1 3 2 OUTING FOR NOVEMBER.

flowers of the Dryas were growing pro-fusely under the fir trees, and in theopen spaces I found the blue columbine,shrubby cinquefoil, Labrador tea, Arcticlupine, Siberian asters, rosy everlasting,pale corydal is , butter-wort , yel lowarnica, false asphodel, bil-berries, willowherb, and many others.

There were cows and chickens at thefort house, and good hay could be pro-cured not far away. The hens did notfare as well as the cows, and had tosubsist most of the winter on dried fish,shredded or pounded for them. Thefort people kindly presented me with ahalf-dozen little eggs when I went away,which I gloated over as a miser wouldover his gold, and devoured raw, one byone, in my small cabin, feeling as if Iwere doing a dark deed. I cannot saythat they tasted in the least like eggs;they rather suggested the old NewEngland dish of “picked-up codfish.”

Fort Good Hope is the most northernpost on the Mackenzie. It was formerlysituated one hundred miles north of theArctic circle, but was swept away by aflood and rebuilt on this site. Theground here remains permanently frozen

at a depth of three or four feet, but overthis sub-stratum of icy soil grow flowersand trees.

After leaving Good Hope we came toa point on the river where for twentymiles it flows in an almost straight lineand is from two to three miles wide.In many places one loses sight of theshores in looking up and down the river,and it seems like a lake rather than astream. The trees were stunted, andthe small aspens were already turningyellow on the steep gravelly slopes.

We crossed the Arct ic c irc le ninemiles north of Good Hope, at RabbitSkin River. By no amount of grown-up reasoning had I been able to free mymind of the childish idea of the circle.When it was mentioned I had alwaysimagined a large shining wire, aboutthree times the size of a telegraph wire,suspended in the air, without visiblesupport , perhaps f ive feet from theground and disappearing across a barrenwaste, with musk oxen and reindeer inthe dim distance rubbing their earsagainst it. When the place where thatshining circle should have been waspointed out, I was disappointed.

DEER AND DEER-SHOOTING

BY ED. W. SANDYS.

O sportsmen of theT Eastern, Cent r a la n d N o r t h e r nStates and of the

Province of Ontario, theAmerican deer, CervusVirginianus, is the kingof forest game. Even in

these days of rapid travel, it is notthe privilege of every enthusiastic Nim-rod to go speeding to Western mount-

ains or to remote Northern wilds, wherereign such monarchs as the moose, elk,caribou, grizzly sheep and goat. Onlya comparatively small proportion of theactive sportsmen of to-day have tastedthe joys of genuine big game huntingor have seen the greater cervidæ freein their natural haunts. Perhaps onehundred men know more or less aboutdeer, for every man informed by per-sonal experience in the ways of the

DEER AND DEER-SHOOTING. 133deer’s statelier cousins; so to the aver-age sportsman, who has not wanderedfarther than the magnificent forests ofthe Adirondacks, of Maine, Michigan,Ontario, and other equally accessibleregions, the deer is king, and to kill afull-grown buck is the crowning tri-umph of sportsmanship.

that grandest of all deer, the elk, orwapiti, and to him Cervus Virginianusmust yield the palm. But an animalmay rank second to the red stag in thematter of noble beauty and still beexceedingly fine and graceful.

In regard to the actual glory of kill-ing a buck, I have no opinion to pass—personally I would prefer a month’slively field-shooting over good dogs toal l the sport with deer that I haveever enjoyed; but there is no questionabout the buck being stately game andworthy of any man’s rifle. Handsomerbeast than a full-grown buck in primecondition is not easily found, and theman who hunts him in a sportsmanlikefashion and kills him fairly has reasonfor self-congratulation.

Not so many years ago deer wereabundant throughout all the vast terri-tory extending from as far north as thecenter of the Province of Quebec to thefar south, and from the region west ofthe great plains to the Atlantic coast.But civilization and deer welfare aredirectly opposed to each other, and atpresent the regions where the animalsare really plentiful are by no means sobroad or so numerous as keen sports-men might desire. My own experiencewith this game has been mainly ac-quired in the wilds of Ontario and thatstronghold of deer, the Upper Peninsulaof Michigan; in a portion of Wisconsinand in a section of country embracingthe International line between the Stateof Maine and the Province of Quebec.In all these regions deer are still plenti-ful enough to afford glorious sport, andthe same may be said of parts of the farwest, of the Adirondacks and of Penn-sylvania, and of other districts farthersouth.

A comparison of the heads of full-grown males of the four species willreveal marked differences, particularlyin the formation of the antlers. Thehead of the red stag is of the elk type—clean-cut, blood-like in every line.Smaller than the elk’s head, it is quiteas beautiful and carries proportionatelyfine antlers. These also closely resem-ble in shape the tremendous head-gearof the bull elk, with brow antlersbending downward and forward. Themain beams of the stag’s antlers pointbackward, and the branches, or tines,all spring from the anterior side andpoint forward.

