2 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
season. I wondered if the gun store man was stringing 
me. It seemed odd to hear of such shooting so near 
town. For even then, two years before the big fire, 
Chicago was a large city, big enough it seemed to me to 
round up all the ducks within an hour’s ride in the cars. 
Leaving the train at Gibson, it was only a short drive 
to ‘‘Jake’s Place.”” The house and landing were on the 
banks of the Calumet River. It was long after dark 
when I arrived and the duck hunters were paddling 
home from their day’s shoot. I walked down to the 
landing to watch them come in. The single shooter in 
each skiff tossed out on the little wharf from seventy 
to ninety ducks. Such shooting was astonishing. I 
pinched myself to see if I was really awake. 
Soon afterwards the bell rang, dinner was announced, 
and after introductions I sat at dinner with Captain 
Bogardus, the Champion Pigeon Shot of the World, Abe 
Kleinman, Kleinman’s brother, and three other well- 
known market shooters. The fame of these men was 
abroad in the land among the shooting fraternity. To 
me they were heroes. Imagine a Western delegate toa 
National Convention dining with the President of the 
United States and his cabinet and you can appreciate 
my feelings. My reception at first was a bit chilly. 
Market shooters had no particular love for amateurs. 
They were a nuisance to have round. But after dinner, 
when I brought out a bottle of ‘‘Old Jordan” and some 
cigars, the ice thawed considerably. 
Captain Bogardus finally agreed to take me out next 
day. A stranger alone could easily get lost in the marsh 
and besides would not know the proper shortcuts among 
the cane brakes bordering the river, nor where to go for 
the best shooting. The constant overflow made a wide 
marsh, full of wild rice, on both sides of the river. I was 
