JOHN’S ISLAND 89 
but I'll bet you a dollar you don’t shoot ten ducks on 
John’s Island to-day.”’ 
“You're on,’”’ I said; ‘‘that’s a good bet for you to 
lose.”’ 
We were standing on the dock, guns, shell box, rubber 
coat, and lunch in a heap ready to pack in the boat. 
Jimmy brought in the skiff and we started for John’s 
Island, but we never got there. 
‘“Who was John?’”’ asked Jimmy as we paddled along 
with the current down river, ‘‘and why is it called 
John’s Island?”’ 
‘‘John was one of the guides here fifteen years ago. 
Not many people came down here then, it was a hard 
place to get to. When I first drove down in 1899 it 
seemed as though we were going to the jumping-off 
place. John was a fine shot and one of the best guides 
to find birds on the marsh, but he was a little too quiet 
for most people. There were more guides than sports- 
men in those days and John had plenty of idle time 
on his hands.” 
‘“What did John have to do with his island?’’ asked 
Jimmy. 
“‘Oh, John used to sit on the dock and see all the 
sportsmen start out; when they were all gone, he would 
walk over to the little island, named after him because 
he nearly always shot there. When the sportsmen 
returned with fifteen or twenty ducks John would be 
sitting on the dock grinning with a pile of fifty to 
seventy-five ducks beside him, mostly teal.”’ 
‘“How did John manage it?’’ Jimmy asked. 
‘Tt was just a case of the farther away the greener the 
hill. The sportsmen went three to five miles hoping for 
a big shoot. John went half a mile from the house to 
his island and generally found plenty of ducks. John 