The American deer, common deer, orjust “deer,” as the animal is called bythose who know naught of kindredwes t e rn va r i e t y , i s pecu l i a r to theAmerican continent. It differs broadlyfrom the three well-known Europeanspecies—the red deer, the fallow deer,and the pretty l i t t le roe. Of thesethree the red deer is the only one whichcan stand comparison with the Ameri-can. To be candid, the famous stag ofthe Highlands and picturesque Devonis the handsomest and stateliest animalof the lot. He is a smaller edition of

Widely different is the palmated ant-ler of the fallow deer, which shows inminiature something of the flatteningcharacteristic of the antlers of mooseand caribou. The head of the little roe ismore of antelope type, with small erectantlers with a prong in front. Of allthese antlers those of the red stag mostresemble the crowning glory of CervusVirginianus, yet the real resemblance isso slight that even a careless observershould note the difference at a glance.The main beams of the American buck’santlers incline sharply backward fromthe head, for perhaps half their length,then turn forward with a beautiful,bold curve and end in two sharp points.The brow antlers are sharp, erect spikes,and all other prongs, or tines, springfrom the posterior side of the mainbeams, and generally point forward andupward. Peculiarities of structure arequite common in the antlers of theAmerican deer, double tines being themost frequently noticed deviation fromthe ordinary formation. The doe lacksthe antlers, though cases have been re-corded where the female head sportedfeeble imitations of her lord’s weapons.The antlers are shed and renewed an-nually, but, as they fall off at a timewhen the animals are protected by law,not so many sportsmen have seen buckssave with armed heads, or with thenearly completed antlers in what istermed “the velvet.” If, early in theyear, one should chance to be pokingabout in the haunts of the deer, the

134 OUTING FOR NOVEMBER.

sight of a buck with unadorned head,or with one antler gone and the otherstill in position, would be nothing butwhat should be expected. Soon afterthe old antlers fa l l , swel l ings, l iketumors covered with plush, appear;these increase in size and assume theshape of the antlers with astonishingrapidity, until the new antlers have at-tained their full size, when they presentthe appearance of an ordinary pair ofantlers covered with fine velvet. Thecovering, or “velvet,” is filled withblood-vessels which supply material forthe new growth. The furrows in thecomplete antler show the course of thecirculation during its formation, and nosooner is the building process com-pleted than the “velvet” begins towither and dry up.

Now the buck realizes that he is fullyarmed and equipped for the fierce joust-ings which must decide the possessionof the does of his favorite range, and hebusies himself in testing his new weap-ons and in putting a proper polish uponevery inch of them. He bangs andrattles his horn daggers against con-venient trees and thrusts and swingsthem into dense, strong shrubs, and ifobserved during this honing-up processhe frequently seems a disreputable-looking beast, with long streamers ofblood-stained “velvet” hanging to whatwill shortly be finely-polished antlerswith points as sharp as knives.

When the last rub has been given andevery beam and tine is furbished thor-oughly, our bravo goes a-wooing withthe best of them. He trails the coydoes through lone covers and alongfavorite runways unceasingly; he isfiery and impetuous and full of fight,and asks no fairer chance than to meeta rival as big and short-tempered ashimself. He meets one before long,for every grown buck is on the war-path, and when the pair fall foul ofeach other there is frequently a longand desperate combat, in which onegladiator must be thoroughly whipped,or killed.

All deer kind fight savagely duringthe rutting season, and occasionally twobattling rivals find a miserable doomby managing to get their antlers se-curely inter locked when both must

head to head have been found lying asperish. Two dead bucks thus locked

they fell in an open glade, where the

scarred surface of the ground and thecrushed and riven shrubs about, told aneloquent tale of a wild tourney longsustained, and of miserable failing ef-forts of the wearied conqueror to freehimself of his dead foe.

The finding of two bleached skulls,with antlers still locked firmly together,will conjure up in the well informedsportsman’s mind a thrilling scene.

An open glade, with two noble cham-pions eyeing each other with blazingorbs, and perhaps a dreamy-eyed doe—the cause of all the trouble—peeringtimidly from the bushes near by. Ex-plosive, wrathful blasts f rom angrynostrils rip the stillness, and the hair ofthe raging bucks stands on end. Theirgrand eyes blaze with jealous hate;they stamp with knife-edged hoofs thatspurn the ground; blast after blasthisses defiance to and fro; they shifttheir positions warily, for each is af ighter and winner of many joustswhere agility and science counted withsheer brute strength. Two blasts ,louder and fiercer yet, and then a crashas they go together in sudden, swiftcharge, head on, for woe to the carelessgladiator that fails to meet the shockfair and true. If he swerve he mustgive ground and expose his side to thepolished lances of his rival’s head, andone cha rge home o f such weaponswould probably end the battle.

