AUG. 3, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
173 



hard. Daddie was up on the edge 
short distance away, but out of 
not call to him, for fear the 
True, I had my precious pistol, 
but it had missed fire several times in a most 
‘disheartening manner and my faith in it was 
rapidly declining. Then I studied the position 
of the rabbit again and furtively wondered where 
lay his devoted head. All the while he never 
moved a hair, so far as I could observe. 
At last, in sheer desperation, as I could see 
no other way, I heaved thé heavy pistol aloft and 
with the full swing of my right arm brought 
down one smashing blow full upon the hummock 
of grass, and, as the scared but uninjured bunny 
sped like a gray arrow up the hollow, my rage 
and disappointment burst forth in one long drawn 
howl that drowned everything else, and I sat 
down on the seat of my defeat and saw noth- 
ing but a glimpse of brown and white dive 
through a brush pile just beyond. I was anly 
a little fellow then and I sat there crying and 
sobbing as though my heart would break, too 
thoroughly distressed to notice that daddie’s 
ready musket had gone into action almost as 
quickly as the rabbit. I had not heard its crash- 
ing roar, and did not know that daddie was mm 
the game at all until I heard him call to me 
with a sort of chuckle in his voice that I could 
not understand: ‘“What’s the matter, Jackie?” 
“Rabbit,” said I, dolefully. 
ois here is he?” 
“Ran away,” I answered. 
“Not far, I guess,” said he, in a tone that 
seemed strangely self-satisfied, and then added, 
|with that same peculiar inflection: ‘Look up 
the hollow a little way; you'll find him up there, 
I guess.” 
“T guess not,” I replied; but anyway, I fol- 
|lowed directions and before very long, just as 
/black despair had* once more begun to settle 
about me, I came suddenly on a bunch of gray, 
brown and white fur all crumpled up in the 
\bed of the branch. He was quite dead. It was 
|\the first wild rabbit I had ever seen outside of 
|game stores, and while I fondled it eagerly in 
my young fancy I thought it the most beautiful 
|of God’s creatures on earth. My pure delight 
was only equaled by my amazement at the un- 
expected outcome of my mishap. 
| “I saw you all the time and thought it was 
fa rabbit, only I couldn’t understand why you 
didn’t shoot. Wouldn’t your pistol go off, or 
)didn’t you trust it? Well, I saw the terrible 
smash you made at him and saw him dash out. 
Of course it was an easy shot and I was ready. 
I had to shoot from the hip, though, as the. brush 
;was so thick he would quickly have gotten away. 
‘Some day when you are older I'll show you how 
to’ shoot that way;” and he did. He taught me 
two thought 
of the run, a 
sight, and I dared 1 
rabbit might run. 

the pepper box never went with us again. 
JouHN S. Roesuck, Jr. 
The Old Guard. 
Boston, July 20.—Editor Forest and Stream: 
Somebody asked me the other day: “Why don’t 
you line up with the Old Guard?” To which I 
replied, sadly: “Alas! I’m too young.” 

| Let me see, though, am I? Where is the 
dividing line, anyway? Guess I'll chance it. 
Anyhow, as a reader I began before 1875. J. G. 
Rich, that noted bear man, then lived on the side 
of a mountain three long miles away; long, be- 
cause all up and down. Some called it two 
niles, but they went a-buggy-back, not afoot. 
And of course he had Forest AND StrEAM, piles 
nf it. Now, a healthy youngster of reading in- 
stincts would go as many miles for such a treas- 
ire as a bear would to a honey tree; and I read 
hose stacks of back numbers till there was none 
eft to read. Then I began to look forward 
o “next week,” and in due time, just when I 
lave no idea, began to perpetrate a “poem” or 
io as my share of the contribution. 
I am one of those who would gladly pay my 
lollar for a reprint of the ‘ ‘Camps of the King- 
ishers,’* even if it be only in paper covers. Are 
1ot there enough more to compass its produc- 
ion? Stand up, brothers, and let us count noses, 
nd any brother who has two noses, let him be 
ntitled to a double count! i, AeA 

to know my gun, in every sense of the word, but 
A Commercial Traveler's Pet Deer. 
