THREE WEEKS. IN 
BY) WiC. 
WADERS 
KEPLER. 
® 
(Continued from page 284.) 
After leaving the bridge we pushed 
on for the ‘‘ Ox bow,” a place where an 
old dam remains, with pools above and 
below, and the fishing generally ex- 
cellent. One can start at the begin- 
ning of the curve, and, after wading 
about a mile, walk ten rods across a 
narrow peninsula, start in at the same 
place and fish the waters over again. 
A farmer and poultry raiser, by the 
name of Mark Bowers, owns the penin- 
sula and also land farther down stream, 
and with his permission we camped on 
his place. Both Mr. Bowers and his 
wife do everything they can to make it 
pleasant for those who stop, and the 
delicious flavor of Mrs. Bowers’ apple 
sauce yet lingers a pleasant memory. 
At this place we stopped two nights, 
meeting with very good luck, Drum- 
mer rather beating us, catching ten on 
one trip down stream in an hour or two. 
This rather inflated him, and we had 
hard work in making him perceive that 
he still had his share of camp chores to 
perform. Argument was no good. 
We looked him carefully over and con- 
cluded, after a private consultation, 
that force would be no better, and 
probably only injure our health, so we 
worked a little ruse. Scissors agreed 
to get supper. He said that would 
fetch him if anything would. It did. 
Perhaps other such meals have been 
prepared in camp, and the partakers 
lived to tell of them, but you will ex- 
cuse me if I doubt it. . 
For one thing he served fried pota- 
toes that were gritty, with a superior 
quality of sand. The bread he had 
taken from its air-tight can and care- 
lessly left near the fire, and by the 
time the other things were ready it was 
so dry that a carpet tack would not 
penetrate it. Through mistake he 
salted the coffee extravagantly. It 
would seem that an idiot fresh from an 
asylum could have got the butter and 
pie on in first-class shape, but Scissors 
managed to sit on one and step ‘in the 
other. For disaster to the fish I do 
not blame him, for only an expert can 
cook. fish. Some way or other, fish 
fried quickly over a beef-steak fire do 
not have the flavor one naturally ex- 
pects. 
Now, Drummer had been taking his 
ease ir idleness, and came at the call 
to supper with all the usual alacrity he 
uses in obeying a summons of this 
kind. He found his coffee poured, his 
plate generously apportioned with his 
usual supply, about three times that of 
the ordinary individual, and fell to 
work in his regular camp style. About 
half a minute was sufficient, and he 
was on his feet with all a hungry man’s 
anger in being disappointed of a good 
meal. 
‘«Scissors, you outrageous, homicidal, 
balderdashery idiot! Emaciate your 
shrunken personality! If I get—” 
By this time Scissors was half way 
across the river and bravely swimming 
for the other bank. Drummer then 
turned to me. 
‘‘Tsaac, did you have a hand in this 
contemptible affair ?”’ 
‘‘No,” I said, speaking in a soothing 
tone, ‘‘ dear boy, I merely dressed the 
fish.” 
‘¢ Well, emancipate my paraphernalia 