Front to front they strive, pushingfuriously, straining with all the won-drous nervous strength of deer, pantingheavily with the tremendous exertionof a life and death struggle. First oneis forced backward, then the otheryields in turn. Sharp tines draw bloodfrom both; they fall upon their knees,rise again, wheel this way and that, butever head to head and pushing withwhat strength remains.

At last, too exhausted to battle fur-ther, they attempt to draw apart for amoment ’s breathing spel l . But therestless sparring of opposing points hasworked a hor r ib l e mi s ch i e f . Thestrong antlers have got entangled in away that allows of no separation, andboth the poor beasts must die. In des-peration one lunges forward in a finaleffort and, perhaps, breaks his adver-sary’s neck. He has won the fight, butthe dead buck is the more fortunate ofthe two. The winner may fall downor stand up, his head is pinned to the

DEER AND DEER-SHOOTING.

dead one. He may pull and push ashe will, his doom is sealed.

Weak and trembling from his deadlytoil; craving to reach the well-knownwatering-place, and to bury his dust-fouled, foaming muzzle in the savingstream, he must stand or lie where heis. Undoubtedly the welcome death isnot long delayed; the tortures of thirsthasten the end, and in a brief time, per-haps, a keen-nosed wolf winds the richprize and leads her greedy litter toabundant feasting, or an instinct-guidedraven falls like a plummet from airyheights, and in stooping, signals to hiskind that food is found.

There are several methods of destroy-ing the deer, and, unfortunately, mostof them savor of the shambles, and are,or should be, beneath the notice of menclaiming to be sportsmen. These maybe briefly dismissed as being unworthythe serious consideration of readers ofOuting.

One method, and a bad one, luckilyseldom practiced save by lumbermenand settlers in need of fresh meat, is at-tacking the deer during periods of deepsnow, when, perchance, a strong crusthas formed. A number of deer mayassemble, during severe weather, in aswamp or bit of woodland rich in fav-orite food. The assembled animals,while feeding to and fro, tramp down acertain extent of snow, forming what issometimes termed “a yard,” as do themoose. When settlers or lumbermendiscover one of these yards disgustingslaughter is apt to result.

A party of men mounted on snow-shoes can speed over the snow-crust,which will not carry the sharp-hoofeddeer, and it is an easy matter to run thepoor animals to a standstill and knockthem on the head with axes or clubs. Ashot or a shout will stampede the deerin the yard, and in fleeing they reachthe deep snow, where after wallowingforward for a short distance they findthemselves trapped and helpless, andcapable of doing nothing more thanplunging feebly. Aided by their snow-shoes the butchers soon overhaul theirprey and do them to death ingloriously.Needless to say, only a settler wantingmeat, or a brute in human guise favorssuch murder.

Another method, and he who followsit forfeits his claim to sportsmanship, isknown as “fire-hunting,” or “shining.”

135

This is, I believe, popular in the South,but I fail to see where the hunted ani-mal has any chance for its life, or wherethe hunter has to show any skill beyondan ability to hit a mark in a somewhatbaffling light, and at a distance of onlya few paces. Two murderers can bestperform this unsavory task, and theyhunt afoot, or mounted upon horses, ormules, which will not mind a gun beingfired over their heads. At night, throughthe dark woods, the fire-hunters walk orride, one man bearing a blazing fire-panin front, which is fed with fat pine-knots or other suitable fuel. Behindthe pan-bearer skulks his comradearmed with a shot-gun, charged withbuckshot. The light from the fire-panreaches some distance ahead, and pres-ently it “shines” the eyeballs of someanimal which has halted to gaze won-deringly at the fiery invader.

All sorts of creatures, from horse orcow down to broad-faced owl, may be“shined” during a night’s hunt, thehunters trusting to their experience totell them what the owner of the glowingeyes may be. Green hands frequentlyhave to pay for a colt, or a heifer, as aresult of fire-hunting, but men well post-ed in the butchery seldom fail to rec-ognize a deer’s eyes.

The animal appears to be fascinatedby the torch, and will stand and starecuriously for some time, providing thehunters keep reasonably quiet. In thegloom just beyond the torch-light, thepan-bearer finally marks a brace of glow-ing balls reflecting the light from hispan. By their size, color, and the dis-tance between them, he knows that theybelong to a full-grown deer. The twomen cautiously advance, until they areas near the shining eyes as they cansafely venture; then the man with theshot-gun levels on the dark space be-tween the eyes and a storm of buck-shotkills or wounds the deer as the case hap-pens to be. If the hunters hear a falland a struggling in the undergrowth,they know that their work has not beenin vain; but sometimes’s lightning rushthrough the cover, and a crashing oftwigs growing rapidly fainter, tells thatthe game has only been wounded, or hasbeen missed outright. In any case, fire-hunting has no place among honestsports, and, unhappily, it is very deadly.

