HUNTING AHEAD OF ROOSEVELT
IN EAST AFRICA.
By Captain Fritz Duqucsne.
The experience President Roosevelt
has gained hunting game on the
North America continent will be of
little use to him on his expedition
into the wilds of East Africa. Hynt*
ing in America is a sport, something
to be played at; hunting in Africa
is a trade, almost a profession. In
America one merely takes a rifle and
goes out to shoot. In Africa, to hunt
one takes a battery of arms, usually
three and sometimes four, high pow
der rifles of different caliber, ranging
from a six and five-tenths millimeter
to a six hundred cordite express. The
cartridges for these rifles are charg
ed with various bullets, solid nickel,
steel, soft nose long, soft nose short
and split.
Each of these bullets was designed
by experts for a special use, and on
the way they are used depends the
success of one’s shot. Often the use
of the unsuitable bullet ends in the
iium ts aeam. un small game the
light caliber arm, six five-tenths mil
limeter, is used, and on large and
dangerous game the nine millimeter
Mauser and six hundred caliber cor
dite express give the best results.
The last-named rifle strikes the en
ormous blow of eighty-seven hundred
pounds, and lias a recoil of close on
a hundred weight. That the man
whose numing experiences has been
confined to bird shooting with shot
guns. or small game, with, say, a
tliirty-tWo caliber rifle, may under
stand the meaning of these figures,
let me stale that the ordinary thirty
two caliber rifle lias a recoil of
perhaps ten to twelve pounds. The
double barreled shotgun, which to
the ordinary hunter seems to have
all the “kicking”, capacity any wea
pon needs, has a recoil of from
twenty-five to thirty pounds.
The six hundred caliber cordite ex
press is the most deadly hand arm
made.
Notwithstanding the terrific force
of this six hundred express bullet
it must be placed in the correct part
of an elephant’s or a rhinocero’s an
atomy to bring him down. The hunte
must put the shot into the animal’s
head or heart, or he must face a
charge that will probably end in his
destruction.
Rifles of various caliber are carried
for economy. It is cheaper to use a
small six five-tenths millimeter rifle
on small game, and a six hundred ex
press on big game, than to carry one
weapon for allround work whicliwould
have to be big enough at least for
the largest game. Nothing smaller
than a four hundred and fifty express
would do for that, and it would be
distinctly uneconomical, not to say
foolish, to shoot p, small antelope,
the size of a goat, with a six hundred
•express. It would be like using a
pile driver to kill a mosquito. Again,
cartridges become very costly by
the time they reach the interior of Af
rica. A cartridge for a six hundred
•express rifle, for instance, costing
sixpence—twelve cents— in London,
reaches an enormous price by the
tine it gets into the hunting grounds
of Africa. I have seen them bring
five shillings, $1.25 each, ahd very
sc arce at that. Nor is this such ^n
extravagant price wdien one takes
into consideration that every ounce
has to be carried by porters who plod
for months through swmmps, across
riv- rs, over mountains, traversing the
parched veld and penetrating the dis
mal forest,, often fighting their way
foot by foot before they reach their
destination. It is easy to see that,
weight is an important factor in
cartridge economics. Four six
five-tenths millimeter cartridges are
equal in weight to one six hundred
express. That is, it is four deaths
against one, for the same weight.
Thesee are the things President
Roosevelt must learn before he can
consider himself up on the ways of
safari. If the President hunts like
an Amerieander and not like the av
erage European that visits the dark
continent, he will certainly find dan
ger; danger that tries a hunters’
v rv>\ that requires an alert in
telligence and quick eye to pass
through it and live.
Of course I am speaking from the
viewpoint of a professional hunter,
whose business is to get skins and
tusks. Danger is a part of his pro
fession, and to play with death his
daily occupation. Mr. Roosevelt’s rep
utation as a man of prowess andnerve
lias preceded him. The natives that
. been engaged for his safari by Mr.
R. J. Cunningham of Nairobi, East Af
rica, are already discussing the “great
oilier who is to be their companion
and master for the twelve months
after next March.
Mr. Cunninghame, who is organiz
ing the Roosevelt expedition, is one
of the most experienced and clever
African hunters. He will have com
plete charge of everything from the
largest to the smallest detail. With
him at the head of things the Presi
dent can depend on having a success
ful hunt. That is, if he is going for
.sport and aot merely as a scribe
looking for local atmosphere for his
book. Many great American hunters
have killed all their game in the nar
row and dark confines of an ink bot
tle.
