78 WILD FOWL SILOOTING. 
The morning was clear and beautiful, the sun shone 
brightly, not a cloud broke the even smoothness of the 
horizon. “ Harry,” said I, “we are going to haye a 
fine day. Little cool now, but the sun will soon warm 
things up.” 
“Don’t know about that,” replied he, “the barom- 
eter indicates a storm.” 
All this time the freight thundered along. We had 
gone perhaps ten miles, when a huge, dark cloud sud- 
denly lifted itself over the western hills. Steadily it 
came along with incredible swiftness, covering like a 
blanket the clear sky. The wind began to whistle 
against the caboose, flakes of snow hurriedly scattered 
through the air, as if frightened at their temerity, and 
then fell, bowling over the frozen ground. The cold 
screeching of the wind, as it blew through the telegraph 
wires, made the chills run down my back. I looked 
inquiringly at Harry, asif to say, “ What do you think ? 
Going to be a tough day, isn’t it?” He evidently con- 
strued my thoughts correctly, and gave mea knowing 
wink, that I didn’t know how to interpret. 
We soon arrived at the station. I cast a long dubious 
look at the leaden sky, and turning to Harry, said, 
“the day is going to be wet, nasty, and very disagree- 
able. We are not out of meat at home, and are not 
obliged to hunt. What do you say, shall we go on, re- 
main out all day, get wet through and through, take 
our chances on finding good hunting, or declare dis- 
cretion the better part of valor, and return on the next 
train?” 
Candidly, I thought he would say, “ let’s go home.” 
Imagine my surprise, when he turned toward me, grim 
determination depicted on his face, and said, “ Entreat 