Upon a par with this method is the“jacking” or “floating,” so common

136 O U T I N G F O R N O V E M B E R .

upon northern lakes during the first ofthe open season for deer. The animalsseek the water to drink, or to feed uponlush aquatic growths, and fall ingloriousprey to the fire-hunters. In this casetwo men sally forth at night in canoe,or skiff, one man sitting, or kneeling, inthe bow and the other near the stern.The man forward has a gun, or rifle, anda torch or “jack-lantern,” rigged infront of him. As a rule the “jacks”are arranged so that the light can beshut off or turned on at will, and some-times the light is furnished by a smalllantern fixed on the shooter’s hat.

The most important matter is that thelight should be thrown ahead stronglywhile leaving everything behind it indense shadow. The canoe is paddlednoiselessly up or down a stream, orwithin range of the shore of a lake, untilgame is located. A cautious advanceupon the wondering animal, a roar of agun and a hit or a miss, complete thestory of what is, despite the assertionsof its votaries, simply an outrageouspiece of pot-hunting.

Another method equally unsports-manlike, is lying in ambush withineasy range of a spring, or a “salt-lick,”and pott ing the unsuspect ing deerwhich may happen to come in searchof salt or water. This requires nomore skill than an ability to tell fromwhich quarter the breeze is blowingand to post one’s self accordingly, andthe power to hit a deer when the gun isfired from a dead rest.

Coursing deer with fleet horse andgallant hound is an entirely differentmatter. In certain port ions of theSouth and West this method is possible,and a man with true sporting blood inhis veins could ask for no more thrill-ing experience than may be found in awild free gallop, with the fleetest ofquarries and noble hounds in front, andwith a good horse under him as keen inthe race as his excited rider. Thedensely forested condition of the wilderportions of the northern country, wheredeer yet abound, and the fact that theAmerican deer prefers to haunt, whencircumstances allow, a kind of countrywhere no horseman could possibly fol-low hounds with safety or pleasure,forbids coursing ever finding favor withthe people best able to support it.

And now having glanced at what areirregular methods, we come to the two

rival styles of deer-hunting—drivingwith hounds and stalking, or as it iscalled in America, “still-hunting.”

I am aware that my opinion of therelative values of these two methodswill clash with the views of many keensportsmen, yet, after having enjoyeda f a i r sha r e o f “hound ing” and o f“still-hunting,” I have no hesitation indeclaring for the latter as being thesportsmanlike way of hunting the deer.

Any man with fair shooting abilityand owning one or more dogs capableof running a fresh track, may be a suc-cessful “hounder” of deer, providinghe knows enough to select a promising“runway” (regular path of deer) inthe woods, or an advantageous pointupon the shore of a forest lake. Deerhave a habit of running to water, ifpossible, when chased by dogs—doubt-less the trait has been developed frombitter experiences with those scourgesto deer life, the wolves.

This habit, and the well known fond-ness deer display for certain selectedroutes , or “runways,” leading frompoint to point in the forest, are theweaknesses of which the “hounder”takes deadly advantage. A man know-ing the “runways” (always easily dis-covered) of a tract of woods, can posta gun where one runway crosses aroad, another where the trail tops aridge, or leads down to a lake, or crossesa stream, and then by driv ing withhounds toward the guns, make almostcertain of one or more deer.

A party of sportsmen intent upon“hounding” generally hires a guidewho knows the country well and canalso furnish dogs. He wil l post theguns so that they command the likeliestand broadest territory, and then him-self take a couple, or more, dogs onchain, back into the woods to a pointfrom which the drive is to begin. Hav-ing reached his chosen point, he releasesthe dogs and works through the coveruntil a fresh track is found. The scentmay be somewhat difficult to pick up atfirst, but the dogs challenge now andthen and work along until a sudden warOf trumpet tongues announce that theyare sure of their game and are runningin full cry. The work of the man whohandled the dogs is done for the pres-ent, and he can either hasten to someambush he has reserved for himself, orwork leisurely toward the guns.

DEER AND DEER-SHOOTING. 137

Meantime, the men posted at thepromising points have been awaitingdevelopments with what patience theypossess. Some of them will for a cer-tainty wait long and vainly. The man inthe “runway” will keep peering aboutanxiously, starting nervously every timea nut falls, or a mouse or squirrel rustlesin the dry leaves; the man at the cross-ing will sweep the open to right andleft with anxious eyes, lest the gamesteal past him unawares; and the manwatching the lake will scan every yardof visible shore and open water, andfidget, and worry, and wonder if thedeer will come his way, or favor one ofthe others. Every one of them hopeshard that he’ll be the lucky man, andabout the time when they feel that pa-tience has ceased to be a virtue, a dis-tant cry sounds faintly through thewoods. Again and again it rises, sweetand far—the wondrous voice of a hound.