Africa is a menagerie 11,500,00
miles in area, with tihe greatest com
bination of lakes, rivers, mountains
and veld imaginable, a veritable pa
radise for wild animals. Notwith
standing the destruction of big game,
there are still thousands of herds of
everything Africa possesses for the
hunter, roaming over the veld only
a few days travel afoot from the
coast, There are hundreds of rivers
that have rarely been visited by the
white man. On the banks of these
streams hippopotami, rhinoceri, ele
phants, leopards, lions, gorillas, and
dozens of varieties of antelope, the j
names of which have never been
heard by the majority of Eurapeans
or Americans, gambol and fatten in
gluttonous plentitude undisturbed by
the crack of the six-hundred caliber
express. It is only In reachable
districts that the game i3 killed toany
great extent. The cost and danger
of hunting in most of the country
have protected it and will protect it
for many years to come.
Where game is most abundant the
frightful diseases that nature seems
to ihave placed as a barrier against
the white man’s invasion are also
abundant. In Africa’s wild, beautiful,
mysterious forests, more to be fear
ed than all the lions and rhinos, lurk
the germs of the deadly blackwater
fever, malaria, science defying sleep
ing sickness and the unknown reason
for the veld sores that drain one’s
life out in a few months. These with
the miasmal swamps, the noxious in
sects, the slimy, poisonous reptiles,
and very often the poisonous spears
of the natives, make hunting in Af
rica no game for the chicken-hearted.
Of course, hunting as a business
is one thing and hunting for pleas
ure is another. It is possible .to kill
African game to a limited extent with
out the slightest hardship. One can
go on safari accompanied by natives
who do all the work, even to carry
ing the sportsman in a hammock up
to the game, selecting the correct
rifle, loading with the proper ammu
nition, pointing out the place to
shoot at and handing the hunter the
weapon. The hunter merely pulls the
trigger, after seeing that there are
a number of natives hunters in readi
ness to protect him should he miss
his mark and the game charge. As
often as not he misses, a shikaree
shoots the game, and his employer
gets the credit. It is the dangerous
side only of African hunting that has
any attractions for the man with any
sporting instincts in him, and it is
only that side of th ehunt that is of
interest to the laity.
According to the present intentions,
Mr. Cunninghame wrill take the Roose
velt party over the route I have cov
ered twice, the last time very recent
ly. What I have passed through
Roosevelt must. face. He will be
lucky if he comes out alive.
Like most Boers, I have been hunt
ing. on and .off, and associating with
hunters since I wras ten years old.
Danger p,nd hairbredth escapes have
happened so frequently to me that
most of my hunting experiences ap
pear almost too commonplace to re
cord. Yet someof them stand out
vividly from the rest, especially those
of recent occurance. It would be im
possible to hunt any length of time in
Africa without having some adven
tures worth relating; adventures in
which a steady eye, nerves of steel,
and a brain as quick as lightning are
life-saving essentials to a big game
hunter.
Most game drops at the first shot
from the rifle of an experienced hun
ter. “The game that makes the
story is the game that’s missed,” as
the Swahili—East coast natives say,
and there is nothing truer than that
saying, as far as my experiences'go,
for a bad shot nearly ended my trek
a little while ago in the Lake coun
try. I was treking between Lake
Albert Edward N’Yanza and Lake
Kivu, the greatest stretch of hunting
ground in the world, with a caravan
of a hundred men. We had marched
steadily through the early part of the
day and, now that the merciless white
hot sun was directly overhead, I
called a halt, Each member of the
caravan threw himself down in the
shade excepting my shikaree Nick, a
“boy” from the other side of the
continent, a native of Senegal. He
never rested, and as he got a per
centage of the ivory we secured, he
never lets the soles of his feet grow
soft for want of exercise. About an
hour passed before Nick came swing
ing into camp with his white teeth
gleaming like new swords. I knew
by his smile that there was some
thing afoot. He walked straight to
my elephant gun and beckoned me.
I knew he had struck a fresh spoor
trail. Seizjpg my arms, I signaled
my gun bearer and struck out, Nick
leading.
If there are any elephants about
at midday, the hunter is pretty sure
to make a good bag, for at that time
they rest out of the direct rays < of
the sun, dozing the hot hours away,
and are easily approached.