3ENNINGTON, July go.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: Four commercial traveling men were 
sitting in the hotel office in a city of westera 
Massachusetts. They were lovers of the sport 
with rod and gun, and were telling stories of 
the nda and animal life in the wilds. The 
theme led to a discussion of animals, when a 
jolly sportsman, of Boston, (also a commercial 
man), joined the party. He listened for a few 
minutes and then broke in: 
“Well, boys, I have hunted and fished all over 
New England ever since I was a boy and flatter 
myself that I know something of the ways of 
wild folks, but still I know I have a lot to learn 
about them. I just returned from a small town 
in Vermont where I have been going for several 
years in May to fish for brook trout. While 
there last month I had an experience that I will 
not soon forget, and which convinced me that 
a deer is a wonderfully knowing and _ tactful 
animal, and if a human being is willing to make 
good friends with it in its haunts it will soon 
learn to’ know him, trust him absolutely and 
never forget him. Now, if someone else told this 
story I would say it was a fake, but as it occur- 
red right under my own eyes,.I am compelled to 
believe it and. will tell it to you for what it is 
worth. 
“Three years ago, about the first of May, I 
went way off in the Green Mountains to fish for 
trout. I had a friend there* named Parkinson 
who always guided me and knew just where to 
drop a lure to get the biggest and best trout in 
the streams.. We found a place about ten or 
fifteen miles from nowhere and the stream was 
loaded with fish. We liked it so well that after 
we had filled our baskets we looked around for 
a camp site. You see, in those mountains you 
can find old deserted buildings most anywhere. 
The lumbermen build a temporary mill and board- 
ing house right in the heart of the forests. After 
several years they get the timber cleared off 
in that section, then ‘they move to some more 
profitable stand and leave the buildings. We 
found such a place convenient and decided to 
drive into the nearest village and outfit for a 
month’s camping. The next day we returned 
with ample provisions and rigged up our camp. 
Then we fished, lay around telling stories and 
took things easy for just twenty-one days. How 
I did enjoy that! 
“During the first week we were in camp we 
saw three deer in the clearing near our place 
I told ‘Park’ that I was going to tame them. He 
laughed at the idea, but I carried out some table 
scraps and feed we had brought in for our horse 
and left it where I had seen the deer. One 
morning just at daylight I saw the three deer 
at the same spot. When I went out they dis- 
appeared, but I found the bread and grain gone, 
too, so I put out more. They were there next 
morning as usual. I kept right on feeding them 
and every day they became less timid, until I 
got very close to them and used my camera for 
six good photos. I noticed the big buck had 
quite a scar on the side of his head, so I named 
him ‘Scar Face Charley.’ 
“The next year I went there again with Par- 
kinson. We had been in camp but a few days 
when four deer showed up. Among them I 
noticed ‘Scar Face Charley’ in the herd and he 
did not seem a bit afraid of ‘me. I fed them 
again as before. Now,:on one of these trips we 
had noticed what a fine buck ‘Scar Face’ was and 
Parkinson suggested that I return that fall dur- 
ing the open season and have a try for the old 
fellow’s pelt. I promised to do so if my busi- 
ness would permit me to get away. I did not 
go, however, but ‘Park’ and some friends of his 
did. Not a sign did they see of ‘Scar Face’ or 
any other deer in that vicinity, so they con- 
cluded the deer could find no fall feed and had 
gone over the mountains. 
“The next season they tried both places, saw 
some deer, but none to compare with ‘Scar Face.’ 
They had kept a sharp lookout for him during 
the fall and now felt sure the big buck had fallen 
victim to some pot hunter’s rifle in close season. 
When I went there last spring ‘Park’ told me 
what he thought about the buck. I laughed at 
his fears and said more in jest than otherwise: 
“Don’t you believe “Scar Face” is dead. He 
will show up again now that I am here with 
plenty of feed for him and his interesting family.’ 
