296 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



a clump of " tule," and get a nice right and left as 

 they whistle over. One falls dead at your feet; 

 the other, wounded, strikes the slough, and the 

 spaniel is after him in a jiffy. The duck dives 

 and the dog is puzzled. He turns to you implor- 

 ing eyes. You wave him toward a mass of weed. 

 There is a flounder and a gurgle. Good dog ! 

 What a nose he has ! 



At the lower end of the marsh you flush a jack- 

 snipe and miss him clean. Evidently the early 

 rains and heavy frosts in Oregon have sent the 

 snipes south. This will be glorious news to take 

 back to camp. Meantime you are stirring up the 

 duck, getting a few shots here and there and driv- 

 ing them north. The " boys " are blazing away and 

 must have a bag already. Gad ! how hot it is ! 



When you return to camp, the guisado, or Spanish 

 stew, is scenting the air, and you fall to with an 

 appetite worthy of it. The recipe for this savoury 

 dish is as follows : Into a large iron camp-pot you 

 put some butter, in which you fry brown a couple 

 of large onions carefully shredded. Then you add 

 the contents of two big tins of tomatoes and three 

 dried chillies. Plenty of salt and what game may 

 be in camp fill the pot. The whole must simmer 

 in the embers of a camp fire for four hours. After 

 eating your lawful share of this you can say with 

 the poet, — 



" Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day." 



If, however, you consume more than is needful. 

 Indigestion, masquerading as Fate, may present a 

 bill of pains and penalties. 