After half an hour’s walk through
grass that was at least twenty feet
high, we came across a herd of about
twenty elephants, among which there
were some fine bull tusks. As I
expected, they were all resting out of
the sun. They were difficult to get
at on account of the thickness of tihe
undergrowth. It meant a long pa
tient crawl to a good shooting posi
tion, for to shoot at anything but
close quarters in such country meant
that the bullet would be deflected by
the bush. I put a solid nickel bail
m the right barrel of my six-hundred
caliber express for a head shot, and
a soft nose split in the left barrel
for a body shot, With the shikaree
at my side and the gun bearer at
my back, we crept silently, inch by
inch, foot by foot, through the huge
tufts of grass till a good view of the
game presented itself.
I took off my coat and hat, hung
them on a low limb and crawled a fe
yards farther on. As I could not get
a vital shot at any of the elephants
in their lying position,s I gave my
sharp whistle. In an instance they
were upon their feet thrusting their
trunks up in the air to get a scent
of their enemies and holding out their
enormous ears to cavch the slightest
sound At last an old bull worked in
to the right position. I aimed at his
weakest pont, between the eye and
ear, and gave him the solid shot. My
aim was bad; a piece of his tusk
flew into the air. With a roar he
charged down on me like an ava
lanche.
I leveled ray express for a second
shot and the natives stood ready.
Down he came, the grass waving be
fore him in billows. I waited fifty,
forty, thirty, twenty yards, another
second’s suspense and—bang! I
gave him the soft bullet full in the
chest. It failed to stop him. A
screeching roar of pain burst from
the charging monster and blood gush
ed from his trunk. I snatched my
Maiper and jumped aside as he pass
ed. My hat and coat, which were a
few yards behind, attracted his. at
tention. With a snort of satisfaction
he crushed them down. I gave him
all my Mauser shots in the rear.
With extraordinary suddenness he
turned. He sighted me and charg
ed, his tusks level with my body. My
magazine was empty. I threw my
rifle down and ran, the elephant
gaining on me at each step. I saw
Nick ahead of me with leveled rifle.
To keep running meant that _ I
would soon be overtaken. Instinc
tively I threw myself on the ground
and Nick fired. With a thud th^t
made the earth tremble tZie elephant
dropped. The huge trunk twisted
like a wounded snake for a moment,
and then the gigantic body relaxed in
death. It all took about two minutes
to happen and was pretty close shave,
but it was worth the trouble, for
the tusks we got were big, weighing
close to a hundred pounds.
A few months after this occurence,
on the same trip, I lost Nick, my
Senegal “boy,” under terrible circum
stances. This brave man who had
hunted everything in Africa from the
Cape to Cairo, and from Zanzibar to
Banana, boasted many a time that
he would never be killed by anything
but old age. But he was too sure.
Long association with danger made
him careless, and this cost him his
life.
We were treking south toward Lake
Tanganyika along a native path run
ning parallel wifjh the Rusizi River.
It was frightful hot, so hot that the
gun barrels burned our hands. The
porters staggered under their heavy
loads in a long string,mumbling songs
each in his native tongue, to keep
up "his fagged spirits, and the sun
rays danced in misty vibrations from
the parched earth. Suddenly the jun
gle ceased^ and we broke into the op
en veld- Four hundred yards away,
coming in the opposite direction, was
a herd of at least twenty elephants.
They had evidently made a long jour
ney and were suffering from the in
tense heat. Some of them were occu
pied in thrusking their trunks into
their mouths and drawing water from
their stomachs. With tlhis water they
were sprinkling their sunburned backs
This is a habit that elephants always
practice when they are overheated
and cannot find the shade of a friend
ly forest.
To me the sigfit of the approach
ing herd was welcome. I saw ivory
which meant thousands of dollars- to
us if we could get in a few good shot
I ordered my caravan back into the
undergrowth, and, bringing up the
shikarees, prepared for the slaughter.
I loaded my nine millimeter Mauser
with solid bullets for long shots. At
three hundred yards I opened fire and
the leader, a fine hull, dropped in his
tracks The crack of my rifle threw
the herd into consternation. They
were not sure where ilhe noise came
from, and they as yet had not caught
sight of us. After a little indecision
they kept on the old route and march
ed toward us.
A hundred yards neareT and I
gave the nearest, another bull, my
second shot. It went wild. He
shrieked and threw his trembling
—-,
head back and forth frantic with pain.
