This article by R. H. Winslow was originally contributed to the HUNTER-TRADER-TRAPPER, but being of special interest is reprinted here:
"It was my misfortune sometime ago to contract a nervous disorder, which quite incapacitated me. After securing the medical advice of one of the world's best specialists, it was apparent that I would find health, if at all, only in a 'journey to nature.' Accordingly I decided to leave New York and spend a year in the West, there to hunt quail, prairie chicken, wild turkey, rabbits, bob cats, wolves, deer and bear.
"At first I went to Oklahoma and from there traveled by easy stages to the Mill Iron Ranch in Northwest Texas, which I have thus far made my headquarters.
"The feathered tribe, rabbits, prairie dogs and bob cats interested me for a while, but soon my thoughts became centered on wolves. Indeed, they are extremely interesting, and I was not long in discovering that it would be necessary to cope with animals of almost human intelligence. Too, they were quite plentiful — could be seen any day while riding over the plains — and night they made hideous with their howls. Would I hunt them with horse an gun, horse an dogs, or attempt to trap them? That was the question confronting me.
"My first experience with horse and gun came about in this way: Two young cowboys, Ernest Edwards and Robert Russell, were with me hunting prairie chicken; we saw a wolf lying in the sage grass about five hundred yards away, and decided that although we had shot guns, we would endeavor to ride up sufficiently close to get a shot. Edwards and I were within about eighty yards of the wolf when he started; both fired, and Russell started immediately in pursuit. Russell ran after him for about three miles, when the chase was taken up by Edwards, who, upon his famous sorrel, 'Playmate,' was soon within a few yards of him and fired with his shot gun. Three shots brought him to the ground.
"After this I saw cowboys try to rope wolves, but seldom with success; and frequently they would attempt to kill them from their mounts with carbine or revolver, but were likewise seldom successful. It was not long, accordingly, before it was evident to me that very little success would attend my efforts with horse and gun.
"The next plan was to try riding to the hounds. There are on the ranch many imported wolf-hounds, two grey hounds and two blood hounds. It comprises about a million acres and these dogs are allowed to roam over it at will; sometimes they are at Estellme; sometimes at Shamrock; sometimes at Aberdeen; sometimes at other places. There is no regular hunting with them by the foremen or cowboys, and none of the owners live on the ranch. These hounds are perfectly trained, though, and understand quite well the ways of a wolf. The following is my first experience with horse and dogs: "The day before my arrival at the Beasley Camp, which included a house of a dozen or so rooms, barns and the like, a beef had been killed and the waste left laying about a hundred yards from the house. We had just gone in to luncheon when one of the boys noticed a large wolf going up to eat upon this waste. Within an incredibly short time we were out of our seats, some yelling for the dogs which were lying around the porch, and others straddling the horses already saddled. The chase was on. It lasted, however, for only about twenty minutes, for the wolf was soon 'picked up.' After this we had several other chases.
"Formerly, hunting with hounds here was practicable and extremely interesting, but now that there are wire fences everywhere it is quite impossible to follow the dogs, and, moreover, when after a wolf they frequently leave the ranch and go upon the premises of some 'nester' (farmer) who has planted poison.
"In a pack of a dozen dogs, say, there are generally two grey hounds used as 'tripping' dogs; that is, they run ahead of the main body and trip or throw the wolf, sometimes twice — so the others have time to come up and jump on. Generally they do no fighting themselves.
"The last plan was to try trapping, and I have found that most successful.
"I found that, first, it was necessary to boil the traps, preferably in blood, so as to kill the odor of steel; secondly, that my gloves and the soles of my boots should be dipped in blood, so as to kill all human scent; thirdly, that I should prepare a large number of round logs, about four feet long and weighing about forty pounds, with a notch in the middle of each, to receive the chain. Then came the consideration of bait.
"At first I used no bait but depended solely upon trail setting and for the following reasons: A trapper who was formerly in the employ of the Hudson Bay Company told me of a setting by which he attained the greatest success, and it is as follows: Take a forked stick the shape of a V, the prongs being about two and a half feet long and with knots or projections on them; fit this V around a mesquit bush so the bush will be pressed closely into the sharp part of the V; place the bait, preferably a rabbit — close against the tree and in the sharp part of the V; then set the trap, completely covered, with springs bent inward, eighteen inches back from the bait and in the V, with the chain covered and fastened to the bush. A wolf will go into a V but will never step over anything two inches high to get bait. I tried this setting but without success. The wolves would go nightly within about ten yards of my traps but no nearer.