Every man’s heart stirs in responseto that sound, growing louder andclearer every moment. Now it swellsrich and powerful as the chase crossessome highlands; anon it softens to amuffled tonguing as the running dogsslant down deep ravine, or toil in fiercehaste through tangled morass. Nearerand nearer the blood-stirring musicspeeds , l ouder and louder the r edthroats of the dogs roar forth theirmaddened warning, ’till at last, like agreat billow of noise, the cry rises abovethe last hill and crashes in full poweramid the trees in view of the watchers.Hearts thump vigorously, hands clinchon weapons nervously, eyes rove aboutrestlessly—breaths come short andsharp—he is coming!—flying before thatavalanche of trumpet tones. It isglorious!

It has been, so far! but now comesthe objectionable part. A great noble,harried brute, trembling with mingledfright and the weariness of a long burstof speed, crashes past the man on therunway, or stops in quivering terror atthe sight of an unexpected foe almostwithin striking distance.

If the man does not experience “buck-ague” and get crazily rattled (as hevery frequently does), he can pot thedeer easily enough with his shot-gun.Should he miss it clean or wound it(these things have been done), the chasecontinues. Soon the dogs speed pastthe excited man and run the deer on

and on, until finally the poor animalgains the longed-for water and plungesbravely in to swim for its life.

It would he safe now from dogs alone,for deer are rapid and almost tirelessswimmers, but the man watching thewater has seen the quarry. The clos-ing act of the drama is something forwhich I have no t a s t e . Wel l andrapidly as the deer may swim, it cannotescape from a pothunter pursuing inswift canoe or skiff, and a murderousshot fired when the boat is within a fewyards of the struggling swimmer endsits sufferings.

The picture of “hounding” is notover-drawn, and, while the excitement ofthe wait while the game is afoot is keen,and the ringing clamor of the pursuinghounds is enough to madden evensluggish blood, the final shooting of thegame always caused me somethingclosely akin to regret. In “hounding,”moreover, a large tract of country isnecessarily greatly disturbed, and thegame in it frightened in all directions.

The needful qualifications for successin this branch of sport are simpleenough. If one can shoot fairly well—say, can hit a deer with buckshot any-where under fifty yards—and can con-trol his nerves when the pinch comes,about all else he has to do is to remainpatiently at his stand and keep a sharplookout. The guns do the waiting—thedogs do the rest. Of course, when theshot-gun gives place to the rifle, thedifficulty of hitting the game is greatlyincreased and a stronger element ofsport is introduced, but even then thereis no glory that I can see in pumpinglead after a swimming deer.

How different are the conditions gov-erning “still-hunting.” Here is a fairmatching of instinct of a high order,aided by speed, endurance, keen sightand keener nose, against finished wood-craft, patience, perseverance, judgment,microscopic powers of observation andskill with the rifle. The man possessingall of these qualifications necessarilyhas the advantage of the deer, but lethim be lacking of one, or more, and hewill never pose as the ideal “still-hunter.” In this sport, the wiry, endur-ing frame, the cat-like step, the coolestjudgment, the keenest eyes, that seeeverything almost without looking; thesteady nerve and the ripest knowledgeof woodcraft, all play most important

138 OUTING FOR NOVEMBER.

parts. Indeed, the man who can suc-cessfully still-hunt a wary old buck indifficult cover, when there is no snowon the ground to deaden foot-falls andplainly betray the route taken by thegame, is entitled to claim the honor ofbeing a master of the craft.

Such a man is seldom met even in thebest game districts; I know and have“still-hunted” with three of the veter-ans—men who knew every phase offo re s t l i f e , who cou ld r ead “ s i gn”minute as a leaf displaced, or a slightabrasion on a rock, as plainly as I couldread printed page. They were bornst i l l-hunters , and hated two thingsequal ly-one the tongue of runninghound, and the other shooting deer onrunway or in the water. Any of thesemen would put a bullet through a trail-ing hound with more satisfaction thanthey would kill a fox or wolf.

A glance at a bit of sport in WesternOntario may show what still-hunting islike under ordinary conditions. In thatportion of the province which lies be-tween Lake Eric and little St. Clair isa region somewhat low, and in manyplaces bearing unbroken miles of heavyforest. Placid, almost currentless creeksand rice-bordered ponds mark it hereand there, and one side of the tract is solittle above the level of the lakes that itis mainly vast marshy plain, floodedevery spring by the overflow from thestreams.

