It was in the beautiful October days, when all nature wore her most gaudy dress. From the scarlet leaves of the sumach and dogwood to the yellow and brown of the maple and oak there were all shades and colors and splashes from nature's color pots and brushes.
The long day’s work was over; Jim Turner (farmer) sat on the porch of his little house and rested. The kitchen door was open and his wife was finishing up the supper work. She came out presently, fed the cat and then went on to the woodpile for fuel.
The fast westering sun spread a golden afterglow over the rock slopes of the Santa Ana mountains one October afternoon as the writer and two boon companions rode slowly out of the little Spanish-American settlement of Yorba, down in the heart of sunny southern California.
Bob was the leader of the pack when we removed from eastern Kansas to the western part of the state. And, if possible, his eagnerness for coyotes increased, for sometimes of nights they came so near that Bob was aware of their presence, and this was exceedingly annoying to him.
Deep in your forest, hid Safe in a burrow, there You should have stopped. Instead. Seeking the purer air, Out you came, gamboling, Leaving your mate behind; Joyously rambling, Romping behind the wind. Bunny, the cotton-tail, (O, what a foolish thing!) Hear the wild north wind’s wail, It is a dirge they sing!
He is but slightly larger than the ordinary barn rat, lighter in color and has a hairy tail. Great stories are told about him and the way he carries off portable articles by hooking onto them with his tail and pulling out. We hear of knives and forks, spoons and much mountain jewelry being stolen by this interesting little animal.
It was in the last week of October, 1903, that a report came to me that there was ranging in and about the northwest end of Crooked lake on the boundary between Thurston and Mason counties a large bull elk, an old solitaire. Having made several trips after deer, so that I was barred for the rest of the season, having killed the limit, and being desirous of having at least one more chase, 1 persuaded a boon companion in the hunt, Milo Drake, that perhaps we might make a ten strike if we pulled out Sunday morning early and climbed the ridges around the range of this reported stag.
Below the falls, beyond the spray, where the waters are dark and green, The wild goose seeks below the rocks, its food in the depths between. The mad, mad roar of a mighty voice, no terror wakes, no fears; Through towering cliffs, the echo rings, the voice of a thousand years.
The back room of a certain establishment in the West was the rendezvous of a number of “timber rats” who spent most of their time in the hills, but during the winter soaked in as much heat from the red hot stove in this establishment as their rheumatic joints would absorb between meals.
All aboard! We had made almost the entire trip around the park, and had spent the last few days at the Grand Canon hotel, on the brink of the most vividly colored canon in the world. I would describe this great wonder if it were possible to give any idea of its grandeur, but it must be seen to be appreciated.
On the 25th of February of the present year (1903) we started from Oak Lodge, on the east coast of Florida, for a ten-mile sail down the Indian River to Pelican Island. The sun is warm and though we drift but slowly with the light breeze, we find every moment full of interest.
It was late in the fall that my partner, Jack and 1, started down Snake River, Idaho, on a trapping trip. From a few miles above Little Salmon Falls, just opposite the Thousand Springs, that pour out of the high bluff about half way from the top, for nearly a mile along the river front, the water is clear from these springs, and it.
Buried in the heart of one of the most remote and desolate wildernesses of the United States, that of the Thunder Mountain district of Idaho, stands a curious and interesting work of nature, a gigantic and perfectly formed column of rock, which was not discovered by white man until the gold excitement of 1901-02, unless by some lone trapper in his wanderings.
“Reminds me,” said Hen, as he fumbled the smoked herring critically, “of the time when Bill Stevens rassled th’ Japan feller up to Sangamon. Rec’lect it, Si?” Si glanced up quickly. “Do I? Do 1 eat when I’m hungry?” He glard at Hen indignantly.
Like most travelers in Switzerland, we wanted a glacier experience. The trip would not be complete without it. We had it. It was in August. The weather was warm, all the conditions being favorable. It was only three hours’ walk from our hotel in Chamonix to the Glacier des Bossons, and with a good guide there was no danger.
THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER OR BREFF to BREFF wid'er MESKEN LION
The year after the “Brake Up” our family moved from one of the eastern states to the frontiers of Texas and engaged in stock raising, taking with us one of our old family slaves and his wife, they having refused to leave us when freed. Our ranch was in a sparsely-settled country in the West, where game was abundant.
During my visit to Colonel Joe Roach’s ranch on the South Fork of the Rio Grande River at the holiday time of 1903 I found him complaining a good deal about the loss of much young stock from the depredations of mountain lions, which he stated were very numerous and, some of them, of unusual size.
When San Francisco had no railroad. San Jose was a hamlet, Gilroy was yet little known, Ben Holloway bought his first Henry rifle. He had a great ambition known only to himself. This rifle and what it was to do was his dream-ambition that led to our story.
These pictures began in our June (1903) number, and have probably excited more comment and interest than any single feature ever offered by an American sportsman's magazine. Being exactly true to nature, no sportsman will hesitate to preserve them, and as a result they are being framed and hung in the libraries, “dens,” and offices of the best people in this country.
All sportsmen and true citizens will watch with interest the deliberations of the several state Assemblies that are now in session throughout our land in regard to their actions on game protective measures. There are many good bills before them, many bad bills, and bills of an indifferent nature.
Training, Handling, Correcting Faults, and Care of the Bird Dog.
TUBERCULOS1S (CONSUMPTION) OF THE DOG AND CAT.
QUERIES AND ANSWERS.
SOME NEW BOOKS.
AN ENGLISHMAN’S V’EW.
OLE OLESON ON CALIBRE.
COMMENTS FROM CAPT. GOODRICH.
THE SHEEP NUISANCE.
SHOOTING UP AND DOWN HILL.
GARRETT, AMATEUR CHAMPION.
ED F. HABERLEIN
Dr. Mark White
Alias N. H. Crowell
DR. A. J. WOODCOCK
L. L. GOODRICH
WALTER G. CORKER
N. F. Moore, St. Paul, Minn.—I should be glad to have your opinion as to which breed of dogs—the Irish water spaniel, or the Chesapeake Bay dog—would be the most suited for work in water in this section. Our shooting is mostly on waterfowl and the weather during the shooting seasons such that a dog must be naturally suited to withstand the severe cold.
Editor Outdoor Life:—I have been a constant reader of your magazine since the first issue of same, and think it the finest of all sporting magazines. I enjoy very much the discussions on different calibers of rifles. 1 use a .30-30 Winchester, 22-inch barrel, half magazine, set trigger, with Leyman sights, which I think makes a nice hunting rifle.
When a man has his troubles at home with his wife, And you see the poor woman in tears ’mid her strife, When her husband upbraids her with temper and scorn, And wishes aloud she had never been born, You must Never Butt In, For you’ll find if you do, The hot end of the bargain is waiting for you.