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FOREST AND STREAM. 

- 
[AuG. 10, 1907. 

bath, applying the cold saturated sponge to the 
spine numerous times. Essential accessories to 
the morning toilet were a vigorous use Oigtne 
dumb bells or Indian clubs, and the application of 
a stiff bristle flesh brush before the bath and an 
alcohol rub after the bath. 
As my hunting engagement called for my best 
possible efforts, I did not forget that the most 
important organs lie above the belt and pro- 
ceeded to give numerous dormant muscles a rude 
awakening. Procuring a wood chopper’s axe I 
wielded it industriously at odd times: I chopped 
own decayed and dying trees and worked up 
the body and limbs into fire wood, changing from 
‘right hand forward-to left. This was a winter's 
work, and when the snow lay deep on the ground 
ind the north wind moaned I made the big chips 
y thick and fast. As timber gave out and spring 
pproached, | exchanged the axe for the hoe and 
tirred the fresh soil about the vegetables and 
owers in the garden. 
The business I was interested in required a 
very tall building and a part of my duties to the 
corporation was the personal supervision of the 
structure. Each day I climbed the ladders, and 
after the roof was on I would walk to the edge 
and with toes projecting looked’ down 200 feet, 
the way a plumb line would drop, on the heads 
of pedestrians on the sidewalk below—a fine test 
of the nervous control of the body. 
I gave close attention to my food, never under 
any circumstances drinking tea, coffee nor wine, 
nor using tobacco in any form nor taking any 
kind of drug or medicine; refraining absolutely 
from artificial stimulation of all kinds. My food 
consisted largely of milk, bread, vegetables and 
fruits, with a small allowance of meat and no 
Sweets nor acids. Disorders of the head readily 
yielded to sleep, mental rest and outdoor exer- 
cise, and by regulating the nourishment’ stomach 
troubles disappeared. 
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As the success of my venture was to depend 
on the man behind the gun, his intimate acquain- 
tance with that firearm was an important factor. 
Purchasing the rifle (a .33) I was to use on the 
trip, also a as a matter of economy in the 
use of ammunition, I practiced with them on a 
target, with a rest, from the knee and offhand, 
at various distances up to 300 yards. Realizing 
that wild animals did not always wait for the 
hunter to find a rest for his gun and frequently 
did not stand for an offhand shot, I devised 
other means of practice. I made pendulums of 
wood blocks, tin cans and empty bottles sus- 
pended with a strong cord from the limb of a 
tree, and shot them while in motion. The bottle 
makes the most interesting target, shattering 
when struck, but attended with some hazard 
on account of the lead sometimes glancing from 
the glass surface. But the best target for snap 
shooting with the rifle at distances up to 100 
yards or even greater I found to be a keg roll- 
ing down a steep hillside. One might say that 
a beer keg would be appropriate for the target, 
but on account of the metal hoops causing glanc- 
ing shots, it is a little dangerous. I used a grape 
keg from Malaga or California. Starting it with 
the foot, and moving quickly to one ‘side while 
the keg gathered momentum, I sent the first two 
or three shots into the head, the others I aimed 
to plant near the second or third hoop, choosing 
one as the heart or vital spot of the imaginary 
quarry, which was ‘endeavoring ‘to escape. By 
the time the rolling target reached the bottom of 
the hill my magazine was empty, and after a rea- 
sonable amount of practice a little blackened hole 
in the keg gave account of each shot. 
There being no game in convenient reach I 
had to rely solely on artificial means of rifle 
practice, and was careful never to fire a gun 
where it might be attended with danger or where 
it would cause a violation of the laws or give 
offense to anyone. In stalking, however, I got 
some good practice by crawling through the 
grass and weeds on rabbits, squirrels and chicken 
hawks. I was astonished to realize how many 
useful points it was possible to pick up at home 
on the subject of wild life. 
As a result of my persistent and conscientious 
training I gradually attained a degree of physi- 
cal proficiency, quite sufficient to myself, in the 
various attainments essential to a fair measure 
of success in following primitive trails. Through 
22 
is 
constant application my marksmanship became 
reasonably reliable and fairly true. Within the 
outlines of what would be the vital spots of an 
object as large as a bull wapiti or a silver-tip, 
I could plant a bullet up to a distance of 250 
yards, and a moving target representing a two- 
year-old prong buck usually carried away the 
lead or its little aperture, up to 100 or 125 yards. 
With my little bird rifle I decapitated imaginary 
sage hens and wood grouse forty paces away. 
Physically, from toughened bare soles to weather 
beaten scalp lock, every part of my anatomy be- 
came inured to a variety of hardships and to sud- 
den exposures. It became for me 
unnecessary 
to take any unusual against rain, 
precaution 