Since the days of “Forrester” thisregion has afforded capital mixed shoot-ing, the game-list embracing deer, tur-key, goose, duck, grouse, hare, cock,quail, snipe and sundry waders. It is,of course, not so good at present as itonce was, but a still-hunter can finddeer and turkey in the timber, and thelover of the hammerless can pick up areputable bag of grouse, cock, quail andwaterfowl in the thickets and on themarshes.

Great tracts of the unbroken. timberhave been held for many years by acertain company, and as comparativelylittle clearing has been done on thesereserves, the deer and turkey yet existat certain points. Once the companydecided to sell the oak on one of thetracts, and hired two rugged fellows—half lumbermen, half hunters—to ex-plore the limit and report on the valueof the standing oak. These men werevery decent fellows, and no sooner did

I get wind of their trip than I resolvedto accompany them if possible. Thematter was easily arranged, for theywanted somebody to make out a respect-able report for the company, and theyknew that I was willing to share workand fun alike.

We outfitted for a week, and after ashort trip by rail, followed by a longtiresome jolt in a farmer’s wagon, wereached our destination. What the menca l l ed ou r “ c amp” was an o ld l ogstructure, just sound enough to keepout some of the weather, looking as for-lorn and desolate as though it were tenmiles from anywhere on earth. Insideit stood a crazy old stove, and a littlelively work secured plenty of fuel andmade the old barn comfortable enoughfor our simple needs.

Next day we began the work of esti-mating the oak. Our weapons wereWinchesters, but as old Dave grimly re-marked, “men didn’t figger an oak withrepeaters, no matter if the companywould prefer it that way,” so I was theonly one to carry a rifle during thethree days’ explorations.

One day I got three grouse by shoot-ing them when “treed,” and anotherday, happening by sheer accident to seesomething black moving in a thicket, Ileveled on it and blazed away. Fol-lowing the shot came a crashing oftwigs and flapping of heavy wings, andthree fine turkeys rose above the brushand flew to safer quarters. I thoughtthat I had missed, but in the thicket Ifound a plump young hen lying dead.

The evening of the last day of oak-hunting, we figured up our note-booksand I made out the report, and ourwork for the company was completed.

Old Dave was in high feather, for hehad found plenty of f resh “s ign” ofdeer that day, and his chum, Tom, hadalso seen enough to warrant expecta-tions of excellent sport when the still-hunting began in earnest. Dave wentoutside for a last look at the weather,and reported that we were in luck, “furit was sartin to snow some ’fore mornin’.”

It was cold in the old hovel that night,and with daylight we found Dave’s pre-diction verified, for a couple of inchesof l ight snow whitened everythingwithin sight. Dave routed us out with:“Here’s trackin’-snow! Hustle lively,boys, with the breakfast; we can’t getstarted none too soon.”

DEER AND DEER-SHOOTING. 139

An hour later we were scattered inthe woods, Dave going east, Tom west,and I south, heading for a creek bor-dered with densely tangled thickets. Idid not expect to find sign of gamewithin three miles of camp, so steppedalong smartly without paying particu-lar attention to anything but my pipe.

This was wrong—a still-hunter shouldcommence to hunt the moment he en-ters country where game can possiblybe, and should never let up until he hasleft the last yard of such country be-hind his homeward feet. My careless-ness cost me dear—in reality deer—fora measured thump-thump on the groundcaused me to look ahead, and lo! therewere two goodly fawns bouncing off tomy right, with white flags pointing sky-ward in defiance. Those flags shouldhave brought about a truce, but theyprecipitated war. I dropped my hon-est old pipe recklessly upon the snowand whirled the Winchester from myshoulder to the level with a fierce en-ergy that really should have accom-plished more than it did.

The fact is, I got rattled. The fawnskept bouncing s lowly forward, in aridiculous prancing gait. They keptswinging to the right, and in a trice Ihad the rifle swung ahead of the lead-ing shoulder and pulled. Pi-a-a-ah! Thespiteful voice of the (alleged) deadlyweapon ripped through the stillness andechoed far and wide amid long corri-dors of trees, and the fun began! Afawn went down of course? Oh, yes!both fawns went down—that is they gotdown—to their work! for never a bitof my lead touched either. No moresilly bouncing about their movements;they had heard a strange, an awfulnoise, and they were going right hometo tell the old mother doe about it.

T h e w a y t h o s e t w o c o c k - t a i l e dyoungsters lengthened out and putacres behind them was marvelous to be-hold. They chose the most open route,and flashed across the landscape liketwo yards of fur-trimmed electricity,while I held the old Winchester tightto my shoulder with my left hand andjingled the nux vomica stop with myright, pul l ing tr igger every t ime Iguessed a shell was nearly in position.