"Then I tried staking out a cow's head with the stake driven down so it would not project at all above. But before driving the stake in the ground I had the rings attached to my chains on it and under the head. Around this head I set ten traps in a circle. As before, the wolves would go within about ten yards, but no nearer. I decided, therefore, temporarily, to use no bait, but to try trail setting, for nightly two particular paths were literally covered with wolf tracks.
"My traps, logs, gloves and boots having been prepared, they were taken in a wagon to places for settings; the traps were sunk into the ground so that when leveled there was about a quarter of an inch of dirt on top of the tredles; then the chains were sunk; and finally the logs. About the setting: The center of the tredle should be in the center of the trail; place under the tredle a piece of cotton — over it, a round piece of paper twice its size with a place cut out over the restraining lever; cover very carefully and be quite sure there are no lumps to get caught between the jaws when thrown; and, lastly, leave no loose soil visible so there will be no trace whatever of any disturbance of the earth. Three traps should be set in a row with the jaws, when set, six inches apart. This plan was entirely successful, and I caught wolves nightly. In using a log such as has been described there should always be used with it the two-pronged drag such as is furnished with the No. 4 1/2 Newhouse traps. A wolf may get a few hundred yards away, but he will never break loose, and may be traced quite easily. It is unnecessary but I use a bloodhound on the ranch, 'Red,' for this purpose. With a stationary fastening something may break.
"In time it became my good fortune to drift around to the bull pasture where Curtis Brown, a nice young cowboy, is feeding cotton seed to half a thousand bulls. Here I found trail trapping almost impracticable on account of the bulls following the trails and throwing the traps, and because, seemingly, the wolves would go directly to the carcass of a dead bull without reference to any trail. Accordingly I would watch the carcass closely (about twenty bulls have died) and wherever a wolf had begun to eat on a carcass I would set my traps so as to catch him when he returned to his meal. This plan has been all one could ask.
"Finally, I tried luring wolves to my bait by setting four traps in a row as described in trail setting; but between the second and third I buried a bone or lump of meat which had been allowed to roast and smolder all the night before. Wolves could smell this miles away, would come to it and get in the traps. This, indeed, is the best scheme I know anything about.
"I have noticed that Mr. Ernest Thompson Seton and others say a she wolf or dog staked out in the mating season is an infallible lure; and a captive wolf that will howl is good at any time.' We have a number of female wolves around the camp now and have had them for a long while, one is quite gentle and they howl. They have been staked out frequently with a circle of traps around each, but no wolf has been near.
"Aside from the sport to be obtained in trapping wolves, the pecuniary feature is of interest to the trappers. In New Mexico where they are much more plentiful than in Texas, there is a bounty of twenty dollars each on Lobo wolves (Canislupus) and two and one-half dollars on coyotes. Moreover the trapper does not have to wait for his money for the large ranch owners pay cash for the scalps in order to have him trap on their range, thus decreasing the number of wolves and thereby protecting their cattle and sheep. Too, the trapper is usually furnished a horse or two."
While the tourist speeds across the cheerless plains on his way westward, snugly seated in the upholstered berths of an overland limited, the objects of attraction over the landscape are so rare that he will find little desire to spend or waste, as he will say, much time in viewing the scenery; and instead, will settle down to a book or something or other less monotonous than that almost boundless stretch of country, through which he must pass, before he can expect to see the rugged peaks of the Rockies loom up about the distant horizon. Swiftly the limited is carrying him toward his destination, yet slowly very slowly the time passes for him, as hour after hour wears away without bringing a change of scene, until even the monotony of the situation begins to generate in him an interest for the surroundings.
He lends a closer scrutiny to the objects as they speed by. "Why is yonder bluff so lifeless and dreary?" he mused. "What fantastic forms are those near it?" They are but spurs of the famous "Bad Lands." "And this large field of bushes, what is it," he inquires. Some newly formed friend who is better acquainted with the nature of the Great Plains will inform him that this is but a patch of sage bush, an aridity loving plant, characteristic of this region. He will explain that yonder mounds are part of a prairie dog town, and the little marmot like forms, perched in their peculiar attitudes on the little round knolls, represent the inhabitants of this populous city. The traveler has oft heard of prairie dogs, and is surprised on a close acquaintance with them. They appear so different from what his mind has pictured them. He watches them scamper to their burrows, sit up for a moment on their haunches and dive out of sight.