“We were in camp three days and no deer had 
been seen when it occurred to me that ’scar face’ 
had always shown up on or about the 18th of 
May, so on May 17 I was up early and put out 
breakfast for the deer. None appeared and I 
had almost given them up until along about 4 
o'clock in the afternoon I wandered out to look 
for them. I went a short distance through the 
timber when I heard the snapping of twigs ahead. 
I looked up just in ‘time to see a flag disappear. 
Then I stopped and gazed around, and to my as- 
tonishment there stood old ‘Scar Face Charley’ 
eyeing me, not fifty feet away. He seemed to 
have no fear of me whatever. I said: ‘Hello! 
“Scar Face,’ why don’t you come up and get your 
supper?’ just as though I were speaking to ‘Park’ 
down at the camp. With that I turned toward 
camp. The big fellow followed me like a dog. 
He stopped on the clearing and went to eating 
the supper I had prepared for him. I called 
Park’ to see the deer, two others having joined 
the buck 
“This spring I did not go to Vermont till May 
I5, as the trout season now opens on that date 
there instead of May 1, as formerly. We were 
in camp only two days when ‘Scar Face’ and his 
family made their appearance. When the other 
boys went in ahead of me they seldom saw the 
deer, but when I got there it would not be over 
twenty-four hours before the big buck would 
show up. The result was, I always called that 
deer mine and became as fond of him as one 
can be of wild animals at a distance. Of course, 
I could not go out and rub his head and caress 
him like a domestic pet, but I could approach 
him sufficiently close to get a number of good 
photographs of him. At this season his horns 
were just beginning to sprout and looked like 
two little black knobs or stumps on his head. 
The idea of killing him became repugnant to me 
and I often informed ‘Park’ that I believed if 
ever I caught a man killing that deer I would 
kill him. Anyway, we had only been there three 
days this spring when, one afternoon while re- 
turning from fishing, I was surprised to hear 
a rifle shot in the vicinity of our camp. I sus- 
pected something wrong and_ hurried back. 
‘Park’ followed. After searching the ground for 
some time I stumbled on to something that fairly 
made me boil with indignation and I blurted out 
Ho). deride’ & 
_“*Some  pot-hunter has shat “Scar Face 
Charley” and cut his throat! Here’s his carcass!’ 
“Park said he would go to the town and get 
a game warden. We both decided to go and 
offer our services. In the meantime we looked 
over the surrounding territory, but not a human 
sign did we see. When we got to town we 
called up the game warden on the telephone, for 
he lived over twenty miles from there. We met 
him later and returned to camp. 
had come in 
The pot-hunters 
during the night and dragged the 
carcass back into the woods, and then, after re- 
moving the saddles, covered the rest over with 
brush in a very ingenious manner to hide, all 
clues. But the warden was on to all these tricks 
and soon traced the carcass to its hiding place. 
Finally he got track of the men, followed them 
and within a few hours apprehended them. He 
got out a search warrant and got his men with 
the goods on them. 30th saddles were being 
prepared for the feast, but not for the pot- 
hunters, as they were seized by the warden and 
confiscated by the State. It cost those fellows 
over $100 each in fines for their spring venison 
and then they did not even get a taste of it. 
When I saw them in court and heard them con- 
fess to killing ‘Scar Face Charley’ I felt like tak- 
ing justice into my own hands, for no mere fines 
could atone for the damage those pot-hunters had 
done me in slaughtering my pet deer while it 
Was under my protection.. If they had got the 
buck in the fall, when permitted by law, and the 
animal had his horns and was full of fight and 
spirit, and me away on the road somewhere, I 
should not have cared much, but it just seemed 
to me that old ‘Scar Face’ trusted me and de- 
pended on me to protect him while I was in that 
camp and this confidence in me had cost him 
his life. For had he not eluded them all in that 
section for many years? I felt just as thongh 1 
would had some mother placed her child in my 

