Straight to the 
woods he led me and pointing in to where small 
growth stood thick around a lot of tree tops from 
recent cutting said: “Right in there.” 
In I went and without giving the little dog a 
chance flushed from right where he said it was, 
a big, strong-flying quail. 
Too surprised to shoot intelligently I slammed 
two loads of shot through the trees in the gen- 
eral direction the bird was taking. The little dog 
looked at me as though wondering what it all was 
about, and the little boy was triumphant over his 
vindication by finding the bird, as he had a right 
to be, for any sportsman knows that the accurate 
marking down of a bird is a feat not often per- 
formed by a not-quite-six-year-old. 

Taking the direction of our bird we went after 
it again, with the little dog in the lead. I was 
all eagerness to find it, in order to see what she 
would do. After going so far that I began to be- 
lieve we had passed over it, and as I was prepar- 
ing to turn back, I noticed the dog acting sus- 
piciously. She seemed to have struck scent, and 
in a careful manner was creeping steadily for- 
ward, and as I watched her she drew on to a 
_ bit of small brush around an old stump and, at 
a low word of warning from me, came down on 
a beautiful point. I had no more doubt that it 
was the bird than I had of my being there, and 
wanted to lay my gun down and take the dear 
little dog in my arms. 
I don’t know how long I watched her there— 
standing steady as a veteran, pointing true and 
fast on the first bird she had ever scented—or 
how much longer I might have stood had not the 
boy, who, unobserved, had ranged up alongside 
of me and was excitedly looking at her, recalled 
me to the business in hand. 
“What's the matter with Lady?” was his ex- 
cited query. 
“She has the bird,’ I replied. 
“Has it how—has it where?” said he, looking 
earnestly for the bird and moving up closer, 
And still she stood like a little orange and 
white statue—tense and motionless, a wonderful 
and beautiful illustration of that law of nature 
we call heredity, or attribute we term instinct, of 
which we talk so glibly and know so little. Never 
so much as quivering when I stepped past her 
tense body and outstretched head, she only re- 
laxed when the bird flushed to drop back among 
the thick carpet of fallen leaves at the report of 
my gun. 
And then what a time we three youngsters had, 
for it was even enough to make the staid old 
veteran a boy again, and how more than re- 
joiced I was that I did not miss that bird, the 
first bird Lady ever pointed. I refrained, so far 
as a gun and dog crank could, from bragging 
about my promising pup, so that the second trial 
made with an experienced shooting companion 
was only embarrassed by the thought that the 
little dog’s first performance might have been 
only a happy accident. 
We hunted where the going was hard, and 
found only two coveys of birds. The first flushed 
wild and all got away, scattering in a small patch 
of woods with much undergrowth. The first 
trail Lady struck was a single, and without the 
least show of uncertainty she closed in and made 
her point close on. When I walked by her, 
flushed and missed the bird, she circled around 
a time or two and calmly came down on another. 
This bird we both held on, but shooting a little 
slow only succeeded in riddling the bark of a big 
tree behind which it swung as we fired. Without 
the least excitement Lady moved forward a few 
steps and stiffened on another bird, which flushed 
and flew behind us, to be stopped neatly by my 
friend. Thinking it well to let the dog know we 
really wanted the birds, and were not simply try- 
ing to scare them, I took her with me to “seek 
dead.” 
She seemed wonderfully pleased to find that 
we actually had a bird, and after being allowed 
to find and pick it up, set to work to search 
every inch of the ground where it had lain, evi- 
dently hoping that there might be more. Finally 
persuaded that one bird was all we had killed, 
she resumed work. Her work was with such 
judgment and her manner so mature that I had 
about begun to think she must be an old dog 
masquerading as a puppy, when, as she was 
drawing carefully on a bird, a grasshopper sprang 
up from under her nose and flew back over her 
head. With the quickness of a cat she sprang 
straight up into the air making a desperate effort 
to catch the ’hopper and very nearly doing it. She 
fell with a thud on her back, scrambled to’ her 
feet, turned around once or twice to get her bear- 
ings and, as though no interruption had occurred, 
ne ge on a few steps and came down on the 
ird. 
As well as we could judge she found nearly all 
of the covey, although some of the cover was 
terrible, and she only flushed one bird, and that 
was, in a measure, excusable, as she was in the 
act of pointing another bird when she stumbled 
on the one that flushed. When we stopped for 
lunch the pup was so tired she seemed to go to 
sleep while stretching out, although she had 
showed no signs of fatigue or lagging back. 
When awakened to get her dinner she ate lying 
stretched out full length. We concluded that 
she had rather overdone the thing, and ought to 
take it easy for the afternoon, but when we re- 
sumed our hunt she took the lead and held it 
without a break to the end. : 
The second covey was walked up, while the 
dog was off to one side and they scattered along 
the river bank in light cover, but where the 
shooting was made difficult by the heavy timber 
growth along the water’s edge into which they 
immediately bored when flushed. Here the little 
dog kept up her record, and even improved on it. 
She set bird after bird without a break, despite 
the fact that we were shooting very badly, and 
twice when the bird would not lie to her point 
did she carefully back out, run around, come in 
ahead of it, and bring it down without a flush. 