I had evidently gave him a bad face
wound. I fired again- and must have
missed. He saw me, and, trumpeting
loudly, charged down on us, followed
by the whole herd. I emptied my
magazine into them with no effect.
Nearer they came, their ivory gleam
ing in the sun and the dust curling
up in clouds behind them. The
ground vibrated like a beaten drum
top under their thunderous charge.
I saw a tusk-crested wave of mam
moths sweeping down to destroy us.
It was no time for inaction. The gun
bearer handed me the six hundred ex
press. At a hundred yards I gave t|ie
leader one barrel after the other. He
fell, and those behind tumbled over
him in a heap. For a moment the
mad charge was broken. I thought we
were out of danger, but another lea
der forged ahead and bore down on
us. “!Run!” I shrieked, and every
man made for safety, excepting Nick,
the coolest in the face of danger
and always the last to run. The herd
bore down. I threw myself behind
a tree, just escaping being crushed
to death. A screech rose above the
thunder of the hoofs and the next
instance I saw Nick hoisted into the
air with a blood-stained tusk through
his body. The infuriated mass swept
past, leaving a red marked trail. I
immediately set out on the spoor of
the herd in hope of getting the body
of the shikaree. Although I search
ed until sundown I was unsuccess
ful.
That night I heard the lions roar- ]
ing down toward the river. The next
morning, with a few natives, I con
tinued the search, in the direction
that the lions’ roars came from dur
ing the night. We soon sighted a
flock of vultures, a sure sign of dead
game, and, coming up with them, we
found the chewed carcass of an elee
pliant and the scattered bones of a
human being, among which I found
Nick’s hunting knife and belt. The
wounded elephant had carried him
on its tusk till it fell exhausted
through loss of blood, and died. Il
was one of the best ivory hauls I
ever made at one shooting and. it was
the saddest. Nick was the great shi
karee. He possessed every attribute
of manhood. He died like many a
hunter has died.
Nick was the twentieth native that
l have lost on my various expeditions.
It was in due same country that on a
previous expedition a rhinoceros in
vaded our camp and killed two native
porters, wounding three and giving
x.2«* a close call.
If the Genius of Hell used up all
his mental energy making a devil for
tne animal kingdom he could not hav
created a more uncertain, malicious
and ugly brute than the rhinoceros.
This animal has buried more hunters
than all other big game combined. It
seems to be the hired assassin of
the jungle. Its success as a homicider
is not due to the fact that it seeks
its victim, but because its victim falls
over it. If the rhino knows that there
is an enemy about, it will try to get
away without being seen. If, on
the other hand, it thinks that by
keeping still it will be passed un
noticed, it stays as silent and motion
less as Gibraltar, its little hog eyes
watching the direction of the noise
and its nose sniffing the air. Should
an enemy show up suddenly in the
j.ungl§ the rhino charges like a flash,
nose down and horns leveled like
swords for the thrust, its huge bulk
crushing through the brush like an
express train. It is always a fight to
the death,for a rhinoceros once in a
fight wins or dies, and it mostly wins,
if it is not confronted with an express
rifle in the hands of a cool,good shot.
It was the express in the hands c?
a cool shot that saved me in the en
counter related here.
We had been out nearly a year and
were returning to civilization, such
as it is on the East African coast,
with a good stock of ivory. My part
ner, Jappie de Villiers, a well-known
Roer hunter, had fever and was ex
pected to die at any moment. He
bad been car ded three hundred miles
from the interior in a hammock. If
de Villeris had not been ill I would
not be alive today.
We were pitching camp at the Ka
rega River on one of those inexpli
cable barren patches that are scat
tered like freckles over the face of
the tropical forests. The sun was set
ting and the sky blazed like the
mouth of a foundry furnace. The
smoke of the newly made camp fires
rose slowly in the damp air and hung
lazily about i*he tree tops; clouds of
flies and mosquitoes followed every
living thing and the lizards looked
inquisitively down from their perch
es in the great vines that reached
out like the tentacles of a mighty oc
topus holding everything in its grasp.