GETTING 
READY FOR BIGHORN HUNTING. 
snow, frost or any violent change of weather. 
My head cleared up, eyes extended their range 
of vision, nerves became steady, heart strong, 
wind long, and endurance satisfactory. My es- 
pecial training track was a picturesque parkway 
over some sharply defined foothills, with grade 
steep enough to reduce a saddle horse to a 
slow walk. The distance was about five miles 
up hill and down dale, and I “trotted it lightly 
shod or barefoot in thirty-three minutes and 
pulled up with wind to spare. 
How these varied and careful preparations 
served me in the mountain wilderness—of these 
hunting adventures, calling into ¢onstant play all 
that is strongest and best in man’s physical make 
up, demonstrating the practical worth of my 
studied training, sufficient or insufficient ast at 
may appear, I propose to tell the patient readers 
of Forrest AND STREAM in an early issue. 
WILLIAM Brent ALTSHELER. 
The Boy Behind the Man. 
Newport, Ky., July 209. 
Stream: 
line, 

Editor Forest and 
Three miles south of the corporation 
on the east bank of Licking River, in the 
bottom land between that erratic stream and the 
railroad, a number of years ago there lay a sheet 
of water something larger than a pond, though 
scarcely reaching the dignity of a lake. 
It had been formed many years before by 
damming a deep and heavily thicketed ravine, 
thereby forming a convenient water supply for 
the needs of the railroad round-house hard by. 
From time immemorial, according to the small 
boys’ calendar, it had been locally known as 
Duck Pond, probably because the fall and spring 
migratory ducks visited it in passing by. It was 
famous among a certain cult who delighted 
to wander along its delightfully meandering banks 
on Saturday afternoons and angle for little sun- 
fish and mud-cats, with an occasional snapping 
turtle or sucker thrown in to vary the sport. 
It was deep in many parts, and everywhere the 
black and dismal dead timber, standing in its 
midst, was more than offset by the beauty of its 
banks. Some parts were low and marshy, others 
abrupt and steep, reaching to quite a height by 
contrast with the surrounding bottom. The 
banks were masked by thickets of many decidu- 
ous trees, shrubs and briar patches everywhere. 
Many beaten paths wandered through them down 
to certain favored fishing or hunting spots. 
Following its windings through the channel, 
the little lake may have been from half to three- 
quarters of a mile in length and from five to 
one hundred yards in width. At its lower or 
western end, at no great distance from the river, 
was the dam, originally a huge fill of brush, tim- 
ber, stones and clay, but now completely over- 
grown like all the rest with shrubbery, black and 
raspberries and tangled vines. The dam was 
perhaps thirty feet in height, and from its out- 
ward base the deep, dark hollow dropped away 
through a grove of forest patriarchs interspersed 
with willows, alders and straggling undergrowth 
to the level of Licking River some fifty feet 
below. 
Even in midsummer the cool depths’ of that 
shaded, quiet glen seemed like part of another 
world.. To plunge suddenly from the sun glare 
above into that restful and inviting retreat was 
like a visit to an ice house in August or a plunge 
into: spring water during the heat of the summer 
day. Down through the middle of the rav%ne 
ran the overflow from the spill-way, murmuring 
and splashing over the stones and gravel below, 
an ideal haunt for certain feathered game. 
Daddie and I often visited this locality and 
fished, hunted and loafed away many an other- 
wise wasted hour upon its banks Although the - 
water was dark and brown from the dead wood 
in its depths it was clear and transparent and 
continually in slow motion from the many little 
springs within its bed. Once in a great while 
an extraordinary freshet in the adjacent rivers 
overflowed its banks, hence the number and 
variety of its habitants. 
We were out there one day when I was a 
youngster. I was fishing and had a string of 
little fellows as long as my arm—the string was 
—to show for my newly acquired skill. Daddie 
had the family musket and was fondly looking 
for anything in the way of late summer game 
that might chance to appear. After a while we 
wandered aimlessly around to the lower end of 
the pond, and while I held to the path along the 
margin Daddie tramped down into the depths of 
the ravine. He had previously stood for awhile 
as if in doubt, peering down through the inter- 
laced branches and leaves, and once I heard him 
softly say: 
“My, what a likely spot for one!” 
He had been down there some time and I was 
beginning to wonder what had become of him, 
when all of a sudden I heard a whistling clutter 
of quick driving wings, then the slightly muffled 
report of the musket from the shady glen, and 
a large brownish bird fell] _into the 
patch cl 
dam. 
“Mark, dead bird!” I heard Daddie excitedly 
call, and as I answered him: “Here, found:” 
he came bounding up out of the thicket, all eager- 
blackberry 
ose to where I stood at the edge of the 




