CHAPTER VI.

HUNTING AND TRAPPING-WEAPONS.

My father kept no record of his big game shooting. No food-fowls nor game-animals were killed for sport or practice. Hunting was done only to replenish the larder or to refill the money-pouch. A particularly successful day or occasion, however, was impressed upon the memory by frequent repetition.

Major Brassfield came to Iowa a year earlier than our family. As the supply of big game became less opulent he moved further along the frontier, which gave him more extended advantages for large killings. He estimated that in his Iowa hunting-work he had killed one hundred and fifty elk. The words deer and elk often were used interchangably by early settlers.

Brassfield's record stands -- for different days -- was declared by himself: seven deer in one day; six elk in one day; three buffalo in one day; three bears in one day and no account of wolves and smaller varmints was made.

The major made no statement that he ever had shot an Indian; but he invariably gave the redskins credit for simple honesty and fair dealing in all of their transactions with him. He and his stepson, Fayette Barnes, were the only two men on the Boone river who did not decamp for the settlements at the time of the Spirit Lake trouble. They sent the family to safety but themselves remained to guard the stock and premises. Brassfield declared that night after night for many weeks he and his son slept upon the cabin floor, one at either door, with loaded rifle ready for instant use. Fortunately no Indians appeared.

Marksmanship.

Wilson Brewer's ability as a marksman was said to be equal to that of his friend Brassfield. Doubtless his record

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in deer and elk killings was quite as high, for scores and scores of the animals were killed during the early years of our residence here. Father never returned empty-handed from a hunting trip, and he invariably won a trophy at a shooting-match.

The art of marksmanship, in our family, seems to have been transmitted. My father and brothers were expert marksmen, and my own sons are all excellent shots; the youngest, F. A. Bonebright, for fifteen years belonged to the Iowa National Guard, and was a member of a corps of sharpshooters during the Spanish-American war. He has won many prizes and army medals in marksmanship contests at local, state and national meets.

Flint-Lock Rifle.

The large bore, muzzle-loading, flint-lock gun was a unique weapon. The powder flask -- a bottle -- or the powder-horn, made from the horn of an ox, and the bullet-bag were worn slung by a buckskin band over the shoulder and across the breast of the hunter.

The powder for loading was measured from the powder-horn and poured into the gun barrel. An inch-square piece of factory - muslin -- was placed over the muzzle, the bullet or buckshot pressed down flush with the edge, and the surplus cloth trimmed off with a bowie, or jack-knife. The wadding and leaden missile were pushed tightly into place with the ramrod. The powder-pan on the gun-lock was filled with powder and the implement of destruction was in readiness.

The contact of the hammer-flint with the upright lock-steel produced a spark which ignited the touch-powder and discharged the gun. This was a precarious method of firing, as the marksman's eyes may have been endangered by the explosion. The powder in the little pan frequently was blown away in windy weather, and the hunter's delay in repriming made possible the loss of game.

The supply of game was greatly reduced before the

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use of percussion-caps became general. The small-bore, rifled-barrel guns made possible a greater degree of accurate shooting.

The different families did not invade the hunting grounds of a neighbor. It might not have been entirely comfortable to do so. It was, however, a question of permitting a hunter to supply his own table with meat or the poacher having to furnish it for him. General hunts and round-ups occasionally were indulged.

Wolf Grounds.

The hillside to the south of Brewer's creek was a favorite haunt for wolves. A string of traps was maintained there for several years. Before leaving the East we had provided ourselves with bear-traps which are large double-spring steel affairs. The jaws are fashioned with pointed teeth which fit together as the cogs on sister wheels. These traps we used for wolves. The combined strength of two men was required to set them, and if a wolf once were entrapped there was small chance of his escape. Occasionally if caught by the leg, and the bones were broken, the animal would liberate himself by cutting away the skin and tendons with his teeth. The effort to escape, however, prolonged but did not save his life, for the bleeding, mutilated leg served well in trailing him to a hiding place or to his lair.

A trapper's method of wonting wolves was to tie a rope about the neck of a newly killed varmint and with the free end over his shoulder drag the wonting-meat for a greater or lesser distance through the woods. The bait was hung in a tree and traps set and concealed for capture of the beast.

A pioneer hardly could exaggerate the number of wolves which infested this part of the country; and each individual early settler assisted in the extermination of the canis family in numbers which ran into the hundreds.

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Wolf Killing.

One of the pleasant although occasionally exciting occupations of pioneer times was the early spring work in our sugar-bush, located on the farm now owned by my son, F. A. Bonebright, which farm then was thickly wooded.