His interest, however, is not completely aroused until he catches sight of a dog like form, half hidden among the sage bush. He watches it as it disinterestedly trots along with drooping head and tail, a picture of despair, most perfectly suited to its environments. Once it stops all alert, looks back over its shoulder, ears pointed and nose uplifted, and the train leaves it behind in all its loneliness. This is our first acquaintance of the coyote or prairie wolf. Coyotes are of several varieties, each differing from the rest through certain peculiarities in form, size or color, and each having a well defined geographical range. Collectively they range from the upper Mississippi Valley westward through the Great Plains and Rocky Mountains, southward to northern Mexico and northward into British Columbia and the Northwest Territories.
While the coyote is found in one or another of its forms, in greater or lesser numbers throughout this region, its most congenial home is among the Bad Lands and among the sandstone ridges, steep sided buttes and deep narrow coulees and canyons in the Colorado and upper Missouri Valleys, and it is here that its greatest numbers are found. Being thoroughly fitted to these surroundings it has been enabled to hold its own through the advent of civilization, while most of its larger co-inhabitants have been sadly reduced in numbers.
It is true that the combined actions of poisons, traps and high power rifles have done much to reduce the numbers of the coyote in some of its favorite haunts, yet, in other localities, its persistent numbers are deserving of considerable credit. They prove but the survival of the fittest.
Among the mountains the coyote is rarely found, though since the coming of the white man with his flocks they have multiplied considerably in several localities even to such an alarming degree that ranches have found it unprofitable to further attempt to raise sheep.
The coyote of the plains is considerably smaller than the wolf, being intermediate in size between the red fox and the grey wolf. It has the short body, bushy tail, rounded head and pointed nose of the fox and might easily be mistaken for one. Its general color is fulvous, grizzled with black and white hairs and lighter underneath a color remarkable for its ability to blend with the brown and grey, that the arid Plains are clothed in the greater part of the year.
Although well proportioned and being where food is usually plentiful, it rarely fattens up, and almost invariably presents a hungry, half fed appearance. Its food consists mainly of small rodents and birds, such as it can dig up from the ground, or waylay by cat-like maneuvers. Preferring to live on a diet of such animals as it is enabled to capture and kill, it resorts to many schemes and tricks to satisfy its desire for fresh meat. Field mice and gophers living in shallow burrows, fall an easy prey to its diggings. Prairie dogs and cotton tails are waylaid at their place of refuge, and grouse and small birds are pounced upon when they venture too near its place of ambush.
Not always, however, is the coyote enabled to capture its game by such easy means, and when it chooses to dine on jack rabbit, it finds it requires all the power of perseverance and endurance it is capable of mustering up to overtake that fleet creature. As it happens, it is often obliged after a long chase to give up its quarry for a humbler meal. Probably it then decides it is not worth while to hunt the jack alone today, for it knows that if it can persuade one of its comrades to join the chase, Mr. Jack is doomed. When hunting in pairs, they give chase in turns, each stopping to rest in turn, thereby having a double cinch on the poor jack rabbit which is compelled to run continually until exhausted.
In the winter when birds are scarce and the small mammals have hibernated or are huddled away under the snow and frozen ground, the coyote is often sorely pressed for food, and he is then forced to content himself with gnawing off an existence from the frozen carcass of a horse or cow that has died probably months before. His ingenuity of last summer is replaced by a stubborn perseverance, which keeps him traveling day and night in search of scraps of food.
In the spring after the young are born, the bitch is kept busy from morn till night trying to satisfy the hunger of her growling litter of pups, and in her frantic efforts to do so, scruples little on running down and killing a stray sheep or an unprotected calf or colt. When, however, this large prey fails and the smaller game proves insufficient, she is again forced to the humbler larder of some carcass she has discovered on one of her many haunts.
Coyotes are not adepts at burrowing, yet, some credit must be accorded them for work in this line. They often follow up mice and gophers for several feet under the sod, though it remains for the female to exhibit the powers of burrowing possessed by her tribe. In late winter in the southern part of her range, and in the early spring in the northern part, she selects a safe location, usually under a boulder or a ledge of rock, or on the face of a rounded point in a coulee or gulch, from where she may keep a sharp lookout, and sets to work to dig a home for her prospective family. Large quantities of dirt are deposited at the mouth of the burrow, yet this amount is remarkably small when compared with the tunnel from which it is removed, which is often twenty feet or more in length and wide enough to admit a boy, or even in some cases a medium sized man.