The river with its waxey water flow
ers and gliding crocodiles was on one
side of us, the tropical jungle, mys
terious and fascinating in all its viv
id and extravagant luxury*was on the
other. I hung our rifles on the limbs
of the trees which supported my sick
comrade’s hammock.The porters were
collecting dry wood for the night
fires as I watdhed a monster croco
dile in the water making a futile ef
fort to swollow a friend nearly as big i
as itself. A party of natives from ]
a neear-by village was skinning a
beast we had shot for food. In an
other group my “boys" were opening
the bundles of camping necessities.
A loud grunt, followed by a Somali’s
cry, came from the jungle side of
the camp, and the next Instance the
huge rhinoceros, burst- through the
undergrowth. The Somali ran for
a tree. He tripped over an ammu
nition box, the rhino passed him in
Its blind fury and charged down on
the clump of porters, scattering them
like the chaff before th e wind. One
was crushed down.. Another who had
stumbled rose to run, the madden
ed beast charged and thrust its horn
through his back,battered him against
a tree, and then hurled him in the
air.
CLOSE CALL FOR A BRAVE HUN
TER.
I was reaching for my rifle when
the rhino caught sight of me. I
was too late. I turned and ran toward
the river. A dive would save me. I
thought of the crocoidles. I felt tjhe
puff of the rhino’s foul breath. My
heart sank. I had one chance to
jump aside and let the rhino pass.
I jumped, and the roaring animal
wiped its gore-stained cheek on me
as I did. I doubled on my tracks,
the demoniac brute frothing in fury
after me. As I passed under tjhe ham
mock where my companion lay be
tween life .and death, there was a
vivid flash, a deafening roar filled
the world, and I fell. The rhinoceros
rolled over, squirting a stream of
hot blood on me from a wound in
its neck. I looked up, dazed and
breathless. I didn t know whether
I was dead or alive. I felt foe huge,
throbbing carcass beside me. The
yellow fever-stained, hollow-eyed face
of De Villiers looked over the ham
mock and asked, “Are you hurt?”
“I think not,” l answered. “What
happened?”
I got no answer. De Villiers sank
back with a groan. I sprang to the
side of the hammock. I thought he
$was dead. His breast was coveered
with blood. I opened his shirt and
saw his right collar bone broken and
protruding through the flesh. I
forced some brandy down his throat
and he revived. “What happened?”
I again asked.
“You had no chance for life, and that
was the death of the rhino. I had
one chance in a thousand of saving
you and killing the rhino. I took
it and gave rhino both barrels of
the express. Your face is singed a
little from the flash. The recoil of
the blunderbuss has hurt my should
er.”
He put his left hand over and felt
the shattered collar bone. “I suppose
it’s all up with me,” he said. “This,
on top of the fever, is too much.”
He smiled and fell back unconscious.
The natives who had fled returned,
and we examined the five, porters who
got the rhino’s charge. Two were
dead, three badly injured.
Through that night I sat beside
my unconisious comrade inthe flicker
of the camp fires, listening to the
dull, monotonous droning of the In
sects in the trees, and seeing faces
in the embers, one face especially,
a kind, thin face crowned with whitee
hair weeping as I told her of Jappier,
her hunter son’s deaiih. I turned to
put some wood on €he fire. Glaring
in the grass a few yards away I
saw two green, phosphorescent eyes.
I seized lny Luger pistol and rose.
Like aflash a lion sprang away before
I could shoot. A little later the for
est burst into thunderous roars. It
seemed to be full of lions, which was
attracted by the smell of ilhe rhino’s
blood.
De Villiars did not die. He came
through, it all. He now organizes
hunting expeditions into East Africa
and in all probability he will be one
of the Roosevelt party.
TREED BY A RHINO BIRTHDAY
PARTY. 4
The next we continued our march.
We had. not gone far when a native
brought in news of a fresh rhino
spoor. I at once set out in search
of the game. We were not ten min
utes on the hunt when I smeelled the
peculiar odor of the rhino,which some
times is very strong. I was down the
wind—that is, the wind was blowing
toward me from the rhino—so I was
sure of getting a pretty good shot.
A few minutes later I saw a long
horn, sticking through the grass. It
was, motionless. The animal was, wait
ing for us to pass. I took a chance
aim and fired, hoping to hit a vital
spot. My calculation was bad and
t|ae rhino scampered off at a gallop.
I stood there cursing my luck when
a grunt behind me nearly scared me
out of my wits. I took no chances,
but turned and ran. I bpdn’t gone
twenty yards when I bumped on
something in the grass and down I
went. I grabbed my rifle and made
for the nearest tree a few yards
away. When I could get my breath
I surveyed the scene from my point
of vantage. I could see at least teu
rhinos* The thing I fell over was
i newborn bfcby rhino and it must
lave been Its\mother I shot at.