Holes were bored a few inches into the trunks of hard maple trees. Spiles or split sections of Elder or Sumac stalks from which the pith had been removed were inserted in the holes and the sap caught in sugar-trough gourds or other receptacles. During sap-season the sweet water was used for coffee making.

When the tree-leaves had expanded to the size of squirrels' ears, the last runs were made and the sugar water was boiled down for the season's supply of maple-sugar and syrup. Many a day I was sent alone to the sugar-brush to carry in the water and boil the syrup. I worked from daybreak to midday and from noon until twilight, happy and unafraid; although I easily might have been captured by Indians or devoured by wolves or wildcats.

Concerted action was necessary during the busy sugar-season to care for the output. "Sugarin'-off" parties were invited any evening during the melting weather of March and the boys and "gals" alternately stirred the boiling maple juice, or sauntered on the shadowy outskirts of camp. All hands were present, however, at the close of the evening's work to participate in the sugarin', and there was a good-humored rivalry among the several pot-tenders to produce the finest flavored and richest colored commodity.

One evening my brother Jack and Cinda Schultz were late in arriving at camp. They had just crossed the foot-log near the creek's mouth at the Chase mill site, when they were startled by the yelp of a wolf only a few yards away.

The couple retreated to the middle of the log-bridge. Lucinda was told to sit down and keep silent. Jack examined his musket, and the two waited and watched intently for the appearance of the animal. The wolf came nearer, each howl indicating the direction of approach. For a

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moment the moonbeams lighted the trail to the south of them and disclosed the dark form of the hungry varmint. Jack's musket spoke; and the yelp of anticipation was changed to the dying whine of the wolf.

Immediately an answering shot was fired from the sugar-bush and loitering was forgotten.

The wolves for several weeks had been unusually active and rapacious: They had killed several shoats and a fine fat yearling calf. On this particular evening the pack had prowled persistently about the sugar-camp. Because of their proximity a number of couples had given up the evening stroll; but knowing they were safe within the campfire radius they treated with raillery the more or less perilous situation.

When the shot sounded from the creek Phil Jenkins, who happened to be near the stack of arms, fired a reply and reloaded while the other boys secured their weapons. Starting ahead of the rescue party Phil's first leap into the underbrush revealed the crouching form of an immense wolf with gleaming eyes and glistening teeth. The young .man fired and raced back into the light to reload.

The boys shouted to Phil: "Look after the girls!" and all ran precipitately into the shadows of the adjoining wood, each at a different point. Before a score of steps were made the crack of half a dozen guns was heard and half a dozen boys retreated into camp to recharge their rifles.

A second shot resounded from the creek, and a concerted shout with the shots of rescuers gave answer. Still another shot from the distance and the answering scream of women at the camp ought to have scared away a colony of coyotes or pack of timber wolves. The excitement was intense -- Phil Jenkins no longer could endure inaction. "Keep up the fires, girls!" he yelled, and "made off" in the direction of the creek.

Scarcely had he cleared the circle of illumination when he was attacked so suddenly that, in firing, he missed his mark. He clubbed his gun but the stock was broken with

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the first blow. He turned to flee and the wolf sprang upon him; but the girls, with firebrands, rushed to his rescue and fought off the animal. His clothing, however, was badly torn and his flesh lacerated by the teeth and claws of the ravenous beast.

Still another shot from the creek indicated that Jack and his fellow-prisoner on the foot-log were making a good defense; and the longer intervals between the shots of the rescuing party gave assurance that the remnant of the pack was being dispersed.

Jack was the hero of the hour and Cinda a close second as heroine; although their position was no more perilous than that of the girls in camp or of the rescuers, John Prime, Hez VanDorn, Stephe Schultz, Joth Lyon, Roll Brewer, Jimmy Peabody and Phil Jenkins.

Thirteen wolves were killed that evening; four of them were shot by Jack Brewer within a dozen feet of the foot-log on which he and Miss Schultz were marooned. The sugaring-off was delayed somewhat by this interruption. The "batch" was a "leetle" scorched; but we were all glad there were no disastrous results from the frightful experience.

Escape From a Deer.

Hunters did not go far from their cabins, during the early years, without their guns and bowie-knives. An established habit of my father was: not to lay down the gun without reloading. By observing this rule he missed no opportunity for procuring game and probably prolonged his life.

I recall an exciting experience with a deer which father had shot. He leaned the rifle against a tree, drew his knife and prepared to bleed the fallen animal. At his approach the creature sprang to his feet and charged savagely upon the hunter. To save himself from being horned to death father seized the antlers of the crazed beast and a fierce tussel followed.

