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THE HISTORY
OF
mn ie DAY OUT: OF
SEVENTEEN THOUSAND,

BY

_ JUDGEYNUTTING.

ILLUSTRATIONS BY CAROLINE S. KING.

OSWEGO,
R. J. OLIPHANT, PRINTER AND STATIO NER.
1889,

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mee OLD PILE -LOCK UN

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find How | Killed my First Partridge.

| WAS a farmer’s boy and lived on
the old farm where I was born.
This old homestead, the dearest spot
in all the world to me, was about mid-
way between Lake Ontario and Oneida
Lake. A swift running spring-brook,
called ‘‘South Branch of Little Sal-
mon,” formed the southern boundary
of the farm for the distance of a hun-
dred rods or more. Our house stood
upon a hill, and the farm of over a
hundred acres took in not only the hiil

= but the interval land commencing at
the foot and stretching southward to the creek above
named. The farther bank of that beautiful stream was

4 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

father’s south line for a long distance. This interval we
called the ‘‘ Flat.” It was a beautful piece of land, easy
of tillage and exceedingly fertile.

When I was a boy ten years of age, October, 1850,
this part of the town of West Monroe was comparatively
anew country. The original forests still covered a large
part of that section. Indeed, my father’s farm was sur-
rounded with woods. Several small farms, and two as
large as father’s, were in the same clearing, but you could
stand on the hill near our house and look about you to
every point of the compass and your vision would meet
the large trees of maple, birch, beech and hemlock which
had been there for centuries. Ona clear day this was a
beautiful landscape ; woods all about you, with here and
there a neighbor’s house, barn and apple orchard in
sight; and at one point, away southward, you could
plainly see the glistening waters of the ‘‘ South Branch.”

We lived in a large, wood-colored house, with two
wings. It hada big chimney, which was so placed as to
accommodate the whole house. This chimney reached far
above the highest point of the roof. At the top the flue was
as large as the head of a big barrel. It reached to the
kitchen, where there was an immense fire-place. It
reached to the square room, or parlor, where there was a
smaller fire-place, and it reached to the guest’s bedroom
where there was a still smaller fire-place. So, in fact,

THE OLD .PILL-LOCK GUN. 5

this chimney had a large base and in it were the three
fire-places.

The old kitchen was the place for fun in winter time.
Sometimes when the weather was cold and stormy we
would trim the kitchen fire-place with evergreens. These
would not last long, but would make the great blazing
fire look very nice for a time. When the wind howled
and the snow filled the air at night we would put a huge,
round, solid beech, birch or maple log in the fire-place
for a ‘‘back-log.” This would be a foot and a half
through and seven or eight feet long. You should
have seen the fire we could build with such a log fora
starter. We would pile on the hard wood chips and
splinters, pieces of birch bark and sometimes pine knots.
The fire would reach far up the chimney and would roar
and crackle at a great rate. The whole kitchen, to the
farthest corner, would be thoroughly warmed and lighted
by it.

The kitchen was very large, and had a big, square
post, painted red, standing in the center. The games
and pranks we played about this old post, at these times,
still linger in my memory like the aroma of flowers.

I commenced this story, however, to tell you about
the ‘‘Old Pill-lock Gun,” and the first partridge I ever
killed.

My father had two guns at this time. One was a

6 THE.OLD PILL-LOCK, GUN.

single-barrelled fowling piece, which would weigh about
six pounds and a half. Its stock was old, and did not fit
very well. It had a round, bronzed barrel, and it was a
curious fire-arm, you may be sure. It would shoot like
the mischief, when properly loaded, however. Father
had killed many a fine bag of game with it in days gone
by.

The old ‘‘ Pill-lock”’ was the most striking and curious
thing about this gun. The cylinder that went into the
barrel at the breech, was like that of any muzzle-loading
gun, except, perhaps, it was a trifle larger. In the place
of the nipple, which, in a cap lock, receives the percus-
sion cap, there was a hole in the top of the cylinder.
The lock and hammer were like those in an ordinary gun,
except that the hammer was pointed at the end, and the
point fitted into the hole in the cylinder. The firing per-
cussion was in the shape of a pill, about the size of the
small, round sugar pills, used by doctors to cure sick
people, and these pills were black, and were kept and
carried in a goose quill. When the gun was loaded, we
were careful to see that the powder, which had been put
in the gun, came in sight in the hole in the cylinder, and
then we took one of the little black pills from the goose
quill, and put it in the hole so that it would rest on the
bottom, where the point of the hammer would strike it,
and create the fire that reached the powder in the gun,
and explode the charge.

THE OLED. PILL-LOCK.. GUN. Z

There was another gun, which was called the ‘‘smooth
bore.” It had a shorter and thicker barrel, and had once
been a rifle. It had been bored out, and would now
shoot either shot or a large ball. This gun had a better
stock, which reached clear to the muzzle. It was fitted
with a cap lock, and was considered, by all who had ever
seen it shoot, a first-class gun.

The two guns hung in the kitchen, side by side, on
wooden hooks, which had been made by father, from
crooked branches of a tree, and nailed to the ceiling.
These two guns were loaded, as a rule, the year ’round.

Father knew, very well, how to care for a gun, and
how to shoot both rifle and shot-gun. He had moved to
the old farm when it, and the surrounding country, were
covered with forests. The woods were then full of bears,
deer, wolves and other animals, and he had learned to
handle a gun, and shoot, as well from necessity as pleas-
ure. Father was a young man then, and now his hair
and beard had begun to turn gray. It was, even now, a
very dangerous thing for a hawk to attempt to make a
dinner of our chickens when father was about. Nine
times out of ten the hawk would pay the penalty of his
daring with his life.

The deer and bears had been driven away and killed
off, and father’s love for hunting had to be satisfied by
capturing smaller game. He loved to hunt partridges

8 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

when the fall came on and the farm work had been fin-
ished. When the potatoes had been dug and put away
in the cellar; when the apples had been carefully picked
and barrelled for winter; when the corn had been husked
and piled in a great yellow heap in the crib, and when
the wood for winter had been housed, then it was that
the old hunting fever came on and the partridge, wood-
cock and squirrel had to hide carefully or they were gone.

For two or three years in the fall, father had let me
go with him on these hunting trips. I had not been
allowed to carry a gun, though I fairly ached to do so.
When I first commenced to go on these hunting trips, I
was so small that father some times helped me over large
logs, piles of brush and muddy places. I had fired the
old pill-lock gun a few times to scare the crows from the
corn or at a flock of pigeons passing over, but I had as
yet only learned the a, b, c of gun lore. With my limited
experience and few years, I was on this October morning
to have a gun fully loaded and was to commence hunting
in earnest. Father had told me this while caring for the
chores that very morning. When breakfast time came
and we all sat about the table, I found that my appetite
had failed; the excitement, caused by the expected hunt,
had taken: away the desire for food. My father had
noticed this and said, ‘‘ Young man, you must eat a good
breakfast so that you will be strong for the tramp,” and
in obedience I managed to follow the advice.