Click-lick-ping!—click-lick-ping!—click-lick-ping!—click-lick-ping! and soon, while a yellow cascade of emptiesspouted from the gun, and bul lets

chased each other about a yard apart, Ishould judge—then, a sudden silencefell and I stood like six different kindsof fool in the center of my smoke-cloudand watched the last dainty flutter oftwo saucy white banderoles vanishingbehind a ridge. When last seen thewhite tails pointed gaily heavenward,*and every still-hunter knows what thatsignified.

Despair ing youthful lover neverwatched the farewell flutter of cambricwith more “gone-ness” in his soul thanoppressed mine at that moment, butsuddenly the ludicrous aspect of thething struck me and I laughed outright,and proceeded to hunt up my pipe.

While filling up for another whiff, Iheard two faint reports from the direc-tion the fawns had taken, and guessedthat Tom or Dave had accounted forone or both of them.

Working ahead I came to where thefawns had stood watching my approach,and from the number of wee foot-printsstamped in the snow I judged that theyhad stood within easy range for quitelong enough to have afforded me almostsure shots; thus illustrating what deerwill sometimes do in comparatively opencountry—when one doesn’t see them.

Needless to say, my eyes did betterservice for the remainder of the day.About noon I found the fresh track ofa full-grown buck, and saw that he hadbeen making fast time in the directionof the worst stretch of cover along thecreek; in all likelihood he had beenalarmed by my furious farewell to thefawns.

I trailed rapidly along till the signshowed he had slackened speed, andpresently found where he had stoppedto look back. From this point he hadwalked into the cover close to the creekand I found myself in a difficulty.

The creek was comparatively straightfor nearly a mile and the breeze set di-rectly across its course from my side. Icould not keep to the high ground, forthe buck would surely wind me, norcould I cross the twenty-yard widewater unless I swam for it, which wasout of the question. Naught remainedsave to get as close to the creek as pos-sible in the hope of keeping to leewardof the game, and to try still-hunting in

* When running, the deer elevates its tail, showingthe long white hair of the lower surface. If the animalis struck by a bullet the tail is almost invariably tuckedclose to the hams, concealing the white.

140 OUTING FOR NOVEMBER.

almost impossible cover. For all thatI knew to the contrary, my venisonmight be lying down within fifty yardsof me, so I made a lynx of myselfand sneaked in to the th i cke t andon to the water’s edge. Half waythrough the thicket the track turnedparallel to the stream, so I was satisfiedthat the buck had not taken water.

What happened during the next twohours had best be left among the tan-gled, temper-destroying thickets of thatmiserable creek. I crawled, crept,sometimes almost inch by inch, andpeered here, there and everywhere, butnever a glimpse of him did I see, till thelong strain on muscles and nerves fairlymade me savage. At last, while wrig-gling over a log, I flushed a grouse.

The roaring burr-r-r of its swift wingssent my heart up into my throat, andfor an instant I poised half over the log.Then I heard a faint sound from theright—tick, click—then the unmistak-able snap of a small twig, then a sud-den crash of brittle branches and aloudthump, thump, thump. Unwittingly Ihad crept within fifty yards of the buck.I could hear him going, and at thesound of the third thump I made afrantic dash for the open. Branchesraked me, stubs punched me, everythorny and hard thing in the coverseemed to have at least one claw atsome part of me before I plungedthrough the last barriers.

A crashing from the extreme end ofthe cover guided my eyes to somethingwhich rose and fell twice ere it boundedinto the open and dashed away. I sawthe defiant white banner flaunting, andI covered it as well as excitement wouldpermit and blazed away. The only ef-fect of the shot was a trifle more speedon the deer’s part and perhaps a jauntierflirt of the white signal. Then turnedand hunted in the direction of the camp.

When darkness closed I hurried my-self preparing supper, as I expectedDave and Tom would be able to eat atrifle when they got in. Before thelast grouse was ready I heard a hailand went outside. My two comradeswere together, tired but jolly, as theyhad every reason to be. Each bore afawn on his shoulder, and Tom had twoturkeys and Dave one. Dave had killedthe fawns I had missed, while Tom, afterlooking in vain for deer, had trailed aflock of nine turkeys and shot three.

I told them of my performances, andDave remarked, “I heard ye pumpin’away, and presently I spied the fawnscomin’ a-kitin’ right fer me. I droppedone, and t’other one stopped stock stillafter runnin’ twenty yards further. Ithought it was a shame to have it suf-ferin’ for its brother, so I gathered it in,too. I know the place where your buckwas, and I don’t blame you for losin’him—that’s the worst thicket in thiscounty. I’ll go over that way in themornin’.”

Next day more snow fell, and thoughthe three of us hunted earnestly till lateafternoon, no more deer were added tothe pole at the end of the camp. Tomand I got a small turkey apiece, thebirds being doubtless scattered mem-bers of the flock found the previousday. Dave reported plenty of s ignnear the creek, and advised work in thatdirection for our last day.