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His knife, which had been taken between the teeth, was dropped during the struggle. For what seemed a very long time, but in reality could have been but a few minutes, father's efforts were directed toward keeping a firm hold on the horns of the brute while escaping contact with the trees about him.

The bullet had reached a vital spot, but the victim's vitality was unusual and he finally weakened from loss of blood. Father dextrously dodged a tree and at the same time thrust the antlers downward and brought the head of the buck against the obstruction. The beast dropped to his knees but blindly bunted the tree in an effort to destroy the supposed antagonist while father recovered his gun and knife. It was unnecessary, however, to waste a second bullet and the dying animal was stuck with the bowie-knife.

Preparation was made for drawing, but the venison was discovered to be unfit for food. Discoloration of meat was a condition often found in game-animals which had been unduly excited, worried or angered by hunters or hounds. Such congestion was more marked if closely pursued by human hunters than if followed by animal enemies. Many times when the day's deer-stalking had ended successfully the hunter could claim no recompense except the hide of his victim-the meat being valueless.

The same day father shot another deer which dropped to the ground at the report of the gun, exactly as the other one had done. The hunter ran forward, seized the creature by the nose, turned the head to expose the throat for the purpose of bleeding him. In a flash the animal sprang up, shook his head and snorted loudly. Not wishing to repeat the episode of the morning father started at a double-quick gait toward a fallen tree a few rods away.

The buck followed with much bawling, snorting and trampling of bushes, which noises apparently held unusual menace. Father leaped upon the trunk of the tree and took refuge in its branches beyond the reach of the deer. His precaution, however, was unnecessary. The wounded crea-

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ture was not pursuing him but was making the final, spasmodic attempt to escape.

Father frequently related the joke of having been treed by a dying deer but he usually made the excuse that "Jerushy" -- the name of his gun -- seemed to be shooting several points in the wind, that day.

One could incur the displeasure of an "airly" day hunter, or raise the ire of a marksman by stepping over the gun while it was being cleaned and oiled. We were as careful to avoid crossing pap's gun as we were of meddling with mam's spinning materials. The former was thought to bring ill-luck to the hunter, but the latter really did bring ill-luck to the meddler in the form of a sound scolding or a "box on the ear with five red-headed nails in it."

Twenty-seven Deer in Two-Days' Hunt.

In a two-day's hunt near the old steam mill site in the northwest part of town, my father killed twenty-seven deer. A heavy snow had fallen. Then came a thaw, followed by a freeze which left on the snow's surface, a crust which broke through with every step of the animals and made it next to impossible for them to escape.

Jack, Roll and father started hunting in the morning. The first deer-tracks were sighted at about the court house corner, and were followed a couple of hundred rods northwest where the herd was located. Father, in the lead, shot three deer before the boys came up. It was decided that he continue hunting while the young men were to bleed, draw and hang the carcasses in the trees; and throughout the day they were kept busy at the work.

At nightfall the boys built a camp-fire; spitted venison, and prepared to pass the night near the game and prevent depredations by wolves. Father returned home. Early the following morning, with a yoke of oxen and a sled, he set out for camp.

At the close of the two-days' hunt twenty-seven deer had been killed. They represented ages from no antlers,

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to brockets and crockets. The game was stored in the house on account of freezing weather until it could be prepared for market. .

I believe this deer record was the highest ever made in this vicinity.

An account of the first deer and elk shooting may be found in chapter one.

Wild Hogs.

This part of the country was not infested with wild hogs, although the Des Moines river hunters reported that several bunches of them ranged north through their districts during the summer, and the ones which escaped their guns straggled back in the fall.

The sultan at the head of a drove of wild hogs is a ferocious beast. Young, aspiring boars are killed by the leader in a finish fight or driven away from the herd; or perhaps the old male is killed, whereupon the victor appropriates the place and assumes the responsibilities of leader. New colonies are formed by the separation of parent herds and a number of the females following a young male mate.

A boar and half a dozen sows had ranged as far north as Terwilliger creek, south of town. They were making havoc among the sheep, pigs and chickens of the settlers. The dogs trailed the brutes with little enthusiasm and less success. The neighbors had used the various methods of baiting, trapping and trailing, and had succeeded in killing the females but the male had escaped.

Word was sent to our hunters with the request to bring the best dog and come to assist in the hog-killing. Roll, with Typ and Cap, two of our prize trailers, started for the rendezvous.