At the end of the burrow, which is usually elevated, is an enlargement, in which a litter of from three to eight are brought forth. These are blind and helpless, yet after the first day of their earthly career it seems to become necessary that they exercise both their lungs and limbs, and except for the time that is spent in actual sleep, they keep up a persistent scrambling, one over another, and at the same time a constant growling and whining. The cries of the young and the shuffling about of awkward feet can often be distinctly heard at the mouth of the burrow. This is one of the tests the "wolfer" relies on when he has made the find of a burrow with fresh signs.
As soon as the little ones' eyes are open and their legs grow stronger, they begin to travel, first up and down the burrow, a little further each time, until the mouth is reached. Later on, during the warm sunny days they may be seen playing on the hillside near their home like so many kittens. Before they are half grown the fond mother leads her family out for its initial trip, usually to the nearest watering place, to which they subsequently make regular trips.
It is a pleasing sight to see the young coyotes in playful antics jump up the mother's side and play with her tail as they follow her or chase each other around the bushes. As soon as the young are old enough they are taken out and taught the rules and regulations of the hunt, and long before they are full grown they take an active part in the chase.
In late summer the young leave the maternal home in exchange for an independent life, and it may truly be said that the coyote's childhood day's are over, and it must face the stern realities of life with all its serious consequences. It now prefers to live the life of a hermit, with an occasional short interview with its neighbors.
Contrary to the habits of its cousin and neighbor, the wolf, the coyote is not often seen except singly or in pairs, though it is probable that they are more in the habit of congregating during the night, when the eyes of the hunter and his dogs are closed in sleep, and they are at liberty to roam at will. Their stealthy maneuvers are not apt to disclose their presence, and one usually is not aware of the fact that coyotes are near until he is suddenly reminded of it by one of those unearthly screeching, yelping utterances given vent to by the coyote during the long still night. Immediately the call is taken up by some prowler in a different direction, and in turn is repeated by others further away, until the air fairly resounds with that weird cry. Whether uttered in pleasure or in pain, it is one of nature's most unpleasant calls, and embodies all the hopelessness and despair so apparent on the wide plains of the west.
It is hard to describe the cry of the coyote, though a fair idea may be had by imagining a series of sharp, harsh yelps, terminating into a long drawn painfully entreating howl. Often repeated and echoed by several further away, half a dozen are able to produce enough noise to lead a stranger to believe that he is in the midst of a hundred blood thirsty demons who are proclaiming vengeance on any one that might lack of proper protection.
The coyote is detrimental to but a small degree except to the sheep industry. It is true that coyotes, when hard pressed by hunger, have been known to rob the ranches of its poultry or even to kill a calf or colt, but it is on the defenseless sheep and lambs that they commit their greatest ravages.
In some of the western states, where stock raising is an important industry, large bounties have been paid at different times for the destruction of the coyotes, and these bounties, together with those offered by stock associations and private parties, have induced a number of men and sometimes women, too, to make a business of the extermination of the coyote. Where formerly little time or trouble was spared to destroy these pests, now everybody who has an opportunity eagerly sets traps or poisonous baits for them, shoots at them at long range, runs them down with his bronco to ensnare them in the fatal noose of his lariat, or digs them and their families out of the depths of their underground retreat. The result is obvious. But few localities remain where coyotes hold their own in their original numbers.
The coyote is a wary animal and hard to approach within reasonable pistol shot range, and then only an experienced eye can draw a bead through the gun sights on its dull coat against the usual background of brown or grey. They are fleet foot creatures, and anything short of a greyhound, they are apt to leave behind struggling in the dust. Grey hounds and fox hounds are sometimes employed to run them down, and if one is caught out on the open plain by a pack of these hounds it is quickly dispatched. Frightened almost out of his wits, it repeatedly takes a quick glance back over its shoulder at the furious mob pursuing it, only to find that they are each time a little nearer, until it feels the sharp clasp of the jaws of the leader in deathly embrace. What sport this would be to some of our noblemen across the sea.
Like the red fox, the coyote will sometimes form the friendship of the farmer's dog, and once arrived at a mutual understanding amicable relationship is not easily broken.
As has been said, the coyote is swift afoot, but its wind is easily exhausted, and many a one has fallen a prey, through this lack, to the lariat of the hardy cowboy, who desires nothing more exciting for recreation than a rough and tumble chase through a prairie dog town in pursuit of one of these nimble creatures. Imagine the roughly clad westerner with hair and kerchief flying in the breeze, and the magic noose swinging round and round over his head, whooping at the top of his voice and urging his steed on to its best. Imagine him shooting forth that magic noose and see it settle over the coyote's head. A jerk of the hand tightens the rope, and a turn in the horse's course takes the coyote off his feet and drags him along bouncing from mound to mound into insensibility.
