CATCHING MY FIRST RACCOON 

 and west as far as the Rockies, and I have never 

 yet found a place that equalled the Kankakee 

 swamps, for the variety of game to be found there. 



To make a long story short, in those days it 

 was the hunters' and trappers' paradise, and no 

 wonder he now feels sad at heart when he looks 

 over this once great hunting-ground now the 

 home of the farmer. He can realize how the 

 Redman felt when he had to give up this region 

 to the white hunters. 



When about eight years of age we moved to 

 the marsh and lived in a tog cabin on Bissel 

 Ridge. In the summer season my father ditched 

 and made hay. The grass was cut with a scythe. 

 After being cured it was hauled out of the marsh 

 on a brush to some knoll or ridge and there 

 stacked. In the fall father trapped the fur-bearing 

 animals and shot game for meat, while tending 

 his traps. He would dress the skins at night. I 

 helped getting the bow-stretchers ready and in 

 stringing -the dry hides. And when snuffing the 

 candle, no lamps or electric lights were used in 



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