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FOREST AND STREAM. 
[AuG. 24, 1907. 

A Boy in the Mountain Pasture. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Always delicate and small for my age, the 
summer I reached my fifteenth year my health 
was such as to indicate a speedy decline, and as 
a last resort I was sent to my mother’s former 
home among the hills of New Hampshire, in 
the hope that the bracing mountain air would 
do what doctor's medicine had failed to ac- 
complish. The roomy old homestead, with its 
broad farmlands, was now occupied by a brother 
of my mother’s, one of the kindliest of men, and 
blessed with an equally kind-hearted and in- 
dulgent wife. 
A few weeks of outdoor life wrought a 
change in my case. An increased relish for the 
wholesome fare which always graced my aunt's 
old-fashioned table, was the first favorable 
symptom noted. After this the gain was rapid, 
and when the hunting season came I was as 
strong and rugged as one of my weakly con- 
stition could ever hope to be. 
I had bought my first gun the _ pre- 
vious fall, too late to do much hunting; but 
now, with the fall season before me, and game 
plentiful, | determined to make a record. 
The first week of my endeavor was disappoint- 
ing. There were numerous flocks of grouse in 
the neighborhood, but as is their habit during 
the earlier part of September, they hung to the 
dense thickets of the swamps and brook bot- 
toms, where, without a dog, it was impossible 
for me to get at them except at great disad- 
vantage. Six days of as hard and persistent 
hunting as I ever did, resulted in but three birds 
and one squirrel, the latter being imprudent 
enough to venture into an “oil” nut tree in 
sight of the house. After all my fine plans, I was 
feeling pretty well discouraged, when one day 
my uncle came to me with cheering news. 
“T’ve been over to the mountain pasture to 
salt the young stock,’ said he, “and there’s 
plenty of squirrels there. Better leave the birds 
a spell, till they get out on higher ground, and 
try the squirrels.’ 
I at once resolved on a speedy visit to the 
“mountain pasture,’ distant about a mile from 
the house. I drove to the village and secured 
a good supply of coarse shot, and filled to the 
neck the glass bottles which I carried in lieu 
of pouch and flask. Then I was preparing to 

give my little gun a good cleaning, when my 
uncle—who, I should have said before, was a 
famous foxhunter—nearly took me off my feet 
by saying: 
“T don’t know, John, but what you’d better 
take my gun. Squirrels are pretty tough game, 
and it’s often handy to have a second barrel.” 
I to take the gun which always cut such an 
important figure in the foxhunting yarns I so 
liked to hear my uncle relate! He must be 
fooling! But no; he actually assisted me to 
clean and oil the famous piece, and then in- 
structed me, by turning the powder and shot 
into his open palm, as to the charge with which 
it shot the best—though of course I was not to 
use such heavy loads as he did for foxes. 
It was simply a plain, well-made, double 
muzzleloader, with a good quality of English 
twist barrels; but in my eyes it had a value far 
above that of the costliest breechloader, a gun 
at that time little known. 
I was so happy that night that I did not ex- 
pect to sleep a wink, but boy-like, I soon fell 
asleep, and woke only when my uncle called to 
me at 4:30 next morning, as I had enjoined him 
to do the last thing before retiring. 
“Come, John; time to get up,” sounded his 
voice under my window; and five minutes later, 
loaded gun in hand, I was on my way to the 
mountain, for I did not even stop to eat, but 
crowded a generous lunch of “raise-bread”’ and 
home-made cheese into my pocket. 
What a morning it was—clear, quiet and an 
air to make walking seem almost like flying. 
Day had not fairly dawned, but the birds were 
beginning to sing, and I walked rapidly so as 
to reach the woods before the squirrels were 
astir. In my access of pride, the heavier double- 
barrel seemed even lighter than my own little 
gun, 
When about half a mile from the house, a 