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 9

Breakfast was over and yet the sun was hardly in sight
over the tall trees on the highlands to the eastward. The
dew which had gathered during the night, still glistened
among the grasses of the low lands like diamonds, when
I heard father whistle for ‘‘ Snap,” a beautiful little
spaniel, who came bounding and barking into the house.
Father reached up and lifted the ‘‘Old Pill-lock Gun” off
the hooks and carefully placed it in my hands. I shall
never forget the feelings of pride and happiness which swept
over me as I took that gun.

Father said, ‘‘ There is a gun, loaded with death
and destruction. You are to bea hunter in earnest to-
day. I have lost my boy tocarry game, but I have found
a brave hunter.” As he said this his face lighted up with
a smile and-he reached up and took from the hooks the
smooth bore.

Just as we were about to go, I heard my mother’s voice
calling me; I found her in the square room about her
household duties. I went up to her and she put one hand
on one side of my face and the other hand on the other
side and kissed me. As she did this, she said ‘‘ Be care-
ful now and not hurt yourself or your father, and bring
me a partridge of your own killing, and I will see that it
is cooked fit for a king.”

My mother was tall and straight, and had dark hair
and large, dark gray eyes. She was a beautiful woman,

fe) THE OLD PILL-LOCK’ GUN.

and as good, loving and patient as she was beautiful.
God bless, keep and guard her down to the end, for she
yet lives at nearly eighty. I will, perhaps, tell you more
about her some other time.

I passed out of the door, and asI did I saw father
standing in the road with the butt of his gun resting on
the ground and he was gazing off over the eastern hills.
We started in the direction he was looking, across the
meadow and pasture land of a neighbor. We looked for
no gates or bars, but we went right on over the fences
when they came in our way. We paid no attention to
roads or paths; we made our own roads andpaths. The
dog “‘ Snap” ran here and there, happy as a lark and
handsome as a picture. He loved to hunt as well as
father or I. He was a long-eared, curly-haired, liver-
colored Spaniel, and was well trained and exceedingly in-
telligent. In memory, I can see father now as he walked
along on that beautiful morning. He was six feet and an
inch in height, and weighed about one hundred and
seventy pounds and was as straight as an arrow. His
complexion was dark; his nose long and straight; his
eyes were as sharp as an eagles; his hair curled a little;
his hands and feet were small and well shaped, and he
stepped as spry and light asa fox. He sleeps the long,
last sleep now, but I remember him so well that I know I
have given you a good description of him.

THE OLD‘ PILL-LOCK GUN. rt

We soon came near the woods, and words are feeble
agents with which to describe how beautiful the leaves and
branches were as they stood out between the sky and us.
The early frosts had here and there touched the foliage
and in obedience to that touch, there appeared the beautt-
ful colorings seen in a western New York forest in Autumn.

Just before we reached Hess’ sugar bush father said:
‘*You must always carry your gun so the muzzle points
away from any one who is with you and also away from
yourself. Then if it should accidentally be discharged no
one will be hurt. When you are in the woods, you must
guard against the hammer of your gun being pulled back
by coming in contact with bush or vine, as I once knewa
gun to be discharged and do mischief in that way.”

We had now reached the underbrush which fringed
the woods. This was an old blackberry patch and a beauti-
ful hide for partridges. Father said to the dog, ‘‘Gohunt
them up.” The spaniel disappeared like a flash. We
stepped into and through the brush and briars to the
forest of tall sugar maples. The ground was covered
with fallen leaves, and the ferns, which had been sheltered
from the frost by the branches and leaves overhead,
still were very beautiful and graceful as they bowed now
and then inthe morning breeze.

The dog was at work in the brush skirting the woods.
We kept along opposite the dog as near as we could. We

TZ THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

knew where he was by the small dry twigs which were
broken as he ran hereand there. Father said, ‘‘ If there
are any birds in there, he will rustle them out sure, and
if any birds are flushed they will fly out of the brush by
us and down the hill to our left to find a hiding place
among the branches of those hemlocks you can just see by
the borders of ‘ Benson’s creek.’ If we are quick and
sharp when the birds pass us, we shall get one or two.
If we are not lucky enough to shoot them on the wing,
we will try and hunt them up after they have secreted
themselves among the branches of the trees.”

Sure enough, as we were walking along with our eyes
and ears ready to catch the first sight or sound from the
bushes, we heard the dog jump and give a series of sharp
barks or screams. At once there was a great flutter of
wings and up out from the bushes came three partridges,
one after the other. They were as big as good sized
chickens and likea flash they started across our path and
down the hill towards thehemlock. I forgot I had a gun,
but with eyes strained, looked after the birds as they
went by like the wind. Not so with father. He stooda
little to the left of me and in the direction the birds were
going. The tall, graceful ferns came upto his knees.
His left foot was a little in advance of the other; his gun
was to his face just a moment and I saw the end of the
smooth bore following the course of the birds. Just a

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 13

moment, a mere item of time, and there was a flash and
a roar and off to our left I heard a ‘‘ thud” as one of the
birds caught by the shot from the gun fell in the leaves.

I first thought of my gun just as the bird father had
killed struck the ground. But it was too late. My
chance had passed for that time.

My father was as handsome as a picture as he stood
there and loaded the old smooth bore. His face was
slightly flushed and an exquisite smile lighted up his
usually sober face. I noticed his hand when he loaded
the gun and it was as steady as could be, but the fire of
excitement burned in his keen eye.

The dog brought the partridge in his mouth and laid
it at father’s feet and looked up into his face, whined a
little and moved his tail, saying plainly in dog language,
‘You are the lad for me.’”’ The spaniel never noticed
me at all, he no doubt blamed me because I had not
killed one of the birds. Any way he acted very coolly
towards me.

Father lifted the partridge by the bill. It was a father
bird and had a beautiful black ruffle of feathers about his
neck. He had a tail which, when spread, was as large as
a Jady’s fan and of the same shape. The feathers of the
tail were very beautiful; each one was black at a point
near the end, though the very end was light colored, so
that when the tail was spread there was a border all the

14 THE OLD PILL-LOCK ‘GUN.

way round the tail, and also a light border all the way
round at the end of the feathers. The feathers on the
body of the bird were mottled white and black, so per-
fectly mingled that the color was neither white or black.
Light colored feathers grew away down the legs to the
feet and the feet were like a chicken’s, except they were
black or very dark colored. It was a noble bird and no
mistake.

