We have been able to fix a rifle range at Sagamore, though only up to 200 yards. Some of the children take to shooting naturally, others can only with difficulty be made to learn the rudiments of what they regard as a tiresome business. Many friends have shot on this range. We use only sporting rifles; my own is one of the new model Government Springfields, stocked and sighted to suit myself. For American game the modern small calibre, high power, smokeless-powder rifle, of any one among several makes, is superseding the others; although for some purposes an old 45–70 or 45–90, even with black powder, is as good as any modern weapon, and for very heavy game the calibre should be larger than that of the typical modern arm, with a heavier ball and more powder. But after all, any good modern rifle is good enough; when a certain pitch of excellence in the weapon has been attained, then the determining factor in achieving success is the quality of the man behind the gun. My eldest boy killed his first buck just before he was fourteen, and his first moose—a big bull with horns which spread 56 inches—just before he was seventeen. Both were killed in the wilderness, in the great north woods, on trips sufficiently hard to afford some test of endurance and skill. Such a hunting trip is even more than a delightful holiday, provided the work is hard as well as enjoyable; and therefore it must be taken in the wilderness. Big private preserves may serve a useful purpose if managed with such judgment and kindliness that the good will of the neighborhood is secured; but the sport in them somehow seems to have lost its savor, even though they may be large enough to give the chance of testing a man’s woodcraft no less than his marksmanship. I have but once hunted in one of them. That was in the fall of 1902, when Senator Proctor took me into the Corbin Park game preserve in New Hampshire. The Senator is not merely a good shot; he is a good hunter, with the eye, the knowledge of the game, and the ability to take advantage of cover and walk silently, which are even more important than straight powder. He took me out alone for the afternoon, and, besides the tame buffalo, he showed me one elk and over twenty deer. We were only after the wild boar, which have flourished wonderfully. Just at dusk we saw a three-year-old boar making his way toward an old deserted orchard; and creeping up, I shot him as he munched apples under one of the trees. CHAPTER XII IN THE LOUISIANA CANEBRAKES