358 AMERICAN GAME FISHES. 



reached the last house on our road; a small log-cabin, before 

 which a huge woman sat knitting, and smoking a cob pipe. 

 She courteously answered our inquiries concerning the proper 

 route, and as several logging roads branched from the track, 

 she called her son — a boy of about twelve years — and told 

 him to guide us to the river. The little fellow ran into the 

 house, and soon reappeared, carrying an immense army 

 musket. 



We could not repress a smile when, shouldering the 

 preposterous weapon, the boy took his place in front of the 

 team, and prepared to lead the way. 



The mother laughed good-humoredly. "It is a pretty 

 big gun, but Jock knows how to use it. Git us somethin' 

 for supper, Jock, 'fore ye come back." 



A mile of rough travel brought us to the edge of a small 

 marsh, beyond which we saw the gleam of the river. Here 

 it was necessary to leave the wagon, the ground being 

 impracticable for horses. 



Lifting the boat, we passed the marsh, the boy in advance 

 holding his musket at a ready, and as we neared the stream, 

 a pair of ruffed grouse rose near our feet and sped across 

 the river; but before they had gone thirty yards, the old gun 

 spouted forth its flame, and the leading bird dropped into 

 the bushes on the other side of the stream. 



"Whew!" said John. "Who taught you to shoot grouse 

 that way.?" 



"Dad," replied [the boy. "They a'n't grouse, they're 

 pat'ges." 



"You're a promising specimen of Young America, I must 

 say. We'll buy that bird of you for supper." 



"I don't want ter sell 'im. Marni likes 'em." 



Just at this stage of the colloquy, we noticed that the tish 

 were rising at the feathers which had settled on the water. 



"Brown hackles, eh, John.'" 



"Of course — see 'em jump; but we can't fish now, we 