Father said, ‘‘ There my boy, that is the way to do it,
why didn’t you kill one?” I owned up that I had been
so excited that I had forgotten my gun until the birds had
gone and, in fact, till his bird struck the ground. He
said, ‘‘ Well never mind, you have not been in the habit
of shooting and it is no wonder you forgot your gun the
first time, you will soon get used to it, however, and then
you will give a good account of yourself.” Father put
the bird in his hunting sack, which hung over one
shoulder, and we started on down the hill in the direction
the other birds had gone.

These birds are very cunning in the way they will
hide from a hunter ina tree. They usually light on an
evergreen because it gives better opportunity to secrete
themselves. They light on a limb, high up, and:sit close
to the body of the tree. They sit very straight and still.
It takes a sharp eye to find them when thus hidden.

We went down among the hemlocks and looked every

THE OLD PILL-LOCK. GUN. 15

one over carefully, but could not see a feather. We
walked round each tree and examined it the best we could
and finally gave it up and passed beyond the trees down
to the margin of the brook which here ran over a pebbly
bottom. Just as we reached the water we heard a rustle
and flutter of wings up toward one of the hemlocks we
had passed and examined, and out jumped one of the
partridges we had looked for. She flew right back toward
the spot she had started from. The dog pricked up his
ears and whined and father said, ‘‘ Never mind we will
let her go; she isso frightened that she would fly again
before we could get in gun shot of her if we attempted to
look her up.”

We passed down the creek a little ways until we found
some stones which came above the surface of the water,
om which we could cross the stream dry shod. I was
thirsty and spoke of taking a drink of the water from the
brook, but father told me to wait a little while and he
would show me a spring from which I could satisfy my
thirst. Just as we reached the other side of the stream
I saw some tracks in the soft soil near the water. I called
my father’s attention to them and asked what they were
and he said, ‘‘ They are the tracks of a coon, these tracks
were made last night; he went to the corn-field after soft
corn, or perhaps he was looking along here after clams.”
The tracks looked liked a medium sized dog’s tracks, only

16 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

they were long and slim and you could see the nails were
sharp. I asked father if we could not hunt the coon up.
He said, ‘‘ It would be a very difficult thing to findhim as
he is now no doubt secreted a long distance from here in
the hollow of some tree asleep, and will not stir out again
till night.” |

We went on, over a beech ridge, and down into a
ravine. As we came near the bottom, I heard the musi-
cal sound of running water. <A few paces further down
we stepped around a bush of alders, and there, just be-
fore us, was a boiling spring, as big as a dining-table.
The water bubbled up from a dozen places in the bottom,
and though the water in the spring was quite deep, you
could see the smallest particle on the bottom—it was so
clear. I was about to kneel, and drink of the clear,
sparkling waters. Father told me to wait a moment,
and he stood his gun beside a tree, and stepped a few
paces away. When he returned, he had two large leaves
of the basswood tree. He handed me one, and then took
the other, and, with a few movements of the fingers,
fashioned the leaf into a drinking cup, somewhat like a-
cornucopia. He stooped down, and carefully filled it
part full of the sweet water of the spring, and held it to
my lips, and I drank from it what now seems the sweet-
est draught that I ever tasted. Father smiled, and cast
the leaf from him; took the other from my hand and
made a second cup, and himself drank heartily.

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 17

He then picked up his gun, and was about to start on,
but he stopped, lowered the gun, and stood and gazed
long and silently upon the waters of the spring. He
looked like a piece of statuary, as he stood there—the
woods all about, and the beautiful spring just in front of
him. I asked him what he was thinking about. He
started, and looked at me, and said, ‘‘It is thirty years
since the first time I saw that spring. I was twenty-one
years of age, and these waters bubbled up and ran away,
just as they do now. All these years has this spring
been noiselessly sending forth to the world that same life-
giving water. It never gets weary, nor does it stop for a
moment in its good work. The Divine Being, to whom
we are all accountable, and who guides us all our lives,
if we will let him, furnishes the fountain somewhere in
the hills. This spring, my boy, should teach us a lesson
in life. It should teach us that the things that come
from God’s hands are pure and clean. It should teach
us not to stop in our efforts to do our fellow-men good.
It should teach us to do acts of love without show or
noise. It does tell us that God has provided, and will
provide for all the beings dependent upon him.”

He had forgotten, and I am sure I had, where we were.
But just at this time the dog ran down the stream a little
and looked up and barked, and we saw, on looking over
his head, a black squirrel about to jump from the top of

18 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

one tree to another. Father said, ‘‘ Shoot him just as he
stops to gather for the leap.”” Up went the old “ Pill-
lock,” and as the squirrel was about to jump I fired at
him. My! how the old gun kicked and smoked. When
the smoke had cleared away, no other execution had
been done except to detach a few leaves from the branches
of the trees overhead by the shot, which came circling
to the ground. I also found that a small piece of the
skin from my right cheek had been loosened. The squir-
rel, as lively as a cricket, had now gone to the body of
the tree and concealed himself away up toward the top.
We could not see him for he kept very still. Father said,
‘¢ He is on the other side of the trunk, and will keep the
body of the tree between himself and us if he can. You
walk round that side of the tree, andas you come in sight
so he can see you, he will come around on this side, and,
before he knows it, I shall get a shot at him.” So I
walked around the tree, and as I came nearly opposite
father, I saw him raise his gun quickly. I looked away
up in the tree, and saw the squirrel run out on the end
of a branch toward another tree. He stopped a moment
to get ready to jump and father fired. I heard a sharp,
cutting sound as the shot sped on its way, and then saw
the leaves and bark about the squirrel fly, and the squirrel
dropped off the limb. He did not come down, how-
ever; he hung by his paws to the limb a moment, his

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THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 21

long, bushy tail hanging straight. I was about to fire,
but was stopped by my father’s saying, ‘‘ Don’t shoot ;
he is dead enough and will come down soon.” Just then
his paws loosened and he fell through the lower branches
to the leaves at our feet.

The dog was about to pounce upon him, but father
stopped him and went and picked him up. He held him
in his hand and smoothed his black hair and long, bushy
tail. It was a beautiful animal, as black as coal, long,
slender body, strong limbs and paws, a cunning head,
with long, slim front teeth, and cute ears that stood
straight out from his head. He had long hairs at the
side of his mouth like the hairs' about a cat’s mouth we
call ‘‘whiskers.” His tail was as long as his body and
covered to the tip with beautiful black hair. He would
weigh two pounds and a half. Father put him away in
his game bag with the partridge, loaded his gun and on
we started.

