174 

nearest tree—there is always one near—and walk 
up the covey and then follow up the singles. Un- 
less well marked down we found it difficult to 
find many singles. Make a note of this; if you 
don’t mark your birds down, you won’t find them. 
When we had worked out the ground well we 
would get into the hunting wagon and repeat. 
Five to ten coveys with two dogs from 8 A. M. 
to 4 P. M. are the average. How many you get 
depends on how you shoot. Our best record last 
winter was forty-five birds to two guns and two 
dogs in four hours. I have had word from 
Mohawk that the quail are abundant this winter; 
and as I look out of my window to-day on the 
snow covered hills and the leafless trees, my 
thoughts fly back to the Southland and the snow 
disappears and in its place is yellow sand with 
brown bunches of wiry grass, and the erstwhile 
leafless trees are covered with long green pine 
needles; and right over there is the white form 
of Rex with his nose just around the butt of that 
fallen pine—rigid. And I know that right the 
other side of that log are fifteen or twenty small 
gray-brown birds with bright black eyes, also 
motionless. I can’t see them, but I know they 
are there, and—What did you say, my dear?— 
“The house is cold, and will I please touch up 
that furnace?” 
Snipe Shooting. 
They told a good story at the Jolly Palms last 
winter. If you have ever been snipe shooting 
you will appreciate it. 
Two friends were returning after a rather un- 
successful day in the marsh and met an old snipe 
hunter. with a very respectable bag. “How in 

A FLORIDA LARGE-MOUTH. 
the world do you do it,” said one of the ama- 
teurs; “I think if I had a gun with a flexible 
barrel and bell-muzzle, shooting three ounces of 
shot I might get one once in a while.” 
“T’ll tell you,’ said the veteran, solemnly, “TI 
shoot fifteen feet ahead of them and let them fly 
up against it.” 
Our friends walked on thoughtfully. Suddenly 
the searcher after knowledge turned to his com- 
panion and said: “Do you know, I believe that 
old man is a liar.” 
“Why ras 
[FEB. 3, 1906. 

FOREST AND STREAM. 

PINE TREE BOXED FOR TURPENTINE., 
“Well, they don’t fly fifteen feet in any one di- 
rection.” 
And the first time I went I had my own opin- 
ion of the veracity of the veteran snipe hunter. 
If I remember rightly, I shot in two hours sixty- 
five shells and bagged seven snipe. It is with 
considerable pride that I add that the last seven 
birds I shot in that same marsh were brought to 
bag with nine shells. 
But, say, it is royal sport! Three miles from 
the Doctor’s, on the shores of Lake Apopka (the 
second largest body of water in Florida), lies a 
marsh several miles in extent. Here you will 
find snipe all winter, any day and every day and 
lots of them. A dog is a nuisance unless you 
have a retriever that will stay at heel till or- 
dered on. You just go in and walk them up and 
there won’t be a dull moment. Two or three 
hours will be enough. The walking is hard. 
Don’t go alone—ever. Have a guide the first 
time, Or some one who has been there before. 
There are places in that marsh where you can 
“float your hat.” I know—I floated mine. The 
most of the marsh is covered with a marsh grass 
coming up to your knees, with many large open 
places where it will come to your ankles only. It 
is here you will find the most birds. The surface 
is soft and spongy, and if you are very heavy, you 
may get enough in an hour or so. It is much like 
breaking trail in damp snow. ‘There are canals 
or sluggish streams, the surface of which are 
covered with a rank growth of water plant life. 
It may look all right; it will till you learn to 
differentiate. They told me about these places, 
but I went several times and had no trouble, and 
then one day I was walking along and the bottom * 
dropped out. My companion approached warily 
—very warily, gave me a hand and I crawled out 
on the grass. I lay on my back and let the water 
run out of my hip boots and trousers, unwound 
the lily stems from my neck, and finished the 
hunt, but I missed a lot. Something spoiled my 
nerve for the rest of the afternoon. By the way, 
Duxbak clothing is waterproof, all right. I for- 
got to empty the water from one of my coat 
pockets; it was there when I got home. Snipe 
hunting is great sport. Only when they tell you 
to look out in the marshes believe them. I didn’t. 
This is one of the best snipe marshes in the 
country. It is so large it is practically inexhaust- 
ible. We never failed to find the birds and made 
many good bags, our best being twenty-six birds 
out of thirty shells. Of all the shooting I ever 
did I think this was the cream, and then—they 
must be well browned and with griddled sweets 
and a delicious cup of coffee with Jersey cream. 
Squirrel Shooting. 
In the pitch pines on the sand hills lives the 
fox squirrel; and the good shot with a cur dog 
that will bark at tree may still get a fair bag. 
They are large, their flesh is light in color, and 
they make a very acceptable addition to the 
menu. These squirrels are hunted by the 
native, and a bag of half a dozen in a day would 
entitle the man with the .22 cal. rifle to wear an 
eagle feather in his head gear. 
In the hammocks live the so-called cat squir- 
rels. I shot one and saw a few others. They 
are in every way like our gray squirrel of the 
north, except in size, being much smaller. Be- 
ing a bump on a log is the only way to get 
them, and they will not command much of your 
attention. 
The Gray Fox. 
After the quail season closed we had con- 
siderable sport fox hunting. I beg pardon, 
Messieurs of the Red Coat; I mean fox shoot- 
ing, for was I not once torn limb from limb 
in the columns of this paper for innocently re- 
lating a Vermont fox hunt? Sure, it was fox 
shooting, and this is how: 
A pony and wagon, a native or two and a 
small pack of fox hounds; these latter not ex- 
actly of the type of the Meadowbrook Hunt. 
They are of all sizes, colors and shapes; but, as 
a rule, they knew their business, and, consider- 
ing the rather difficult trailing owing to the 
scent not lying well in the dry, sandy soil, they 
do creditable work. Good hounds from. the 
north would be better. 
We always started our quarry in a thick 
“hammock,” where he would circle a while and 
then lead away for the sand hills, and it was 
when he left the cover that we got our shot, 
if we were fortunate enough to agree with him 
as to the proper place for a fox to break 
cover. If he got by the guns he either got away 
or was treed in a scrub oak in the sand hills. 
At our approach he usually jumped and was 
caught by the dogs. 
And they do tree; they are wonderful climbers. 
Don’t misunderstand me; they don’t go up bear- 
fashion; but if there are any limbs they will get 
well up. On these hunts we picked up many 

A SIZABLE RATTLER, 
cottontail rabbits. There are lots of raccoons. 
in the woods, but we did not disturb them. A 
wildcat hunt was about the only thing we didn’t 
get; but this was not the fault of the cats, for 
they were there, waiting. 
Dove Shooting. 
Across from the Jolly Palms is a hammock 
on a small point of land extending well out 
into the water. Just after sunset hundreds of 
doves come like rockets across the lake and 
dive into the thicket of trees to roost for the 