The hog-trail was "picked up" before the meeting place was reached. The dogs were kept in leash and the porcine home finally located. The he-hog, minus his harem, had selected a sheltered spot half way up the steep bank of the creek where the erosion of nature had caused a tree to fall

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with branches toward the stream. The mound of earth and tangled roots gave protection from the front and the excavation made by the removal of roots had been filled by the hog with grasses and rushes. A quite artistic and secure bark and brush covering had been drawn by him to a small opening for an entrance.

Mr. Hog was not at home when the hunter arrived. Roll decided his best move would be to tie the dogs out of reach on the fallen tree-trunk, and take his own position thereon to await the return of the beast to his lair.

While debaing [debating] the best position the dogs with loosened leashes, sprang into the underbrush and before the hunter could draw a bead upon his mark the boar plunged into his burrow.

The dogs were tied and Roll took his stand commanding the opening to the den. For a long time he waited almost motionless and breathless, but the hog did not come forth. The shadows were beginning to lengthen. Waiting grew tiresome so the dogs were turned loose to harrass his hogship and drive him into the open where he could be shot.

The hounds, tearing at his shelter, soon brought the boar out and to bay. An instant he paused before charging the dogs or the hunter. That instant his death sentence was signed with a rifle bullet from Roll's gun.

The hunter and dogs covered the couple of remaining miles to Terwilliger's at a double quick gait where they arrived before dark. The party which had come together for the day's hunt had grown tired or waiting for Roll and several of the men had gone home.

"You are pretty late, young man," said Terwilliger, as the nimrod approached. "We have decided to get together in the morning and make an early start."

"There's no use to get together tomorrow to kill that hog," replied Roll.

"What's the reason?" demanded Terwilliger. "When our young stock goes to pasture, we ain't sure any more that they will ever come back."

"Well," remarked Roll, complacently, "that wild hog

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won't kill any more critters for he is dead himself."

The details of the day then were related and great satisfaction was expressed by all present.. Roll remained over night at the Terwilliger home. In the morning the hunters accompanied him to the scene of the hog shooting.

The tusks of the animal were kept for a long time as a reminder of the only wild boar killed in this vicinity. He weighed about three hundred pounds, but the weight was in the bony frame instead of flesh. His legs were very long, and his head and nose formed almost half the length of his body.

It has been stated that Iowa wild hogs may have been descendants from the domesticated hogs which had become wild in their habits since the early settlement of the state. If the theory be true, this particular specimen had reverted to type with absolute thoroughness and accuracy of physical detail and disposition.

Elk Hunt; Locked Antlers.

My father had patiently trailed an elk from early morning until late afternoon. Coming warm upon the trail he heard the peculiar cry of the species. Hurrying forward to an opening among the trees he beheld the elk he had been stalking in deadly combat with a bull of smaller build. The antlers of the combatants had become inextricably locked at the first charge; which, to the trained hunter, meant death to both animals.

The beasts gave no heed to the human intruder, and for a long time he watched an equally balanced battle between age and weight on one side, and youth and activity on the other. The smaller elk at length secured an advantage in leverage, and the horns -- together with a part of the skull -- were torn from the head of the heavier antagonist; and with an almost human cry he dropped dying to the ground.

The exhausted victor sank to his knees for rest. Noticing father near at hand he uttered a low bellow, shook his head in the effort to free himself from the antlers of his

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dead enemy and made several ineffectual attempts to charge, but handicapped by the weight upon his horns his over-wrought forces refused to respond and a rifle ball finished him.

These locked antlers were kept for many years as a curiosity; and were finally given to a prospector named Hopkins, who promised to mount the unique pairs. I have heard of a small number of such specimens, although I have seen but this one set.

Wildcats.

Our boys made a hunting trip to Head grove during the early years. They were out several days through a severe storm, and came home empty handed.

They reported good success before the opening of the storm. The game they had taken was skinned, drawn and hung in the trees. The skins were wrapped and securely tied about the carcasses awaiting the joint efforts of the party to remove them to camp.

The blizzard broke with such fury that all movements were abandoned. When the storm abated, the hunters on account of deep snow, prepared to return home. They made the circuit from tree to tree where the venison carcasses had been suspended, but the skeletons only remained. The meat had been devoured by wildcats. Even the skins were torn to shreds and were worthless.

Wildcats were numerous and not at all afraid of hunters. They were not so large as the lynx. They would not attack a human being but did not run from one. The varmints, however, were as ravenous as wolves when hungry, and would devour game in about the same way. It was the usual measure of precaution for hunters to keep a sharp lookout for cat "sign," when there was stored game or carcasses in the open awaiting removal to camp.

It would be a conservative estimate to say that hundreds of wildcats were killed in the immediate vicinity of our city.