In a very short time we came to the main stream of
that part of the country, called ‘‘ South Branch.” It is
quite a large stream. It is two or three rods across, and
runs still and deep at this point. It is the same stream
that passes to the south of our house. As we came to
the water, father stopped and said, ‘‘ Just across the
creek, there, in that low ground among the elms, we
sometimes find a wood-cock, even at this time of the year.

22 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

The most of these birds go south before this, but, now
and then, one stays till nearly the first of November.
We will go down to a log, which reaches across the stream
just below here, and go over and see if the dog cannot
find one of these beautiful and curious birds.” So we
walked down along the margin of the still-running stream,
a little way, and, sure enough, there we found an old,
moss-covered log, reaching from bank to bank. It
looked as if it had been there for many years, as, no
doubt, it had. Father carried both guns, as we crossed.
We reached the other side safely, though I took the pains
to hang on to the alders that came within my reach, on
the way over. If wood-cock could be found in this cover,
they would be along the margin of the stream, in the
thick alders. So father stationed me a little way from
the spot where we stepped upon the shore. I stood be-
tween two great elm trees, that were about two rods
apart. I faced up the stream, and, at the suggestion of
father, I cocked my gun. Father and the dog took a
roundabout way, up the creek, keeping some distance
from the water. They went twenty-five or thirty rods,
and then turned to the left, and went to the margin of
the’creek. I heard father say, ‘* Look them up,” to the
dog. Then it was that every sense I had was on the
alert. I heard father and the dog come along down the
creek, and when they had reached about half way to me

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 23

the dog gave one of his sharp, warning barks. I sawa
puff of smoke in the thick brush, and then heard the re-
port of the ‘‘smooth bore,” and in half a second the
shot rattled in the branches of the elm over my head.
Just then my eye caught sight of the bird coming right
toward me. The old ‘ Pill-lock”’ was to my face in an
instant, and, taking a quick aim, I fired. The next
thing I remember I was picking myself up out of the
leaves. The old ‘‘ Pill-lock” lay at my side, smoking
from the muzzle, as innocent as could be, but it had
downed me.

Father was near me and reached down his hand and
grasped mine and helped me up, and, as he did so, he said,
**Did you kill the bird?” While he asked the question, he
rubbed his hand along my right arm, and said, ‘‘ No bones
broken, let us look for the bird.”” I picked up the old gun,
and father loaded it, and we started to search for the game.
I noticed father did not look as though he expected to
find anything, and I confess I felt that way myself. After
a little, father inquired where the bird was when I fired.
I told him, as near as I could, and also stated the course
the bird was flying. I told father that I did not see the
bird after I fired, but I first saw smoke, and lots of it,
and then I saw stars, and many of them, and that was all
I recollected about it. The bird was somewhere, how-
ever, dead or alive, and, with the dog, we set about find-

24. THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

ing it. We started slowly down the stream, the way the
bird was flying when I fired.

We had not gone far when father called to me to come
where he was. When I reached him, he pointed his
finger and said: ‘‘ Do you see that little bushy hemlock
near that pool of water? Well, look along down its stem
to the ground and then to the left near that old dark
colored chunk of wood.” I did as I was told, and there,
not more than a rod from us, sat the wood-cock with his
long bill, his big round eyes and long legs. I started to
pull up my gun but father put his hand on the barrel and
said, ‘‘ You are too near, you will spoil the bird to shoot
it from here.”” So we stepped back about three rods and
then father said, ‘‘ Shoot now.” I raised the old *‘ Pill-
lock” and put it fairly against my shoulder, took quick
aim and fired. As the smoke cleared away we walked up
and there lay the bird dead. I had taken him on the
ground to be sure, but I had taken him.

Let me give young hunters a bit of advice right here
about wood-cock shooting. When you get a chance to
kill a wood-cock, kill him. Don’t insist on his being on
the wing when you shoot at him, if you do perhaps you
won’t shoot him, that’s all.

I felt pretty well. I had a wood-cock and father had
a partridge anda squirrel. Father offered to carry my
bird, but I respectfully and firmly declined. I carefully

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 25

~

tucked the bird away in the pocket of my home-made
blouse. My step was light and easy after that. I wasa
full fledged hunter and with a record at that. The record
was short, but it was a record.

We now re-crossed the creek on the same log we had
used as a bridge when we came over, and started toward
home, but not over the route we had come. We went
toward what was then known as ‘‘ Dick’s slash.” This
was forty or fifty acres of land that once had been original
forest and had been ‘slashed’ or cut over and again
partly covered with underbrush and was a favorite place
for partridges. Westarted down the creek and kept near
it. Wesoon came to the roots of a white birch which
branched out from the tree on the surface of the ground
so that they made an excellent seat.

It was now a little-after mid-day and father leaned his
gun against the birch, where it was within reach, and sat
down upon the root. Isat down near him and laid my
gun on the ground beside me. We were perhaps two
rods from the creek, but in sight of it. Father took his
hunting bag off his shoulder and, much to my surprise,
took from it a bundle, carefully done up in brown paper.
He undid the string and spread out on the clean bark of
the root aluncheon. I did not know he had sucha thing.
I tell you it looked good. There was dried beef, chicken
sandwiches, fried cakes, boiled eggs, a little paper of salt

26 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

and pepper mixed, and some bread and butter all pre-
pared and the pieces put together. It was as neat and
clean, seemingly, as when he had taken it from home.

We ate of the luncheon for a little and I said that
some water would be agreeable, and at once started for
the creek. ‘‘ Hold on,” said my father, ‘‘ That is pretty
good water but don’t drink it. Go out there where you
see that old tree top and by the rock just beyond you
will find a spring. You might as well know where these
things are first as last. As you go along look close and
you will find asmall gourd shell hanging in the tree top
by a wire loop.” I followed directions and found the
shell and the moss-covered rock at the foot of a birch and
from under the rock, and from crevices in it, came sweet
water inabundance. I filled the gourd and drank all I
wanted and again filled it and carried it to father. He
drank and then held the cup and looked at it and the
sparkling. water in it and drank againandagain. I asked
how the gourd came there and was told that many years
before it had been brought there on purpose by father so
that he could catch the cool water as it dripped from the
moss, and that it had been there ever since. We set
about finishing our lunch, at times feeding the spaniel
from our hands, who ate, and drank from the creek alter-
nately.