flew into an orchard beside the 
hawk 
There was a bounty of twenty cents on 
these pirates, and I welcomed the chance to try 
my gun and at the same time earn enough to 
small 
road. 
defray the cost of ammunition for the day. 
Over the fence I went, and cocking both ham- 
mers, ran straight toward the bird, without any 
attempt at concealment, after the manner in 
which my uncle had instructed me to hunt them. 
It is a singular fact that while the utmost cau- 
tion is necessary in approaching the larger va- 
rieties of this family, the little bird-hawk, as it 
is known, if it be rapidly followed up in the 
above style seems to become confused, and 
makes but a few short flights before allowing 
one to get within gun-shot. 
In the present case I was soon within range. 
Up went the old gun—bang! It was a terrible 
report, and for an instant I scarcely knew what 
had happened. The gun had flown from my 
hands, and given my head a hard bump in 
passing over my shoulder. I thought it must 
have burst, but investigation showed that both 
barrels had been discharged. I had bunglingly 
pulled both triggers. I resumed my way some- 
what crestfallen, especially as I had failed to kill 
the hawk. 
But a little further on I was given a chance 
to redeem myself. A grouse crossed the road 
about twenty rods in advance of me. I had 
reloaded the gun, and running along to the 
point where she had disappeared in the bushes, 
I gave her the right barrel (and I was very 
careful to pull but one trigger this time), as 
she foolishly hopped up on a rock. 
“That squares up the hawk scrap,” I said ex- 
ultantly, as I heard her fluttering behind the 
rock. 
Five minutes’ more brisk walking along the 
road, then another five up a sharp slope of 
pasture land and I was at the foot of the moun- 
tain. The sun was just touching its granite 
peak, but the broad belt of oaks and maples 
extending fully a mile along its base was still 
in shadow, and so quiet that I could hear the 
acorns dropping a long distance away. 
What a place for squirrels, I thought. And 
evidently there were squirrels there, too; for 
even as I paused to look around, one set up a 
loud barking some distance up the mountain, to 
which another, near at hand, quickly responded. 
Then nearer still, there was a light crash among 
the branches. My blood bounded in anticipa- 
tion of the coming sport, as I cautiously moved 
toward this nearest squirrel. 
The ground was free from undergrowth, but 
there was a thick sprinkling of dry twigs to 
be avoided. Slowly and carefully I picked my 
way among these, frequently pausing in the 
hope that the squirrel might come toward me. 
But soon the steady fall of acorns from a cer- 
tain tree told me he was feeding. A few more 
noiseless steps, and I could see the waving of 
the branches as he gathered in the nuts; but so 
thick was the foliage that it was only after much 
peering into the branches that I distinguished 
the gray blotch which told me where to shoot. 
I took careful aim, and dropped him dead the 
first shot. And right here let me digress 
enough to say, that while many prefer to hunt 
squirrels late in the season, I find my best sport 
on them ere the leaves have fallen. True, it is 
harder to see them through the thick foliage, 
but it is equally true that they do not so readily 
perceive the hunter. Besides, one gets rid of 
that bothersome rustle beneath the feet. Proud- 
ly I placed the dead squirrel in my bag with 
the grouse. The first two squirrels had stopped 
barking at my shot, but before I had finished 
loading one of them was at it again, and others 
were moving all about me. Never had I struck 
such a place for game before. I was so ex- 
cited I could hardly cap my piece; and when a 
squirrel came running toward me on the ground 
a few minutes later, I missed it clean with my 
right, and repeated the trick with my left, as it 
paused a moment in a fork after taking to a 
tree. 
Away he went through the branches, and I 
after him without stopping to reload. It was 
a pretty even race for ten seconds, then he dis- 
appeared in the vicinity of a tall pine. I sus- 
pected he was hiding in this, and after putting 
in two stiff charges crouched down behind a 

bush within easy range and kept quiet. In a 
minute out he came. I was steadier now, and 
brought him down the first crack. 
Jf course all this racket had alarmed the 
squirrels in the immediate vicinity, so I moved 
on a little distance and seated myself on an old 
log near a rail fence. Still further on several 
squirrels were barking, but I hardly dared ven- 
ture too deep into the woods for fear of getting 
lost. Once around on the north side of the 
mountain, One might wander for miles without 
coming out. 
But there were squirrels near at hand. Soon I 
saw One coming along the top rail of the fence. 
There was a little fringe of bushes between us. 
I got my gun ready, and as he came clear of 
this gave him the right barrel. Snap—bang! It 
seemed half a minute between the crack of the 
cap and the main report. The gun had held fire, 
a frequent fault of the muzzleloader. Of course 
I missed the squirrel; I knew that even before 
I saw him streaking away on the ground. I 
jumped the fence and tried to follow him, but 
there was more undergrowth here, and he soon 
escaped me. 
In returning to the fence by a short detour, 
I got a snap shot at a rabbit that jumped out 
of a thicket, but failed to stop him. 
This, with my other miss at what I had 
thought to be a sure shot, discouraged me a 
bit, especially as I found that the suspicions of 
the squirrels had been aroused by so much 
firing. For fully half an hour I poked around 
without getting another shot. I could hear 
them barking and feeding about me, but the 
least sound was sufficient to send them in hid- 
ing. At length I went back to the point at 
which I had entered the woods, and started in 
a direction opposite to that first taken, de- 
termined to get in new territory. Coming to 
an old woodroad I followed it a quarter of a 
mile, and finally seated myself in a magnificent 
grove of oaks, where “‘signs’’ were abundant. 
It now occurred to me that I had eaten no 
breakfast, so I pulled out my lunch, which 
somehow did not look half so large as when 
I stowed it in my pocket in the early morning, 
and was rapidly making away with it, when I 
saw two squirrels playing among the branches. 
They were some distance away, but as they 
seemed to be working toward me, I went quiet- 
ly on with my lunch, By the time I had 
finished, they were in the low branches ot a 
scrubby white oak not thirty yards away, and 
quite unaware of my presence. Taking deliber- 
ate aim at one of them, I dropped him the first 
shot. Then, springing to my feet, I gave the 
other the second barrel before he had time to 
run, and he, too, fell. 
I could scarcely repress a whoop at this great 
good luck. 
“That’s the beauty of a double-barrel,” I said 
to myself, as I dropped the two squirrels into 
my now plump bag. 
I was now pretty well satisfied, but as my 
aunt had laughingly told me that she would 
make me a pie if I got five squirrels, I de- 
termined to try for one more. This I finally 
got in going back along the wood-road; when 
I at once set off for the house, as happy a boy 
as ever returned from a successful squirrel hunt, 
TEMPLAR. 

Our Cover Picture. 
JACKSONVILLE, Fla., Aug. 10—Editor Fores? 
and Stream: The picture which accompanies 
this letter was taken in the Springfield Park ex- 
tension one afternoon last March while giving 
my dog Peter an exercise run. At the begin- 
ning of the open season two coveys of quail 
chose this park extension as a safe retreat in 
which to spend the hunting season, and Peter 
never had any difficulty in finding them some- 
where in the cover along the creek. 
W. P. GILREATH. 

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