in ll _sitis_ Si 
Nov, 23, 1907.] 


Saturday evening, Oct. 12, we landed in New 
Castle with our trophies and boarded the train 
for Montreal. 
In some respects, our hunt was not what we 
had anticipated. The condition of the weather 
was very much against us, but this may not 
oceur again in many years. The rigid enforce- 
|ment of the game laws in New Brunswick has 
led to the increase in the supply of game. The 
, beaver have come back to their old haunts, 
/ moose and deer are on the increase, and on this 
| continent there is scarcely a section so ac- 
jcessible that offers the inducements to the 
, hunter for big game, that are offered by New 
3runswick to-day. 
There are some things, however, that might 
|be said by way of criticism that might well be 
looked after by the proper parties. The license 
. of fifty dollars required of non-resident hunters 
in New Brunswick, seems excessive, and a 
more reasonable fee would induce many hunters 
to go there who, under present conditions, can- 
The guides, packers, cooks and 

— 
e 
|not afford it. 
liverymen size you up andvare likely to take 
|about all the ready cash you can raise. Third- 
class hotels charge yau excessive rates, and 
when you are through paying bills, your sport 
and your heads, if you secure any, have cost 
you much more than they should. This policy, 
. if persisted in, will induce sportsmen to go else- 
| where, where an outing can be had at a reason- 
able cost. 
Over and against this, however, there are 
many compensations. Ten October days amid 
| the spruces, the balsams, the poplars, the maples 
and the birches of the Miramichi ridges, with 
| their endless variety of greens, yellows, oranges 
, and reds, can never be forgotten. Nowhere else 
in all the world does the autumn foliage present 
such a picture as in New Brunswick. 
To the tired and wornout business man, a 
fortnight in that vast wilderness, with the hard 
|tramps, its splendid water, and bracing air, free 
from colds and epidemics, and its balsam beds, 
are better than doctors and drugs. After a few 
days with their long tramps, and the excite- 
| ment of the chase, you get an appetite and a 
| digestion like a log driver, and you come back 
home to take up the labor and toil of life 
1 stronger and better prepared, because of the 
' days spent on the Miramichi. 
FRANK G. Harris. 
New York State League. 
‘| Stream: 

N. Y., Nov. 10.—Editor Forest and 
The forty-second annual meeting of 
| the New York State Fish, Game and Forest 
League will be held in the Hotel Yates, Syra- 
ALBANY, 
|} cuse, on the morning of Thursday, Dec. 5. 
The meeting will consider matters of great 
importance to every hunter and fisherman in the 
State. An amendment to the constitution of 
the league, duly noticed at the last meeting, 
providing that the annual meeting may be held 
elsewhere than in Syracuse, will be voted on at 
this meeting. All sportsmen are requested to 
be present and to interest every fish and game 
club within reach to send at least two delegates. 
This meeting is important to every man who be- 
lieves im fish and game protection and in suitable 

‘| laws. 
The meeting will be followed by the annual 
dinner and it is expected that Commissioner 
Whipple will deliver an illustrated lecture. on 
forest protection in relation to fish and game. 
Joun D. WutsH, Sec’y. 
The Congo. 
In “The Congo and Coasts of Africa’? Richard 
Harding Davis tells a pleasing story of the black 
people of the East and West coasts and of the 
Congo rezion. On the Congo River the hippo- 
potami impressed him greatly, and the ease with 
which they can bexand are slaughtered from the 
decks of steamboats leads him to urge the neces- 
sity of protective Iaws before they shall have 
been exterminated. Illustrations from  photo- 
graphs by the author and by Mrs. Davis, who 
accompanied him. help to make the volume an 
interesting as well as a valuable one. Published 
by Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York. 
FOREST-.AND STREAM. 
Tales of the Plains. 
I.—My First Buffalo Tongue. 
Ir was early in the fall of 18— that I had my 
first opportunity to see a little of Western life, 
and to kill my first buffalo as well as my first 
elk, antelope and blacktail deer. 
My trip was made in company with an old 
shooting friend, on the invitation of some of 
the officers of the Fourth Artillery, then stationed 
at Ft.-Riley, Kan. After being entertained by 
these gentlemen, and let into the mysteries of 
chasing the nimble jack rabbit with dogs and 
of killing a few prairie chickens, we were passed 
on to the Seventh Cavalry, then stationed at 
Ft. Harker, 75 miles further west on the Kansas 
Pacific R. R., with a letter requesting the 
officers to give us some big-game shooting. 
On reaching Ft. Harker we were turned over 
to Troop I, which, luckily for us, had just been 
ordered out on a scout after a .band of 
Cheyennes. If possible the troops were to 
round them up and persuade any who had cut 
loose from the main band to return to camp 
and abandon the fascinating pursuit of de 
priving the “f [ home” settler of his 

