a mile away. It was something altogether new 
to his experience. It was too sharp for the 
raven’s cry and it was too loud for the yelp of a 
hungry coyote. Triska, the warden, knew what 
it was, however, and soon the rapid purr of his 
motorboat was heard coming up the lake shore. 
Over there in the desert three men were walking 
along a hundred yards apart and they carried 
guns in their hands. Every little while one 
would raise his arms and fire. In the quiet 
autumn air the sound would go rushing far and 
wide over the wastes of tule and sage. Baldpate 
paid slight attention to all this, for what did he 
know of guns and their terrors? Yet in days 
to come he must have recalled the sounds made 
by these sage-hen hunters, when in a strange 
land under distant skies he was to learn much of 
the meaning of the fowler’s deadly aim. 
Strange wild-fowl began to be seen on the Mal- 
heur Bird Reservation. They had come down 
from their summer home far in the North and 
seemed to enjoy staying here for a time, where 
there was plenty of food and where no hunter 
ever came to disturb them. On the other hand, 
230 