The morning proved sharply cold,and a stiff breeze made itself felt in theopen. We made an early start, Tomand I heading directly for the creek,while Dave went north, saying that hewanted to try a thicket in that direction,but would work down along the creekin the afternoon. We found a bend inthe creek where a huge fallen elm al-most bridged it, and Tom advised meto cross so that we could cover bothsides of the stream.

I tramped slowly along for perhapstwo hours without finding a track, and Iwas becoming convinced that there wasno game my s ide the water when Iheard a shot, followed by a voice shout-ing : “Look ou t a c ro s s the c r eek ! ”Where I was the cover was too thick toallow of an extended view in any direc-tion, so I ran straight to the creek. Asit happened, I reached a small marshyopen and at the edge of it I stood stillto await developments.

This was fortunate for me as it proved,for I had barely got steadied when Iheard a crackling of brush and sawsomething moving toward me and notmore than fifty yards distant. I wascertain that the moving animal was adeer, but there was a possibility that itmight prove to be Tom—especially ifI fired at and hit it.

A moment later the question was set-tled by a tidy young doe trotting brisklyfrom the cover and halting on the edgeof the marsh. She had no more idea

of my close proximity than I had of let-ting her get away, if I could prevent it.She was like the lady of long ago, anddespite her warning, she looked back,and got “salted” for so doing. Sheturned her head from me, pricked hergreat ears forward, and gazed earnestlytoward the brush across the river.

Her neck was hardly more than forty-five yards from the front sight of theWinchester, and I fancied that I hadnever held rifle steadier. Covering thecenter of her neck I pulled, and shewent down as though struck by light-ning. Hastening over, I bled her andthen looked to see how near the bullethad struck to the spot aimed at.

To my utter mortification I found thatthe lead had entered the back of herhead exactly between the ears. Hadher neck not been turned as it was, Ishould have missed her clean, throughovershooting. When the knife haddone its work I hung her up and wentto locate Tom, who had shouted tolearn the result of the shot. I foundhim in the brush beside another andlarger doe, and learned that he hadstalked the two, killed one and shoutedto warn me of the other, which ran inwhat he supposed was my direction.We soon found a suitable sapling, andafter tying the doe’s feet slung her onthe pole and toted her to camp. Wethen went back for my doe, and whenshe was finally carried to camp and

GOOSE-SHOOTING IN THE DAKOTAS.

BY F. B. FEETHAM.

THERE are fews p o r t s o v e rwhich the lov-er of the gun

is more enthusiasticthan goose-shootingin the Dakotas, afterhaving once tried it.It is a fact that is not

generally known—but the sportsman tobe successful must appreciate it—thatgoose-shooting in the Dakotas differsmuch from the same sport in the east.There are many different localities in theDakotas where in the month of Octoberand the first part of November, geese

GOOSE-SHOOTING IN THE DAKOTAS. 141

hung up we had just enough energyleft to prepare supper for all hands.

We had filled our pipes for the sec-ond time after eating, before Dave camein. The old boy was very weary, buthe smiled grimly as he saw the does andremarked: “I downed the only goodone of the lot; the old buck’s hung safeenough ’way back at the end of thebrush.” After he had examined the doesfor bullet marks, he turned to me andqueried: “Reckon her head showed upover the brush? That’s a mighty riskyplace to hold on, but you drilled hersquare and clean; your nerves musthave been in f ine shape . ” I s a idnothing, but I blushed a sunset shade allover the inside of my skin as I thoughtof how I had “drilled her square.”

Next day Dave and Tom brought inthe buck and we gave him the post ofhonor on the game pole, which made“not a bad show for greenhorns,” asDave remarked. While the two hadbeen toiling with the buck I had pack-ed what little was left of the campdunnage, and when the farmer droveup at noon we were all ready for him.While the horses fed we had a coldsnack, and loaded our game and outfitsupon the rough wood-rack of the bob-sled. By sunset we reached the littlerailway station, and placed our veni-son and turkeys in the baggage carbefore the wondering eyes of the usualgathering of interested rustics.

are so plentiful that a person who un-derstands the science of shooting themcan reasonably count on killing fromfifteen to fifty per day, according to his“luck.” In the Dakotas the term “wildgeese” includes not only the large grayCanada goose, but also black and whitebrant; the latter being by far the mostnumerous, while the Canadas are themost difficult to shoot. The sportsmanwho scores three or four of the latteramong his other game may count him-self lucky.

In order to shoot geese, the onlythings necessary to be taken by thesportsman are his gun, plenty of

Painted for Outing by Hermann Simon. (See “Deer and Deer-Shooting.” p. 156.)

a favorite haunt.