“lar irom 
worldly goods. 
The second night we camped on the banks of 
a stream, one of the feeders of the Saline River, 
I think. Ags the season was early September, 
the stream was fordable at any point without 
letting in water over the tops of one’s shooting 
boots, but a month later I saw that same creek 
a swollen torrent, which had risen some 30 feet 
in three days, carrying along with it all kinds 
of washed up debris, among it trees as large 
as a man’s body, and cutting off all communi- 
cation with our main post at Harker. For 
nearly a week the heavens had opened and the 
deluge descended and everything was under 
water. The cook shop was washed out from 
the side of the ravine, and had to be moved to 
the surface of the plain; trees were cut down, 
and big fires kept up to allow the men a dry 
bit of ground to sleep on. .Most of the men 
were worn out trying to keep dry and looking 
after the horses and equipments. 
It is one thing to take out a troop of cavalry 
for a month, and quite another thing to supply 
it with fresh meat. We had with us as hunters 
two halfbreeds and a guide named Farley—the 
pet guide of the Seventh Cavalry. Poor Farley 
died somewhat later in active service with his 
boots on after assisting some horse thieves to get 
away with six of the troop horses. The soldiers 
got the horses back, but did not like to be 
asked questions as to the whereabouts of Farley. 
The hunting detail comprised six enlisted men, 
Farley, an Indian scout, and a mule wagon. 
When game was scarce in our vicinity, this out- 
fit started out twice a week. As an invited 
guest. I was permitted to join this party. 
After leaving Harker and scouting some fifty 
miles to the southwest, we began to see buffalo 
and elk in small bands, and the hunting party 
started out to gather in some meat. I knew 
nothing more about hunting buffalo that I did 
about hunting tigers or elephants. I was well 
mounted on one of the Major’s horses, which, 
luckily for me, knew something about the busi- 
ness. I was told to ride after the others, until 
we reached the herd and then to select a young 
cow, or heifer, and kill it; it being explained 
that they never killed old bulls for meat. This 
advice sounded all right and easy to follow. 
We started for the herd on a full run, and 
when I reached it the others were far ahead, 
and I supposed were doing noble work. All I 
knew was that my horse carried me into the 
midst of a lot of wild beasts. I was surrounded 
by horns and eyes. The buffalo did not pay 
much attention to me, but seemed to be putting 
up their best gait. 
I determined not to be outdone by any one 
in getting a buffalo, and as there was a big bull 
alongside I opened on him with my revolver. 
By some good luck | hit him, and he turned 
off toward the outside edge of the herd, my 
horse running alongside and watching him, as 
I have seen ponies watch a ball at polo. The 
horse evidently knew his business and kept at 
a safe distance, so as to be able to avoid the 

813 

brute when it made a charge of a few yards in 
my direction. I was so much interested in keep- 
ing my seat in the saddle, and in drilling holes 
in the old fellow’s side, so that I might stop 
him, that I lost all track of time, place, the 
situation of the rest of the herd and the-di 
rection in which my hunting companions had 
gone. After a run of about three miles the old 
bull, whose side was showing spots of blood for 
its whole length, stopped, and turning toward 
me, began slowly to charge again. I thought 
that this was my chance, and so slid off my 
horse and for the first time used my rifle. To 
my great satisfaction the bull toppled forward 
on his head. 
I picketed my horse and went forward to take 
a look at my first buffalo. As I did so, it oc- 
curred to me that there was nothing in sight 
except prairie and sky, though possibly there 
might be Indians in the near vicinity. I had 
been warned never to shoot away all my shells, 
but to keep forty rounds in my belt in case of 
emergency. As I now summed up the situation, 
I found that I had a dead buffalo and about ten 
rounds of ammunition left. 
It also occurred to me to wonder how I was 
to prove that I had killed a buffalo when I 
found my party. I had been told by one of the 
guides that the first thing to do after killing a 
buffalo was to cut out the tongue. That seemed 
easy enough, and I began, taking out my hunt- 
ink knife. But how was I to cut out the tongue 
from between jaws that it would have needed 
a crowbar to pry open? TI sat on the grass 
and almost wept. Not to be obliged to return 
without some trophy, I cut off the bull’s tail 
after much hacking, and proceeded to mount 
my horse and if possible to find my friends be- 
fore dark. As we were in a bad country for 
Indians and about twenty miles away from the 
troop, it struck me that it would be well to be- 
gin to move as soon as I could. 
After taking a look at the sun, now low down 
toward the west, I was about to start when in 
the distance I saw a horseman galloping in my 
direction, and as he drew nearer I could see 
that he was an Indian, and not one of our 
guides. He was riding a large horse, and not 
a pony as all the Cheyennes did, and was lead- 
ing another to change to when the one he was 
riding got tired. At that moment I would 
have given something not to have killed my first 
buffalo, and to have been safely back in camp 
with the troop. However, I pulled myself to- 
gether and awaited results, expecting to have a 
hole put in me at any moment when he wished 
to take a pot shot. But on coming within 
range the man waved his arms and hat, and I 
felt much relieved when he shouted “All right. 
Come,” pointing across the prairie. “Friends 
sent me to find you.” He pointed in the direc- 
tion in which I was headed when he came up, 
and said, “No white man that way, 2,000 miles.” 
Now that he was sent to do me a service, I 
could not give up that tongue. As a rule, 
Indians do not laugh, but you should have seen 
the grin or snicker that passed over that poor 
red man’s countenance, and the disgusted way 
he looked at the poor tenderfoot. The Indian 
made two cuts, one on each side of the under 
jaw, pulled out the tongue, and with a crosscut, 
tore it loose from the jaw, gave a grunt and 
handed me the tongue, saying, “Come, getting 
dark; men waiting.” 
I got back to camp late that night, and was 
glad the men were too tired to hear me give a 
detailed account of my first experience in 
buffalo hunting and of how I succeeded in pro- 
curing the tongue which we had next morning 
for breakfast. 
But that little dried piece of bone and skin, 
my first trophy, is still in my gun room. 
Cre) Ve 

ROUGHING IT 
soon grows tiresome unless the food is good. 
Good milk is one item indispensable to a cheer- 
ful camp, and Borden’s solves the problem. 
Eagle Brand Condensed Milk and Peerless Brand 
Evaporated Milk keep indefinitely, anywhere, and 
fill every milk or cream requirement.—Adv. 

