128 WILDFOWL SHOOTING IN THE WESTERN STATES. 



the marksman was to keep cool, bide his time, and 

 make his choice of birds. 



I had no hungry longing for more slaughter when 

 the last cartridge was fired. I almost think that I 

 rejoiced that my work was finished, for I had been 

 most assuredly a favoured child of fortune. 



When I had collected all my game into a pile, 

 ready for the waggon, it really looked a tremendous 

 quantity, and possibly there arose in my mind the 

 ghost of a suspicion that I had been too sanguinary ; 

 but then it must be remembered that all these birds 

 were migratory, and that if I had not arrested them 

 in their flight, to-morrow they probably would have 

 been affording profit and sport to a lot of half-bred 

 niggers, who shoot upon the lower reaches of the 

 Mississippi to supply the New Orleans markets. 



My companion had also done extra well, but the 

 performance of my guns he never tired of expatiating 

 upon. This resulted in my making a convert to my 

 belief in short barrels, and so thorough was the con- 

 version that a letter was written that self-same night 

 ordering a duplicate of my battery. 



Next day the whole country was iron-bound 

 snow lay over it broadcast, and open water had 

 ceased to exist. Unless to those well experienced in 

 the lay of the land, it' would have been no small 

 matter of difficulty to point out where the sloughs 

 existed. Being situated something like that venerable 

 old nigger, " Poor old Ned," who had no further work 

 to do, 1 packed up my traps, and bid adieu to country 

 life for a time. 



Another grand goose and duck hunt I had, but in 

 a different part of the country. It was so eminently 

 satisfactory, yet possessed of novelties in respect to 

 details, that I feel induced to impart it to the reader, 

 from the idea that he may be as fond of this descrip- 

 tion of amusement as I am myself. I was lounging 

 about the Bates House, Indianapolis, trying to kill 