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Elk Hunt.

One winter day, Jack, Roll and Little Bill Brewer tracked an elk from the mouth of the White-Fox creek along up the river. From the trail of blood and the trampled condition of the snow the boys decided the beast was having a terrific fight with wolves.

At intervals of about eighty rods a stand was made by the elk, and the wolves sought to surround and subdue him. For defense at these places the bull had wheeled about on his hind legs describing a circle; and evidently had struck with such rapidity and precision with his fore-feet, that from one to three wolves were killed at each stopping place. This spirited defense caused the attacking animals to retire a short distance where they sat in a circle upon their ]haunches to prevent the escape of the elk. When rested they would renew the onslaught.

The trail was followed for a couple of miles when the boys sighted the fast-failing animal with the pack at his heels. Several of the wolves were shot, the remainder were frightened away and the elk was killed by Little Bill Brewer.

It was the rule of hunters that: he who drew first blood from a venison animal received the hide and tallow-the most valuable portion at that time. As Roll had no family the division of meat was made between the older men and they departed for home. After taking the wolves' pelts Roll struck out upon another trail, and during the afternoon killed four does and a staggard almost within sight of the home of Jack, one of his companions of the forenoon.

Bears.

Bears could not have been numerous in this locality before our arrival or Major Brassfield, who was a better trained hunter and owned better weapons than our party, would have had a longer notch-stick representing bear-killings. I recall but one of his stories which, however, was not a real bear hunt.

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One evening at sunset the dogs created an unusual commotion in the stable-yard. It was found, upon investigation, that a bear had climbed a tree either to get a chicken-supper or to escape from the dogs. Brassfield confined the hounds in the cabin, procured a long pole and prodded bruin until he began to descend from the tree.

A bullet pierced his brain as his hind-feet touched the ground, and this young, fat animal furnished the basis for the Major's declaration that: "bear-steak is powerful good eatin'."

Our boys discovered bear-sign only a few times. One night, two specimens going northward, prowled about the Aunt Nancy Stanley place on the north hill. They helped themselves to a couple of crocks of milk at the springhouse and a small quantity of jerked venison. They were tracked to Batch grove where the trail was abandoned. Other signs were seen along the Skunk creek and near Mud lake but bruin succeeded in avoiding our hunters.

Bear Shot With Bow and Arrows.

One bright spring morning after the man-folk had gone to work, a small black bear appeared in our bee-yard. The children scampered to the house and reported to mother. She closed the door and cautioned silence and we waited the outcome of the honey theft.

Meanwhile, John Thomas carefully, but hurriedly, tightened his bow-string and with his heaviest arrows slipped outside.

Bruin nosed leisurely among the bee-gums, which were large or small sections of hollow logs. He chose one with a large opening. Rearing upon his hind legs he pulled it over, and with fore paws began clawing out the comb and helping himself to the honey.

The bees swarmed out and settled upon him. Suddenly he pitched headforemost to the ground and rolled and grunted as if in great agony. The bees were stinging him

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mercilessly but we soon found that was not the cause of his fall.

John Thomas, from behind a tree, had been using his bow and arrows with good effect. Several of the steel-tipped shafts were sticking in the bear's body. One of them penetrated the ear of the victim and, apparently, partially paralyzed him. When we realized the bear was disabled, mother prepared a sulphur smudge which quieted the bees, and the bear was knocked in the head with an ax.

The shot which saved that hive of honey doubtless was due to luck instead of good marksmanship; but the older hunters who had spent days in the unsuccessful hunt for bears were greatly chagrined that the boy sportsman had bagged a bear which had come to our door.

This specimen had not been faring sumptuously-perhaps he had just awakened from his winter's nap. His carcass was very thin and devoid of fat, so we did not prepare the meat for food.

Elk Tied With a Log Chain.

Nearly all pioneer hunting, exploits are similar in their action whether results are equal or not. The methods of one man follow a parallel with another, except for an occasional freak of fancy or an unaccountable lapse from the usual soundness of judgment.

Major Brassfield, in taking aim at a young elk, either had miscalculated the distance of his target or the animal may have moved. Instead of reaching a vital spot the bullet crashed through both shoulders stunning and crippling him. Wishing to tryout the buck's tractableness or perversity the hunter decided to surprise his family by bringing in a live elk.

He hitched a light log chain about the critter's neck and started; but the elk did not stir. The Major pulled on one end of the chain and the elk on the other. The log chain did not part so one or the other of the contestants alternately was taken over the ground at a lively clip. If the

Chapter 6 cont.

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