File:Forest and stream (1886) (14781720902).jpg

Identifier: ForeststreamXXVIA (find matches)
Title: Forest and stream
Year: 1873 (1870s)
Authors:
Subjects: Periodicals Hunting Fishing Outdoor life Sports
Publisher: New York, N.Y. : (Forest and Stream Publishing Co.)
Contributing Library: Smithsonian Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Biodiversity Heritage Library

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m, I thought, Its me youre hunting, is it ? I was justleaving the woods and as the sounds bore down nearer onmy trail, I turned and stood perfectly still, thinking: Well,if those wolves are foolish enough to attack a man armedwith a Winchester rifle, just let them come on. And so Iwaited. Nearer and nearer they came until I heard them atthe edge of the timber only fifty yards away. They musthave seen me then; there was a low growl, a snarl or two,and all was still. I heaid them no more, but after a littleturned and went on my way. Next day I tramped twenty-five miles alone, with theusual luck. On the next (the 17th day) I went in a new di-rection, into the spruce and tamarac swamp. On the roadinl had the satisfaction of killing a hare, and of snipping offthe heads of three partridges, with the rifle, thereby gettingthe best possible assurance that my aim was becoming true.When well into the swamp, 1 came across the tracks of fourmoose, but it was too late to follow them so I returned.
Text Appearing After Image:
A GREAT RUSTY RET) BEAST CHARGING THROUGH THE BRUSH, What a fascination there is about tracks in the snow; whatendless stories one will read and learn from the telltale snow;there is something fantastic about the thought that just atthe other end of that row of dots is the beast that madethem, and it is only a question of time for one to overtakeit. The record of every movement is so perfect that it affectsone most strangely. I remember long ago writing down aday among the tracks, at a time when I was less accustomedto them, and therefore more impressed than now. Here itis in doggerel for which the writers then youthfulness mustbe the apology: The white owl sits on the low snow drift and thinks that the timeflies slow, Ere the door of the shanty is opened, and forth to the trapping we go. Over the rolling prairie deep iu snow, over the highest ridge into thepoplar scrub below, Reading as I run the tale of the tracks in the snow. Here runs thestraight fox trail; Here one foot raised, h

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