Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1900-11-17

secrets" His kingdom lay along the north
shore of Lake Superior. where he ruled q
and plarmigan. When he got upon trail
| he was utterly without soul, and never
| shall I forget the awful bucketing of one
white day-its NAL de racquet, It's aching
| which suspect died OF Inconsistencies, nor
I Joes triumphant exclamation blown
through an ice gorge Of whiskers:
| 'GOll durn ye-ye kin go sum after all!''
| I could, and / did-to bed.
And lsraei-"A silent smoky Indian that
| know" wrong labeled by some WE'LL
| meaning missionary. A rose by any other
name quite possibly would smell the same
especially before a glowing fire in a cramp-
ed hut after day in damp snow But
he was hunter. with the aboriginal mi
croscopic eye and all the patient craft of
long lines OF hunting ancestors. Hull-down
to leeward. he was a jewel. a master OF
silent approach. a firm believer in one close,
sure shot.
them all. I imagine that Sam believed
Gabriers trumpet to be birch bark. and
that bucket of water would be a perfect
ly fair accessory. Il kin fetch EN- ALL
he used to declare, and the trumpet can at
best only equal that And there were
others, each good at some speciality.
All or these men were dyed-in- the wool
still hunters. They hated the tongue of
hound more than they hated too much
tongue in man. which is saying a great
deal. They believed in long. skillful trailing
and in fair shooting, and the more 1 reflect
upon their methods, the firmer is my CON
viction that they were genuine sportsmen
although at the same time professionals
because the dollar was to them a necessity
There is, however a certain charm about
noundlng deer. In the morning the guide
departs with the dogs. after posting the
gum or guns, at points where he knows
the deer are apt to take water. The deer
has chosen runways through the forest up
on which he. by choice, travels. Many of
these runWays lead to water, that refuge
of the deer when sore pressed. The ami
mails instinct tells it that water leaves no
trail, and the taking to water is an old
time ruse to escape the deers deadliest foe
the wolf To the deer the clanor Of the
hound upon Its track is suggestive of the
pursuing wolf and the surest and easiest
way to get to water and to wade swim
far enough to puzzle the pursuer.
While the guide with his dog is seeking a
fresh trail the man with the gun watches
the water. His task, as a rule, is a Won
drous pleasant one. The magical influence
Of Indian summer is over the land: the
forest flames with the splendor Of the
turning leaf
THE sky is blue as steel, the water clear
as glass,
The mist is on the mountain and the net
work on the grass
That marvel of beauty, the purplish haze
piles in the valleys and softens the harsh
outlines OF rocks and rampikes till the
whole scene suggests a dreamy content
The man lounges at ease, watches and per-
sweetness and beauty of 1t all, the half
blurred forest, the dim blue hills, the sleep
ing water.
Sudden and fierce and insistent rises
trumpet blare-the wild challenge from the
hot, red throat Of questing dog. The first
sound Of it thrills the watcher with an cleo
trio shock. The pipe is thrust away. the
rifle is grasped, the instinct to STAY is
aroused. The man stares across the water
IN fever OF expectancy Where will the
deer take water?
The chase rolls on. The voice of the dog,
like sweet bells tangled out Of tune rips
the sleepy silence and wakes soft echoes
over the hills and far away. Now the
sound muff1es in the depths of some ravine.
and on 1t rings clearer as a height Is scaled.
1t has magic all its own, and the blood
leaps faster and faster as the swelling
music prOclaimS the chase is ever drawing
nearer. Now from the last slope 1t rises to
full power, and the man grips his rifle
tighter and eagerly scans the shore. A
splash tells the story; the deer has taken
to water and is swimming for its life
So far so good. The musical tumult or
the dog, the anxious expectancy of the man,
the tenseness Of the situation, have each
thrill which Is undentab!y pleasant But
the performance should stop right here.
The game is swimming as only a scared
deer can swim: yet toll as 1t may it cannot
escape the boat rowed by expert hands.
Any dufrer might row UP to II and blow out
Its brains at range of a few feet To
stand upon the shore and with rifle put
lead into the brain of swimming deer is
quite another matter 1t requires close
shooting-in fact enough skill TO redeem
it-but the butehery from the boat Is I'M
worthy of a sportsman. Therefore while
l might enjoy bounding up to the finale
yet eschew it because its climax is unfit
for publication.
To "call" moose is sportsmanlike because
1t is exceedingly difficult. Too easy sport is
no sport at all. When successful, it illus
trates the triumph of mind over matter
which is as it should be. To run moose
down upon snow shoes Is (unless the snow
be entirely too deep for the quarry to have
q fair c1ance} fine test of a mans skill
and endurance. To creep" or still hunt, q
wary old bull il the truesr test of all. and
the man who accomplished this has right
to hold his head high, even among profess
EionaI trappers and woodsmen.
But to return to our venison. The still
,huntes tastes Of the true JOY OF the woods.