Coyotes cannot be said to possess a vicious nature. Armed with a short club, one may safely enter their burrows, and when trapped the same weapon will complete the work, as they are cowardly and rarely show fight.
Though possessing considerable cunning, coyotes are easier trapped than foxes, though they are slow at taking bait. Large numbers, however, are annually poisoned by placing strychnine in the carcasses of animals that have fallen, through old age or otherwise, of which the pangs of hunger are apt to force coyotes to make a meal. The action of strychnine is exceedingly fast, and it is no unusual occurrence to find a dead coyote a few feet from where it had been enjoying a dinner of poisoned meat.
Of all methods resorted to, however, none is highly responsible for the reduction of the coyote as that of digging up the young (and this often gives up the mother too) from the burrows. By one who is versed in coyote habits, the burrows are easily found, and the work of an hour or two with pick and shovel usually forces them to give up their treasures.
Not always, however, are the results so easily and quickly arrived at. The writer well remembers the first litter of pups he was fortunate enough to capture. After a three days' search among the deep coulees, along the upper Missouri, a den was located. But where? In the crevice of a ledge of sand rock. By placing my ear to the mouth of the burrow, I could hear the pups whining. The burrow was too small to admit me, and as it was too late in the day to commence operations, I plugged up the opening lest the bitch should proceed to transfer her young to some other place of refuge during the night. The greater part of the next day a friend and myself spent in enlarging the burrow with sledge and crowbar, and it was not until late in the afternoon that I was able to crawl in far enough and with the aid of a short stick with some nails drawn through the end, to rake out the six young, one by one.
For more than 40 years "Old Hank" Morrison has made his home in the lonely cabin on the shore of a small lake miles from any human habitation, in Alger County. I have often visited this strange old chap, and although the frosts of 70 winters has bent his giant form and silvered his hair, his heart is young. His past life I have never been able to fathom, but to judge from the choice books in several languages in his little cabin, I am led to believe there is a romance in the long, long ago.
The writer slowly recovering from a stroke of paralysis, wishing to get outside the confines of civilization, decided to drop in on "Old Hank" recently. I made a trip despite the deep snow and the protest of my doctor. When I pounded on his door it was rather late at night. "Who in ----," and then pausing in astonishment, threw the door wide open and held out his hand. "Hello Jack," he fairly shouted, shaking my hand in real pump handle fashion, and with all the vigor of his mighty frame. "Blest if I ever expected to see you again! Well! well! well!" He helped me put the horse away in good shape, and then got me a regular "bang up" supper despite the late hour.
Next morning after pancakes and coffee, the very first thing to attract my attention, when I stepped outside was two huge wolf pelts nailed to the side of the shack doing duty as the barn. I became interested at once owing to the unusual size and freshness of both. "Fifty dollars in one night is like finding money, eh," remarked the old man.
I asked him how he managed to catch these cunning animals, knowing that others had met with poor success elsewhere. Says he, "I didn't learn the art of wolf trapping by mail — I have been afflicted with the fad of wolf trapping for 30 years, and in pursuit of them, I have learned a few things not observed by other hunters. I may not know it all but I think I have the only successful trick of trapping these cunning animals and any man who will try my suggestions will meet with good success."
Wolves are very suspicious animals, and have a keen scent for human beings. They will sometimes make a wide detour around a place where I have blazed a tree for the purpose of marking a spot I want to again visit. They are very observing and while the scent of a man's trail through the forest is fresh they will not come within many feet of his path. Hunters find in the school of bitter experience that it is no easy matter to catch them in traps. Old trappers will tell you that it is easier to catch the cutest fox than it is to snare the dullest and most stupid wolf. I have followed the same method all my life — I learned the trick from a half breed trapper in the far Canadian Northwest.
I select an open place in the woods or on the edge of the forest. It is necessary to have a knoll or mound near the center or edge of the clearing on which to place the trap, and in plain view of your bait which you propose to place there for the benefit of Mr. Wolf. A piece of venison or ham is about the best bait to use. I hang this on a sapling or tree and high enough from the ground so the wolf cannot get it by jumping. Make no mistake, mind you, regarding the height from the ground. I put it at least eight feet, for I can tell you a wolf is no slouch when it comes to jumping, especially when the reward is a good chunk of meat, and he happens to be hungry.
"Why not plant a trap under the bait," I suggested, in an effort to appear wise. "Not on your life," says he. "Mr. Wolf is always looking out for just such a joke."
