THE GREYHOUND OF THE ILLINOIS RIVER 4I 



A miniature geyser shot up from the bow, directly 

 between the water rainbows which were turning from her 

 nose on each side. ^'A leaf," was Dan's laconic grunt 

 and the engines were again slowed down, the boat given 

 a sudden turn, and the leaf released. i 



Pekin, with its idle distilleries and active fishing in- 

 dustries, was only a glance as we rushed by. High 

 bluffs, swamps and likely shooting ponds (but no ducks), 

 were passed in rapid succession. Levees, small towns 

 and mining hamlets, fishing boats and fisherman's cabins 

 were a fleeting panorama. 



We jumped a few ducks from the liver. Every avail- 

 able point was occupied by a hunter, who was always 

 surrounded by decoys, but apparently getting no birds, 

 his discordant efforts on his call seeming to add to the 

 fright of the ducks. 



Royal Welcome at the Duck Island Club 



Locks at Copperas Creek were sighted in the distance. 

 The stage of water was good, and we went over the top 

 of the dam with a wild rush, leaving a far-reaching trail 

 of foaming water behind. Where were the Illinois Kiver 

 ducks of ye olden days, when they floated upon the river 

 by the millions f I began to feel that time or weather 

 was not propitious for duck hunting. 



We headed into a chute about a quarter of a mile down 

 and came to the dock of the clubhouse. As a reception 

 committee we found W. D. Allen, ex-Mayoi" of Peoria; 



