On April 24th, 1901, on its first trip of the year, the S. S. Bertha reached the small settlement of Tyonek, on the western shore of Cook Inlet, and a little more than half way up. The flat on which were situated the building of the Alaska Commercial Company, and a dozen Indian cabins was covered with snow four feet deep, and the little community was yet on a winter basis.
"Meanes’ man I ever run up agin," said Bill Fikes, as he slid his hand quietly into the raisin-box, "was a farmer down in Rainbow Township. Tell ye how it was." The speaker paused to eject a prune seed and insert a fresh prune in the vacancy. "Me’n Jed Barrows hed been layin’ erroun’ waitin’ fer th’ law on chickens to sorter ’vaperate, an’ w’en th’ fust o’ September cum along we was thar in a bunch.
About the 1st of March, 1904, I was passing up Main street of Canon City, Colorado, when Henry Beecher come out of his place of business on the opposite side of the street and beckoned me across. "Say ; I have a friend just come to town from &." "Well!" I exclaimed, "I never knew you ever had a friend anywhere."
Does sight-seeing enlarge the mind? Jeremiah said, “Mine eye affecteth my soul,” but Jeremiah had a soul that was sensitive to external impressions. Two men were conversing, and one of them remarked that he had never been out of the neighborhood in which he was born. “Huh,” sneered the other, “I’ve been ’round the world!” “Yes,” quietly rejoined his companion, “and so has your cane, but it came back a stick.”
If one believes all he reads in the sportsman’s magazines he would conclude that the essence of outdoor life is obtained through the medium of guns and dogs only. It is fair to admit that these two ingredients enter deeper, probably, into a sportsman’s cup of joy than any other, but I know one sportsman, who, while prizing his dog and his gun in proper spirit, has a kindly feeling for his horse.
(The Story of a Handsome Daughter of the California Desert.)
HARRY H. DUNN
Over on the other side of Death Valley, just where the dread rim of this awful pit merges into the camparative paradise of the Nevada Desert, lies the little stage station of Manse. It is the terminus of the eightymile stage line from Manvel, over on the Santa Fe line in Nevada.
Sometimes we tire of singing skies, Too oft the gay of sadness hints; The light too bright that in us lies So quickly pales, so quickly dies. Give me the common, sober tints— My junco! I would I had throughout the year A heart like yours to brave the blast ; Then not so sad the burning tear, Then not so dread the awful fear ; A faith like yours would hold me fast— My junco!
There were always several big bunches of wild turkeys that ranged near the old Adkin's ranch. The country was worse broken up than the populist party in Texas. High rugged hills reared their cedar capped heads haughtily in the air, and the lower lands were covered with a dense growth of scrub oak, hackberry and pecan, while along the Salado river grew tall cottonwood and sycamore trees, affording fine roosts for the prince of birds—the American wild turkey.
It was evening—the hour of solitude— the season of rest—the time for the regeneration of the contemplative soul in the universal peace, separated from the busy life of the world, and placed in the closest communion with Nature and Nature’s God.
We were camping on Harry’s brook, a salmon stream on the west coast of Newfoundland, and the after-supper talk had drifted to discussion of angling waters near our homes. Between puffs at our cigars, I had asked about the fishing at Lake Hopat cong, and it was like raising the gates of a waste-weir.
We have purchased our ticket over the Missouri Pacific and Iron Mountain Route for Augusta, Arkansas, via Bald Knob, that farfamed southern locality of big game. Having secured our native guide and located our camp, we are ready for business.
Is there anything in this wide world that makes a fellow feel better or does more to warm up the cockles of his heart than to accidentally run across some old hunting companion whom he has bunked with in a hole in a snowbank, trapped with, and lived with in some little old log shack covered with bark and chinked with moss, far out on the frontier, in the deep forest where no other sound, but their two voices penetrated, except the sighing of the pines or the call of some wild animal? In such a situation one forms attachments that never die, attachments that one hopes to renew on the other side of the last divide.
The name of Vic Smith is known over the West and especially all over Montana as one of the oldest and best bear hunters as well as whilom Indian figters of all that section. For years his home has been at Anaconda. Every spring he captures from five to a dozen bear.
Outdoor Life is published by J. A. McGuire and J. A. Ricker on the 1st of each month at No. 1824 Curtis street. Denver. Contributions on any of the subjects to which the magazine is devoted are always solicited. Manuscripts should be in hand at least a month in advance of the date of their publication.
The hot weather seems to have affected the titling propensities of photographers. In one magazine I find reproduced a mashy bit of Long Island that would ordinarily have called for at least a remnant of seven-eighths of a yard of Longfellow, with the harsh laconic title, “Swamp, L. I.”
ARMS OF THE POWERS ENGAGED IN THE CONFLICT IN THE FAR EAST.
EFFECTS OF SHOTS ON “OLD MOSE."
SOUTH DAKOTA TRAP SHOOTING.
THE NEW MODEL COLT.
RESIDUE IN RIFLE BARRELS.
SALT LAKE SCORES.
GARRETT’S WONDERFUL SCORE.
COLORADO’S COMING SHOOT. *
YOUNKMAN’S NEW POSITION.
QUERIES AND ANSWERS.
OUR ALASKAN TRAVELER.
NEW TAXIDERMY MAGAZINE.
TO CURE A DOG OF BITING GAME.
J. D. FIGGINS
L. G. GAYLORD
M. F. WESTOVER
STEPHEN O. BRYANT
ROBERT A. MORRISETTE
D. W. KING
P. T. S.
H. S. BEATTIE
JAMES W. ANTHONY
A. C. HURLBURT
J. H. DeROSS
L. C. READ
J. T. BRECKON
ARTHUR S. PHELPS
C. E. SHELDON
J. A. M.
D. D. S.
Editor Outdoor Life—I notice by the July number of Outdoor Life that my letter on the caliber question has not been received with approval by some of your contributors. This, of course, was not wholly unexpected, and I hope you may allow me space for reply, and at the same time make some further additions on the subject.
(The widespread and constantly increasing circulation of Outdoor Life necessitated adding another valuable feature to this magazine. Questions come to us from all parts of the world relative to training, handling and the care of the sportsman’s dog.