My father said, ‘‘ You seem to enjoy this my boy, it

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 27

is natural you should. This is your first real hunt, you
are just commencing, and my hunts are fast coming toan
end. You see your sun of life always in the eas¢ and the
journey of life to you seems to be along one. I see my
sun of life always in the wes¢ and the journey of life seems
short. Life is a curious state. You cannot comprehend
it and you will never be able to explainit to yourself even.
You are now about ten years of age. Before you realize
it you will be fifty and when you are fifty, I will sleep my
last sleep. My labors and cares in life are drawing to a
close, yours are just commencing. You will find this life
that now looks so pleasant and rosy to you, unsatisfactory.
You will long for something beyond, and there is some-
thing worth longing for after this life is passed. I can’t
express to you how anxious I am that you should choose
the right way and the ‘‘ better part.” There are stum-
bling blocks and dangerous places along the journey of
life and you must find them and pass them safely. I
know where some of these dangerous places are, for I
have stumbled there. I will tell you about a few of them
now and about others at some future time.

You have been on journeys with me and have noticed
when we came to a point on our way where there were
three or four roads leading in different directions, that
some person who knew where all the roads led, had
erected a sign-board, the arms of which pointed along

28 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

the roads and the point to which each road would lead
you was plainly marked on the arms, so that even a
stranger could find the right way.

We have no such sign-boards on life’s highway. There
are as many highways in life’s journey as there are persons.
The only guides we have on this journey of life, are the
teachings of the Divine Father as found in the Bible and
the actual experience of those who have made the journey,
or part of it. Do you see that dwarfed and scraggy elm
yonder by the margin of the creek? That elm has a
good place to grow; the ground where it stands is a rich
loam which has accumulated from falling leaves and
branches in the many ages of the past. The roots
reach down into the rich soil and feed upon it and are
continually refreshed by the waters of the creek. There
are no large trees very near it, to shade it and obstruct
its growth. Still, with all these advantages, the trunk is
small, not more than ten inches through, and it is not
nearly as tall as some of the trees about it which are
located not so favorably.

Look up the trunk twenty or thirty feet near that limb
which grows out to the north-east, and you will see a hole
in the body of the tree. This shows the tree is hollow,
dead at the heart and unhealthy. Well, my boy, I have
known that tree for twenty years. Away back when the
bears, deer and wolves were plenty here, I knew that tree.

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 29

I once killed a deer near where we are seated and hung it
on the branches of that tree so the wolves could not get it
till I went home for help to carry it. Let me see, that
was twenty years, yes more than twenty yearsago. That
tree was as large then as now. You naturally wonder at
this. Listen and I will explain it. ,Look carefully at the
top branches of the tree. See how bunchy and thick they
are. The limbs look as though they had all grown to-
gether. That effect, and in fact the whole trouble with
the tree, iscaused by a wild grape vine. Just step ’round
this way a moment; now look along up the body of the
tree from the ground. Do you not see that long, smooth
vine, about as big as your wrist, running up the tree?
That is a wild grape vine and is as old or nearly as old as
the tree. The grape vine was there when I first saw the
tree only it was not so large. It has hung to the tree all
these years and has grown stronger and larger all the
time. It has kept the tree from growing by binding its
strong tendrils about the branches, and you can see where
the vine itself winds around the tree, there is a whitish
mark. That is where the tough body of the grape vine
has chafed and wounded the bark of the tree when the
wind was strong and made the tree rock toand fro. That
vine, in its effect on that tree, has been that of a great
vegetable snake. It has held the tree down; it has re-
tarded its growth; it has wounded it and made it unsightly

30 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

and the other trees about it have outgrown it, and have
kept smooth, healthy and handsome.

Well, my boy, let me tell you, that vine is to that tree
what sin and wrong is toa boy. Ifa boy does wrong,
commits a sin and does not get rid of its effects, such as
profanity, drinking intoxicating beverages, smoking and
chewing tobacco, or untruthfulness, until he gets the habit
fastened on him, then the sin or wrong will weigh and tie
the boy down. It will chafe and wound him. It will
make him small in mind and perhaps dwarfed in body.
This will give other boys, who have no such bad habits, a
chance to get the start of him in the race of life. So you
will see you can learn a life lesson from the elm and the
grape vine which may, and I hope will, be of use to you
hereafter.

I have now finished my lesson and have a notion to
tell you a hunting story, the end of which was near this
spot. It will not take long, and we ought to rest a little
after eating.

A long time ago, when I still lived with my father,
and when I was seventeen years of age, while we were ona
deer hunting trip, my father andI came near the ‘‘ Turtle
Ponds,” to the eastward of Tamerack Swamp, about a
mile from here. You will recollect that I spoke to you
about these ponds one day while we were looking for the
pole which we raised on the corner to put a flag on.

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 31

Well, as we came near one of these small ponds we dis-
covered the tracks of a bear and found where he had gone
down to the pond to drink. There seemed to be a sort
of path where the animals went down the bank to get
water, for there were other bear tracks besides those which
had attracted our notice. There was no chance of getting
the animal then, but my father said that if the bear trap
was skillfully placed in or near that path, so the brute
would not notice it, the old fellow might be caught. It
was about three miles home, but the next day, with the
consent of my father, and after some instructions from
him, I took the old bear trap and started for the turtle
ponds. This old bear trap weighed about thirty pounds
and when set was an ugly customer. In order to bend
the springs, so as to open the jaws and set the trap, we
were obliged to use a hand-spike or long lever of wood.
When the jaws were open it was as big as a ten quart
pan, and when the jaws came together with nothing be-
tween them you could hear them twenty rods. There
was a strong iron chain, about five feet long, securely
fastened to a ring in the trap, and to the other end of the
chain was a ring about two inches in diameter. This
trap made a heavy load to carry, especially as I had with
me a hatchet and gun.

Well, I arrived at the spot where we had seen the
bear tracks, and found that the night before one or more

32 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

bears had traveled down the same road to the water.
After a good deal of work, I succeeded in opening the
jaws of the trap and fastening them open by the strong
iron tongue prepared for that purpose. Then I cut down
a water beech, which had astem about an inch anda
half in diameter, and whichhad long, tough limbs. This
little tree was about eight feet long. For about three
feet from the butt end, I clipped the ends of the limbs off
so as to leave them next the body about a foot long.
Then I put the butt end of the little tree through the
ring on the end of the chain to the trap and bent down
the stubs of limbs I had left on it, and slipped the ring
by the stubs one after another until the ring was up past
several and next to the limbs which I had left as_ they
grew. There the trap was and there the ‘‘clog” was.
Slowly and carefully I moved the trap and clog along
towards the pond, so that I would make as little stir in
the leaves as possible, and so the trap would remain set.
At first I was quite troubled where to put the trap so that
the wary animals would not notice it and so that they
would not smell it. There was a log about ten inches
through, about half way down the bank to the water that
lay across the path, or partial road the animals had made,
and I made up my mind that on the water side of that log
was the spot to place the old trap, so I calculated about how
far a bear in going down to the water would, when he

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 33

stepped over the log, step beyond the log, and after a
good deal of trouble, placed the trap at that point. I
put the tree to which the trap was fastened on one side
of the path andcarefully covered up the chain. I worked
some time to leave the ground looking natural and re-
move my own tracks by the liberal use of leaves and
branches. After I fixed it all up as well as I could, I
started for home, where I arrived about dark.