We had been joined by an old gentleman who 
was an ardent sportsman, and his praise of the 
little dog’s work was loud. She capped the 
climax by finding a wing-tipped bird which we 
had about counted lost and handling it with the 
skill and care of a born retriever. 
When we finally turned toward home or rather 
toward the little station, at which we were to 
take the train with all too few birds but a large 
load of fatigue, the unanimous vote was_ that 
Lady was the greatest dog of her age and inches 
anyone of us had ever known. She was asleep 
ten seconds after we sat down to wait for the 
train, but when we had rested a little and the 
call of a quail was heard nearby she was up and 
away at a word from me, and took quite a little 
round without a protest, leading all the way. 
Lady is orange and white, perfect in shape, 
quick as nitro powder and as affectionate and 
tractable as a child. 
Blessings unnumbered on my friend’s wife and 
my friend for the gift of Lady. May they live 
long and prosper greatly. Lewis Hopkins. 
Knoxvitte, Tenn., Jan. 12.—Congratulations on 
new Forest AND STREAM, it is a great improve- 
ment, but will—of necessity—be a case of “im- 
proving the box and not the contents,” the latter 
being an impossibility. Lewis Hopkins. 
‘that he does. 
ef 
Notes on the Raccoon. 
*Coons have been hunted by all classes, from 
the sportsman, thoroughbred hunter, and farm- 
ers’ boys, down to the ragged urchin, who had 
the pluck and vim to follow in the wake of the 
Southern darkeys in their nightly raids through 
the Mississippi swamps. The ’coon is a good 
climber, and decidedly a night walker. He is 
easily caught in a steel trap, but the most ap- 
proved method of hunting him is on, either 
moonshiny or dark nights, with dog and ax, 
and occasionally an old shotgun added. I can 
well remember when a good ’coon dog was 
prized higher than any other dog, for the rea- 
son they were comparatively few. Any or every 
dog could hunt woodchucks, or could chase 
*coons out of a cornfield, but a dog that could 
follow a cold track, which might be six or 
eight hours old, and find the identical tree where 
the ’coon had laid up for the day, and that with- 
out missing; such a dog, whether mongrel, cur 
or terrier, was considered an important acquis- 
ition by any live ’coon hunter. 

The ’coon, like the bear, gets very fat when 
food is plenty and frequently are very poor 
when food is scarce, hence the difference in 
weight of individuals, which varies from six- 
teen to thirty-five pounds. The ’coon may be 
classed among the omnivorous animals. Al- 
most an endless variety of food is included in his 
diet, such as berries, wild fruits, chestnuts, 
acorns, beechmast, green corn, frogs, lizards, 
crabs, snails, small fish, grubs, wasps, bees, 
larve, eggs and young birds. The ’coon lays 
up, or hibernates, during the winter, or just so 
long as the deep snow prevents his foraging. 
Cold weather does not drive him in at all. It 
is from the lack of food that he climbs high up 
into the hollow trunk of some old tree, where 
he rolls himself up like a round ball, with his 
nose curled down under his feet, in which 
posture he may be said to lie squarely on the 
top of his own head. It is not known that he 
sleeps the whole time, but the supposition is 
There he lies, however, if not 
disturbed, perhaps for,six or eight weeks, or 
until the snow thaws and settles enough for 
easy traveling, when he is sure to awake and 
start out in search of food, frequently traveling 
long distances, following up and down small 
spring brooks fishing out crabs, snails or any 
other small creatures that may be found in such 
places. Sometimes a little of the last year’s 
mast: has laid over, which they find on the 
wet, bare spots where the snow has melted off. 
But the supply at such times is meagre, and how- 
ever fat they may be at starting out they soon 
become lean, and are then only hunted for the 
skins, which yield prime fur during the winter 
months, 

Raccoon skins have always been a quick sale 
at a moderate price, and there never was a 
shadow of reason why prime skins have not 
valued at a higher figure. The fur of the 
northern ’coon, when caught in January or 
February, equals that of the beaver in strength 
and fineness, and when haired and _ properly 
dressed, none but an expert can detect any differ- 
ence. I can remember as far back as when very 
good beaver hats were manufactured from a mix- 
ture of ’coon and muskrat furs. 
It is seldom that the ’coon breeds more than 
once in two years. From four to six kits are 
produced at one birth, and are littered in March 
or April. The young, if not forcibly separated, 
remain with the mother through the first winter, 
or until February or March. Six young ’coons 
have been found in one tree with the dam, but 
there are not often more than four, which in 
February are about two-thirds grown. My 
opinion is that they do not arrive at their full 
growth until near three years old. ANTLER. 

Froriwa, Jan. 10.—I like the new form. It is 
much more convenient to read and handle. I 
think all your subscribers will be pleased as I am. 
Wishing you a good new year for the good paper. 
An old sportsman of over seventy, 
W. R. HALLOwELL, 
° 