Continuing, he says, "I then cut a stake about six feet long — one with a crotch at one end. I sharpen the other end for the purpose of driving it into the ground. The ring on the end of the chain which is fastened to the trap, I slip over the stake up to the crotch. I then drive the stake into the ground so that no part of it is exposed. I place the trap on the highest part of the knoll and then cover it with leaves. I never take the leaves in my bare hands. I use a piece of bark to carry the leaves in and always from some other place than in the immediate vicinity of the trap, for, mind you, the vagabond is quick to detect if the leaves have been disturbed, and will also scent the presence of man if the leaves have been placed there with his hands.
And remember, it is absolutely necessary that no part of trap, chain or stake be left exposed to view. You see, if you leave the top of the stake sticking out, showing where it was cut off, it is enough to make the vagabond of the woods suspicious that there is a "nigger in the fence" somewhere, and he will lose no time in getting into the next township — instead of attacking the bait.
The bait and trap should be from 30 to 40 feet apart — gauge the distance according to the lay of the ground where the trap is set. When the wolf scents the bait, he will approach it with great caution and endeavor to reach it by jumping. After several unsuccessful attempts to reach it, he will proceed to the highest ground in the immediate vicinity of the bait, where he will set himself upon his haunches and set up a great howl, calling every wolf within the hearing of his voice to the spot.
Your trap, you see, is set upon the highest point of this mound or knoll, and a wolf is almost certain to get into the concealed trap. I sometimes set as many as eight traps on a mound in the vicinity of the bait, and I have caught from two to four wolves in a single night in this way. This was in cases, of course, where a pack arrived before the original finder of the bait was caught. You see if they had found him in a trap when they arrived on the scene, they would not come within yards of the place, but would cut out for tall timber at once, even if they did get a whiff of the bait on the sapling.
Wolves are even more easily caught in the spring of the year than at any other time. This is, of course, after the close of the hunting season. They are hunters themselves and prefer to chase and kill their own game and this accounts for the fact that they will seldom ever touch a deer carcass left in the woods by hunters. When the snow is deep they hunt deer by following their tracks for hours, even days, until they finally get their prey into a place where the animal can't run or defend itself. The feast is then on in short order.
Wolves kill more deer in this country than two legged hunters. If the state is going to do the right thing to protect the deer, just let them put a bounty of $50.00 on the wolves in every county in the Upper Peninsula. Then the woods will be full of men with rifles, and in a year or two there wouldn't be a wolf in Northern Michigan.
If the state did this instead of getting out a lot of swell books on the game laws, we would have the deer with us a few years yet But as it is now, the wolves alone will pick the bones of the last deer in this whole Northern Michigan in less than three years from now. Mark you these words, the state now pays $25.00 for every pelt, but it don't seem to induce hunters and trappers to make a business of wolf trapping. Even with plenty of wolves to catch, following the business for a living is one of extreme hardship, but if they put the bounty in the $50.00 notch, then there would be something doing and the hardship would have no terrors to the men who took up the hunt in earnest."
I spent a week with this interesting man. He has over 300 Newhouse traps of all sizes and quite a pile of mink and skunk skins. He said he never trapped for muskrats as he didn't consider them worth while. His forte being mink, otter, skunk, fox and wild cat, with wolves a side line — although it didn't appear as such to me.
He was greatly interested in my 35 caliber Automatic Winchester rifle and when I fired it a few shots for him, as quick as I could, his eyes stuck out like tea cups. "Say, Hank, you ought to get one." "Not if I know myself, them pop guns is all right for dudes and those fellows with that tired feelin'. Old Betsy is good enough for me." So saying, he took down "Betsy" for my inspection. It was a Sharpe's rifle and a good one, too. It shoots a 45-100 Sharpe's special with a 550 grain ball set trigger, open and peep sights, and weighs 12 pounds. And just to show me how she behaved, he blew a two quart jug off a stump at an estimated distance of 500 yards. "How many deer have you ever killed, Uncle?" I asked. "Well, I can't say, Jack, but give me a dead rest and I can plug a dollar every time at 100 yards." "Well, for heaven's sake, how many have you shot at?" "Well, I can't tell, Jack, but I must have shot at more than 1,000 of 'em at not over 50 yards."
As a pledge of my friendship, I gave him my Marble pocket axe and knife. It was with a heavy heart that I grasped his honest hand to say good bye — perhaps for the last time on this earth. If so, I sincerely hope to meet him in the "Happy Hunting Grounds" to part no more.