After going to bed, I got to thinking about the trap
and the bear, and wondering if I should be lucky enough
to get him, and it was a long time before I went to sleep.
Finally, I did sleep, and, before morning, I dreamed that
a big bear had attempted to go down to the water, and
had stepped into the trap, and the trap had fastened to
one of his legs, above his big fore-foot, and the trap,
bear and clog were gone. I dressed and hurried down
stairs, about daylight, and told my father, who was awake,
what I had dreamed, and asked to be allowed to go and
see if my dream was true. He laughed, and said,
‘Your dream comes from excitement of your yesterday’s
experience, and from your continual thought about the
matter. I guess you have not caught a cunning, old bear
as quick as this.” I urged my suit, however, and, finally,
was given permission to go. I took down the rifle, that
always hung ready and loaded in those days, and took
the powder horn off the hook, and put the string over

34 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

my head, so the crook of the horn hung under my left
arm, and called the dog. We had a big dog, whose
name was ‘‘ Buff,” and he had helped to kill manya
bear and deer. He came to me and signified not only
his willingness, but his delight to go.

Away we went, in the early dawn of a November
morning. The air was quite cold, but my blood was up,
and I was warm enough. Across the back fields, to the
eastward, I went, and struck into the woods, in the direc-
tion of ‘‘ Turtle Pond,” at a swinging pace. After trav-
eling for about half the distance to my destination, I
happened to think about my ammunition, and at once it
occurred to me that I had not a single bullet with me,
except the one in the gun. This was a discovery which
made me fairly weak. I sat down on a log, and ex-
amined every pocket I had carefully. There was powder
enough in the horn, patches in a little box in the stock
of the gun, but not a single spare bullet. Here I was
alone in the woods, half way to the trap, expecting to find
a bear foot in it, and I had only one shot for the fight
which was sure tocome. At first I thought I would go
back and get the pouch of bullets, but, after a little
thought, I made up my mind to trust to the one bullet
and the dog. I, however, pulled the pan back, and
carefully examined the powder in that, felt of the flint,
to see it was tight and the edge clean, put the old gun

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 35

on my shoulder, set my lips together, and again started
forthe 2° Turtle Pond.”

In about twenty minutes, I reached the hemlock ridge
that skirted the little pond where the trap was put. In
another minute I was standing by the side just below which
I had placed the trap. The trap was gone. The ground
had been torn up, the bushes just about there broken
down, and to the eastward I could see where the bear had
gone dragging the trap and clog with him. The old dog
whined and showed his teeth, the hair on his back raised
up from his head to his tail, and he started on the plain
marked trail of the bear, and I started on after the dog.
In a few rods we came to an old hemlock tree top to which
the trail led. I expected to find here either the bear held
fast by trap and clog in the old limbs, or the trap from
which the bear had loosened himself. But not so, the
trail led right through a part of the top and here and there
I found the hemlock limbs knocked completely off or
‘broken and the old bear had made a road through that
top where a good sized ox could go with ease. When I
saw this, I knew he was a big brute and an ugly fellow,
and I knew too that the old trap had got a good hold and
that the tough water beech clog was standing the strain
beautifully. The dog kept ahead quite away, though
now and then I made him go slower so I could keep up.
We could follow the trail as easy as though you had been
along there and mowed a swath with a scythe.

36 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

The trail led toward this creek above here about half
a mile. Soon we came to the creek and there the trail
turned westward, partially back toward the hemlock swamp,
which was no doubt the home of the bear. I made up
my mind from what I saw, that the bear was not far off,
and since he had failed to cross the creek, I knew he did
not wish to cross it with the trap and clog hanging to
him. I knew every bend in the creek then, as well as
now. I thought I knew where he would go. I started
to cut across to get ahead of him. I reached a point
about eighty rods above here, near where Benson’s
orchard is, and I heard the dog bark and the bear growl.
I had got ahead and the dog had come up with the bear
and they were coming slowly towards me. Now and
then I could hear the bear snarl and the dog growl and
bark, and then it would be quiet again. Then the same
thing would occur, each time it would be nearer to me,
and they seemed to becoming right towardme. At last I
heard the chain rattle about six or seven rods from me
in the brush near an old fallen tree, the trunk of which
ran near where I stood, and there ended at the stump.
The dog again, at this point, tackled the bear, and the
bear turned on him and the old chain and trap rattled
at a great rate.

The old bear growled and snarled enough to make
one’s hair stand on end. Then the bear started along

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 37

the old tree trunk, toward the stump, but on the other
side. It at once occurred to me that when the bear
came in sight, near the stump, was the time for me to
kill him with my one bullet.

Along the bear came. He could not travel fast, for
he had to drag the trap, chain, and clog, and he had
been worried by the dog, until he was tired. Every
time he put down his fore paw, I could hear the trap and
chain rattle. The clog would, now and then, strike a
small shrub or tree, and make it sway and tremble, and I
could see over the old log, just where the bear was all
the time. I cocked and put the old flint rifle to my face,
and aimed it about where I thought the bear would
come in sight by the stump. I was as steady as a post,
and never thought I had but one bullet, and was about
to shoot at a beast that was king of that forest, and as
angry as angry could be. I glanced along the long
barrel of the rifle, and saw the front sight plainly through
the back sight. I did not even breathe, and my heart
seemed for a moment to have stopped beating. Just
then the large nose of the bear appeared, and his great,
shaggy head. Steadily I let the nose and the head ap-
pear, though it was but a flash of time, and when the ear
appeared in sight, I dropped the gun muzzle so the sight
covered the butt of his ear and pulled the trigger. A
flash of powder in the pan, with a puff of smoke, and

38 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

the sharp, whiff-like crack of the rifle came, and I knew
the bullet had started on its journey. The sound of the
rifle went in and out among the great trees of the forest,
till it died away in the far distance. When the smoke
which the discharge had made floated away, I looked for
the bear, and there he lay in a great heap, just’ on the
spot where he was when I fired.

Iran up with my hatchet, to give any additional
blow needed, but none was required. The old bear that
used to drink at ‘‘ Turtle Pond” was dead.

