234 What Birds Have Done With Me 



the teeming life in the world about him. Though 

 he may often have wandered and lost his way, 

 every trail he followed led him back to God. Sim- 

 ple minded, good hearted, he hunted and trapped 

 as he chopped wood to support his family. He 

 was a "pot hunter," an epithet of loathing and 

 contempt to every "true sportsman," and it is at 

 men of this class that all of our protective game 

 laws are aimed. 



The other day a very different style of a man 

 hunted at the inlet. Everything about him was 

 strictly up-to-date, or rather of the 1919 model. 

 He was the antipode of Adolph, the "pot hunter," 

 he killed for sport, as every true sportsman does. 

 In the twilight of a November day he came into 

 his store with a single trophy, a solitary Mallard, 

 the only living thing that he had seen to shoot 

 at, down at the inlet. He gave an animated de- 

 scription of his kill: U I thought I was going to be 

 'skunked' when I saw the vagabond in the rushes 

 near shore. He let me come so close that a first 

 I thought he must have a broken wing and could 

 not fly, but just as Billy was going to give him one 

 with the paddle he got up like a flash and I natu- 

 rally blew that green head of his into the middle 

 of next week." There were not wanting those 

 who laughed and called him lucky in letting noth- 

 ing get away, and none had any appreciation of 

 the fact that it was a wounded or a sick bird that 