It is the hlbit of the pachyder
niata of AfrtJi to collect around a
female that isf about to give birth to
foung. Thiil is to protect the
aew-born wealling against the attacks
5f ita enemies/ and that is the sort of
christening I } ran Into. I Ira ted to
Interrupt the (birthday party, but I
couldn't let sdntimeent interfere with
business, so I opened fire on the near
est rhino. He got it right through
the heart and fell. I fired at a sec
ond and that also went down. While
I was reloading my express the rest
took fright and scampered off.
There is ra great deal of difference
between hunting the rhinoceros and
the hippopotamus. The latter is easy
to hunt as a back-yard cat. You find
its trail on the river bank and then
sit down and wait till the animal
shows itself. One heavy shot will
generally finish it.
NARROW ESCAPE FROM CROCO
DILES.
The summer before last I was hunt
ing on the Kagera. We had eaten
antelope for some time and the camp
was anxious for a change, so I shot
a hippo for food. It wras an easy
qhing to do. I waited till it showed
its head, and, bang. A spirt of blood
and it was all over. As the w'Cfer
was deep, but not running, I knew
that in the morning I ought to find
my victim floating. At daybreak I
was dawn at the river with a party
of natives. As expected, the hippo’s
body was floating, but, unlucky for
us, on the opposite side c? the river,
which was teeming with crocodiles.
I tried to persuade some of the na
tives to go in with a rope and attach
it so that we could draw the hippo
over. No amount of persuasion would,
induce them to even put their feet
in the river. At last, exasperated,
I seized the end of the rope and
jumped into the river, boots and all,
and struck out for the hippo. I
had gone about a hundred strokes
when a cry from the bank caused
me to look around. A cold shiver
of horror ran through me, for
twenty yards behind, gliding silently
toward me through the blue water,
I could distinguish the brown form
of a crocodile.
"Shoot” I cried.“Shoot” as I put
every bit of energy into my stroke.
The crocodile must have been near m
for the bullets that were being fired
from the bank commenced to zip, zip,
around my head. I was afraid to look
back, expecting every moment to
be seized and dragged to the bottom.
At last I reached the dead hippo
and managed to drag myself out of
the water up on the slippy carsass.
The exertion made my head swim.
In a few minutes I was myself again.
I apologized in silence to the black
gentlemen on the river bank for
doubting their courage. I had none
left. I took my knife and cut a foot
hold on the carcass, and then rocked
it so that it would drift to the shore.
The natievs told me that a well
directed bullet had hit the crocodile
in the head.
Two months after that I got some
dynamite from Nairobi and blasted
the crocodile hole Where I had such
a close shave. I fished out one hun
dred and foryt-seven in a week. The
skins of thousands of these crocodiles
are shipped from the Lakes Region
every year to a German firm that
makes a specialty of crocodile skin
bags. Crocodiles, with lions and leop
ards and a number of other carnivor
ous animals, are classed as vermin,
so no license is required to shoot
them.
The cost of hunting big game in
Africa is enormous. One must spend
a fortune before firing the first shot.
The various European colonies “pro
tect” their game by charging fifty
pounds sterling — $250 a year for a
license which allows the hunter to
kill two each of tfiie pachydermata
and from two to ten of the various
species of antelopes. This does not
protect the game, but it fills the local
treasuries. Added to this is the
price for porters, Shikarees, headmen,
etc.,who have to accompany the hun
ter. The average expedition is made
up of from thirty to thirty-five na
tives for each white man. The cost
of euqipping and maintaining an ex
pedition is from four hundred to. six
hundred dollars a month for each
white hunter, according to the district
hunted in. One well-known concern
with headquarters at Nairobi, that
makes a business of hunting and ex
pedition managing, equips and main
tains an expedition in the field for
six hundred dollars a month, sup
plying everything excepting arms and
liquor.
No doubt you will say, “If it is so
costly, why hunt? It must pay or
one would not take the risk.” Reckon
ing in dollars it does not pay. I
have hunted a great deal and turned
over a lot of money, but was never
much better off at the end of the
year.
“Why hunt?” you ask. There is
one answer, “Once a hunter always
a hunter,”