There the old trap was fast to his leg, just above his
big foot. He was a monster, and would weigh full four
hundred pounds. The one bullet, in the right place,
had sent him to his long home. The old bear, in his
struggles, had bent and partly broken the clog, but it
still hung to the chain.

I stood my gun beside a tree, took off my coat, and,
with my hunting knife, removed the skin, being careful
to leave the long, sharp claws of the feet attached to it.
I had some hard work to unclasp the trap from the bear’s
foot, but I finally accomplished it, and took the faithful
old iron, and hid it carefully, covering it with a large
piece of hemlock bark, to keep it dry.

I cut off fifteen or twenty pounds of the best of the
meat and laid it on the inside ofthe skin. I then searched
till I found a moose wood tree and peeled some long strips

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 4I

of the bark from it, I then rolled the skin up in as small
a compass as possible, with the bear meat inside, and
carefully tied it with the bark.

I swung the skin over my right shoulder, took my gun
in my left hand and turned my face homeward. I had
three miles to go and a heavy load to carry. But I had
killed a bear and was young and strong as an ox, and
just as the sun sank out of sight, away off over Lake On-
tario, I stepped into my father’s house, hungry and tired,
but I had killed a bear.

All my family, including my father, who was an old
hunter, wondered and listened to my story of the capture
with great interest.

Thus it was that I had followed information conveyed
to me in a dream and found the information correct.

Just at this moment, my father arose and reached for
his gun. I looked at him andsaw him drop his head and
turn his right ear toward ‘‘ Old Dick’s Slash.” He put
his left hand out toward me and I heard the sound come
from his lips which always denoted silence and caution,
**sh.” His right hand held his gun at a point just below
the muzzle and the breech rested on the ground. The
old ancient trees of the original forest were all about us
and waters of ‘‘ South Branch” just off to our left. The
autumn sun sent its beautiful light down through the
trees even to his feet.

42 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

At first I did not hear a single sound, except the soft
rattle of the partly dried leaves on the trees and ground
which moved in the slight breeze which was stirring.
Very soon, however, I heard a slow, regular sound which
appeared to come from the direction we had intended to
go. It at first seemed like the sound made by a fowl in
the yard when he stretches his neck up and flops his
wings against his body, only the sound seemed loud and
regular. The first beats were slow but they grew faster
and faster, until there was simply one continuous rumble,
which was a little like low, distant thunder.

The noise stopped and I said, ‘‘It is going to rain,
that is thunder.” 1 saw father’s handsome lips part and
form into a beautiful smile and he said, ‘‘ No, my boy,
that noise is made by a partridge, he was drumming and
you will hear him again soon.” Sure enough the low,
regular, curious sound commenced again. It grew louder
and louder till the whole woods seemed to be filled with
it, when it died away again and we could hear no sound
except the wind among the leaves and the musical gurgle
of the water in the creek, as it went in and out among the
alders on its way towards the lake.

Father said, ‘‘ That is a grand old father partridge.
They do not often drum in the fall of the year, this one
evidently feels proud that the summer is past and his
children, the young birds, have lived and grown up and

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 43

are very likely within hearing now, looking for berries for
food or playing in the sunshine and soft leaves, as they
like to do. Then, too, the old fellow probably thinks he
is a good drummer and he desires to make a reputation
by furnishing music to all the birds hereabout. I do not
know that all this is true, but probably itis. We will try
and get near enough to him to see the performance and
perhaps we may get the old fellow, cunning as he is. I
think I know where he is and it is nearly in the direction
I intended to go anyway.” |
So the old gourd cup was carefully hung on the
branches near the spring so it would be here at some fu-
ture time and for our needs. Father started on toward
the point where the drumming_had come from and I no-
ticed he stepped carefully. With"dead leaves and small
dry brush all about I could not see how he could walk
and make so little noise. He seemed to put his toes down
first and glide along as quietly as a shadow almost. I
followed after him as still as I could, but with all my care
I made more noise than he did. We soon came to the
margin of ‘‘ Old Dick’s Slash.” Here the great tall trees
ended and we stepped in among the second growth of
maple, beech and birch trees. These little trees were
from twenty to thirty feet tall and not very thick. The
frost here had been able to reach the leaves more thor-
oughly and there were few leaves left except down near

44 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

the ground. Now and then there was an old tree or log
lying in the way, and take it all in all it was a most beau-
tiful cover for birds.

Just as we stepped in among this second growth, father
stopped and his left hand came back toward me with the
movement which meant silence. The old bird commenced
again and I saw father bend a little forward, grasping his
gun in his right hand. As soon as the noise of the drum-
ming was loud, father stepped to the little hemlock. It
seemed to me he made no noise at all. I followed and
reached him just as the bird was winding up his concert.
I got along very well except at one point I stepped on a
dry twig and it made a little crackling sound. When I
reached father, he was on his hands and knees right be-
hind the little evergreen and his gun lay at his side. I
lay prone beside him and to his left. When I looked for
the old tree trunk on which we had supposed the partridge
concerts had taken place and where we hoped to see the
bird, there it was in plain sight, its whole length from root
to limbs, but no bird was to be seen. I thought at first I
had probably over-looked him and so I carefully searched
every foot of the old tree, but there was no bird there.

Father then turned toward me and whispered very
low, ‘‘ The cunning fellow heard that noise you made
when you stepped on that bush, but he has not flown or
we should have heard him. He has just stepped off on

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 45

the other side of the log and run a little ways out in the
bush and if we keep perfectly still here until he gets over
his fright and suspicions, he will come back to his old
place and execute another piece.”

We waited five minutes nearly and all the time I could
hear my heart beat and feel my shirt and jacket move by
the throbs. Sure enough, we heard a little sound and
looked away down toward the top of the old tree and the
bird had just jumped from the ground upon the tree; the
noise of his feet made what I heard. He stood there as
still as a rock, facing us for as much as halfa minute, and
then he turned in a sort of stately way toward the old root
and commenced to walk along the log; now and then he
would stop and stand perfectly still and then walk on.
He was the handsomest bird ever saw. He was as proud
as a peacock. There was a black ruffle of feathers about
his neck and he stood up as straight and trim as could be.

The dog ‘‘Snap” was lying between father and me,
and he saw the bird, but he put his nose down between
his paws, and turned first to father, and then to me, as
much as to say, ‘‘Give it to him.” Pretty quick I saw
both of the bird’s wings raise from his body together.
The wings were not open as fully as when flying, but
only partly open. He just lifted them, and struck his
own body with them. At first the movements were very
slow, and then faster and faster, until the wings looked

46 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

like a fast revolving wheel. Whew! what a noise he did
make though!

