New Ulm weekly review., 1886-12-01

late Santa Louise Anderson. oil San Rafael,
who was,drowned in the Sacramento river,
some months ago, while attempting to res
cue a companion ]-San Francisco Argo-
snaut.
Twas born with the Instincts of the
true sportsman.
For a long time I was at a loss to
know from what source had come my
passion for guns and cunning. My
father was anything but aconnoisseur
OF deadly weapons, and my mother
never knew the butt from the muzzle
of a gun, and was equally afraid OF
each. After carefully digging at the
roots Of the family tree, the scientific
Basis for hereditary transmission was
vindicated, for found that my grand
another was cousin of Kit Carson,
the great American hunter and trap
per.
While | was child, it amused my
brothers to hear me discuss the mer-
its OF choke bore shot-guns and breach
loading rifles, but when Igrew to wom-
ans estate this highly unfeminine
taste displeased and even alarmed
them. They were very proper young
men, and did not relish the idea of
young lady sister who could take
snipe on the wing, or pierce the BULLS
EYE with a revolver at sixty PAGES.
Dear boys, they feared, too, that such
a propensity might seriously endan-
.germy being settled in life.
They demonstrated, they scolded;
they brought me the accounts OF all the
dreadful accidents that resulted from
the use OF firearms, and tried to ex-
tort from me a promise that would
never touch a gun again. Knight have
yielded had not an unfortunate cir
-cumstance occurred that made me
deaf to all entreaties
An uncle who had heard of my skill,
and was queer and old-fashioned
enough to adm. re 1T, sent me on my
eighteenth birthday, a handsome
Winchester rifle, which he had order
ed made for me- From that day
ceased to struggle against fate.
Bryant's 'Lines to a Water Fowl"
always brought to my imagination
~other thoughts than those commonly
suggested to feminine readers; and not
only in thought. but in rubber boots
and with game bag, have I hunted
that classic bird on lake shore and
river bottom. At one time it was a.
canvas back, slowly veering to the
south, with neck outstretched and eye
>of faith; at another it was a. stately
mallard Or iaunty teal, spoon-bill
or sprig-tail. But l painted for no.
bier game.
longed for the excitement of the
chase; to be where
1.-THE stag at eve had drunk his fill;'
TO see and be the belted hunter.
When should have been devising pat
terms for sofa-cushions. and learning
to paint on silk and china. my heart
was away on the boundless plains,
chasing deer and antelope. AS Caed-
,mon was haunted by vision, in
which he was told to sing; as Socra-
ties was pursued by daimon, who in
sisted that he should make music-so
by some strange law OF psychology,
'felt that my life would never be COM
splete until l had hunted the deer or
tracked the grizzly in his mountain
shome
The opportunity came. Some
friends invited me to spend a few
weeks at their home in the Sierra.
They had a little house among the
pines, in one of the most romatic re-
sgions of the range.
A hunting party was formed for my
especial entertainment, and the night
before, as a prelude to the morroW's
excitement, we listened around the
fire to the wild stories of the mount
aineers. "Old Cubfoot," a grizzly
who had been known in the region for
fifteen or twenty years, was a favorite
topic. No one had had the hardi-
hood to attack him since he had pur-
sued a hunter a long distance and
KILLED him with stroke OF his gigantic
paw. An enormous trap had once
been set for him, and he had caught
his foot in it, but, with wonderful in
5telligence he had gone to the nearest
rock and beaten it off. He was seen
occas; s;onally in the passing years, and
now and then he helped himself to
sheep or calf unmolested.
There was also white doe among
The neighboring mountains which seem
ed to bear a charmed life, for many
hunters had shot at it, but always miss
ed. A superstition had naturally
grown up about it, and the mount
saineers held that some great calam-
iity would attend the person who kill
ed the white deer.
These stories aroused my imagina-
tion so that ! could scarcely wait for
the dawn OF day, and 1 lay awakelong
after the house was still, but was the
first one stirring in the morning.
An old hunter, whom we called Uncle
John, was the leader OF the party, and
tn his caro I woc III