ON MISSOURI RIVER BARS 



By Pe«y C. Darby 



There is something in October sets the gypsy 



blood astir, 

 We must rise and follow her, 

 When from every hill of flame, 

 She calls and calls each vagabond by name. 



— Carman. 



,Y old friend Vic Engleman and I were shooting 

 from the same blind on the Missouri Elver in 

 southwestern Iowa last Fall, when the wind 

 shifted to the northwest and the temperature began to 

 lower rapidly. Soon large flocks of ducks and geese 

 came pouring from the north down the Missouri River 

 valley. They were going south by the thousands. 



Our blind was on a point of a sand bar and the cur- 

 rent was strong against the bar. All our ducks dropped 

 in the river where the current was swift and Sandy, 

 my Chesapeake Bay dog, did some fine work, retrieving 

 thirty-two ducks and five geese from the ice-cold water. 

 He would never falter for one moment. A pair of red- 

 heads came into the decoys. I killed the drake and only 