After the performance, the bird walked five or six
feet away, and fairly strutted as he went. I saw father’s
right hand move toward -his gun. His fingers grasped
the stock and barrel of the old ‘‘smooth bore,” and, in
a flash, it was at his face, all cocked and ready. A
second, and then a flash and roar, and lots of smoke,
and I heard a fluttering, and the dog, ‘‘Snap,’” was
gone. It was but a moment, when the dog brought, and
laid down at our side, the dead body of the famous drum-
mer of ‘‘ Old Dick’s Slash.”

Father said, ‘‘ You seem astonished at something—
what is it?” I said, ‘‘I suppose the partridge hit the log
with his wings when he drummed?” ‘Oh, no,” said
father, ‘‘If you will think a moment, you will see that
would not do, for he would thrash his wings all to pieces
in no time.” After father had loaded his gun, we started
in the direction of home, which was not more than a
mile away. Father said, ‘‘We have had a delightful
day, and have done well, too, for we now have two
partridges, a wood-cock, and a black squirrel. We shall,
very likely, find no more game to-night, for the sun is
well down, and we must hurry home, and help do the
chores. We will, like good hunters, however, walk
through the woods, as far as we can, on our way home,
and we may shoot a partridge or two, yet, to-night.”

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 47

We soon reached the town-line road. We followed
the road only a short distance, and then stepped into the
first tall sugar maples, beeches and hemlocks, on the
other side of the way. What grand old trees they were.
There they had grown for centuries, and would grow for
centuries longer, if man and his axe would let them
alone.

I heard the lonesome and musical song of a bird. It
appeared to be but part of a tune. It was something
like this in sound: ‘‘Tee we wee, Tee we wee,” and
seemed to be from a single bird. I asked father what
kind of a bird it was, and he said, ‘‘ That is what I call
a wood thrush, and he sings that lonesome song just
before a rain. You may look out for rain to-morrow.”

We soon passed through the sugar bush and cane and
came out into a sort of half cleared strip of land, just be-
yond which was an old brush fence and just beyond the
old brush fence were ten or twelve acres of underbrush
which extended to the pasture. As we stepped up to this
old brush fence the dog jumped upon it and off on the
other side and screamed as he went. In a moment there
was a babel of noise from the wings of three partridges as
they rose from the ground where they had been rolling
and playing in the dirt like hens. .

The birds were astonished and so were we. One of
the partridges said, ‘‘ Quit, quit, quit!” and lighted on

48 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

the limb of a tree right in sight. The branch on which
the bird rested bent down quite alittle. I recollect seeing
the bird light and set there among the leaves and then
father’s gun wasdischarged and downshe came. The dog
brought the partridge over the fence to father. One of
the other birds flew past us into the woods and made for
a clump of small hemlocks about twenty rods back on the
road we had come.

Father said to me, ‘‘ That bird went toward those
hemlocks and this late hour of the day is favorable to her
lighting in the first good hide she comes to. You goand
look those hemlocks over one by one carefully and you
willbe very likely to find her. I will look for the other
one that went off here to the right.”

Then it was that I started on my first real hunt alone.
I went along quickly, but carefully, towards the hem-
locks. There were five of these trees in a group and from
the side I was approaching the branches were so thick
(and I was looking toward the dark thick woods, too,)
that I could not see the parts of the trees where the bird
would be likely to light. I went way round the bunch of
hemlock until I could look into them from the woods side
and toward the light of the west. The light was growing
a little dim for the sun was sinking down close to the
horizon, but my eyes were good then.

I carefully examined every branch on the tree next to

.

THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 49

me, and then the next, and found no partridge. I began
to feel the chances were slim of finding the bird as the
best trees for him to light in I had already searched. But
I commenced to examine the third tree. I began first to
scan the lower limbs and my eyes passed along up the
tree and searched each limb carefully. When my eyes
had reached two-thirds to the top of the tree and about
thirty feet from the ground, all at once I saw the old part-
ridge sitting close to the body of the tree, with his breast
toward me. He looked as big asa goose sure. After a
second, just a second, my wits came to me and I raised
the old ‘‘ Pill-lock”’ to my face. Some how I had cocked
it but I never could recollect how or when.

I looked straight at the light colored feathers of the
breast and pulled the trigger. The gun made an awful
noise and turned me half ’round. It gave out a long
stream of fire andlots ofsmoke. 1 remember hearing the
noise of the discharge as.it went off down through the big
maples and beeches. I never will forget that shot. It
took me about a good, long second to bring myself to-
gether. I looked to the foot of the tree and there lay the
bird dead as a stone. I ran where he was and picked
him up.

That was one of the proudest moments I have ever
known in my life. I turned my face toward the sky, and
gave a halloo of joy and victory. Just then the dog

50 THE OLD PILL-LOCK GUN.

came to me in a bound—to see what all the noise was
about, I suppose. I held the bird down to the spaniel,
and he looked up in my face and whined, and moved his
tail, as much asto say, ‘‘ Well, that is good enough.”

I went along out to where father was. I had the old
*¢ Pill-lock””? in one hand, still smoking, and the part-
ridge in the other. There were logs and bushes in my
road, but I say to you, here and now, that I did not re-
member stepping over either logs or brush.

I held up to father’s gaze the partridge, and he said,
‘¢ Well, well, you have done it sure. That is a fine bird,
and ‘it was a lucky venture when you went after him.
You are all right now, and shall go hunting again with
me.”

We passed down through the under-brush and out
into the pasture by the spring, east of our house. As
we came in sight of home, the sun was below the western
hills, but had left a glow, which marked the spot plainly
above it.

Near the house, on the platform by the well, looking
toward us, stood my mother. Her right hand was shad-
ing her eyes and she appeared to be watching for us
anxiously. When I came near enough tosee her plainly
she was smiling a happy welcome to father andme. Her
dark hair was well brushed back from her face, which
glowed with happiness. Her features were as calm, pure
and sweet as are given to mortal to be.

THE, OLD PILL-LOCK GUN. 53

It seemed to me then, and seems to me now, that she
was the grandest, sweetest and best woman in all the
world.

I ran ahead of father when I saw her and as I came near
I held up my partridge. She reached out both her hands
and I thought, as much as could be, she was going to
take the bird, but she grasped me, and drew me close up
to her, and kissed me again and again. For a sweet
moment I forgot my hunt and my success, and the whole
world, in the love of my mother.

I have told you the history of one day out of seven-
teen thousand, and, if you are pleased with it, I will tell
you about a trout-fishing trip I had the next spring, with
my father, along the waters of the ‘‘South Branch of
the Little Salmon.”

vi