Picked from the Prairie Province 245 



we'll surely see plover and perhaps a few snipe. 

 Let's get on the waders and fill up time, anyway." 

 Monroe was hanging shooting togs upon the nails 

 which each was to consider as his own, but he had 

 changed from tweed to sweater, cords, and waders. 

 "You fellows go ahead, and I'll try later; the 

 ground's not broad enough for three abreast," he 

 said, and Thompson bowed in mock gravity and 

 replied, " Thanks, O most gracious monarch of the 

 marsh ; thy insignificant subjects be most truly grate- 

 ful." I felt there was something behind this peculiar 

 speech, and as we tramped toward the good ground, 

 I asked what was the joke. " Joke ! " exclaimed 

 Thompson ; " there's no joke about it ! But I for- 

 got you'd never seen that long-legged old pirate 

 talking to small game. Gad ! if he's a joke, I'd 

 hate to be a snipe when a fellow in dead earnest 

 happened along. He's as fast as a bullet when he 

 wants to be, and those big lamps of his can see be- 

 hind like a rabbit. You just wait awhile and you'll 

 see something worth watching." The veteran, in 

 spite of his firm belief in Monroe's superiority, was 

 himself a rare good shot, as I presently discovered 

 when we reached a few acres of the blackest of mud. 

 From a tussock of grass sprang a swift, brown thing, 

 its bent wings making a " Whip-ip-ip ! " of hollow 

 sound, its alarm cry, a rasping " Sca-ip ! scape ! " as 

 it darted off in the typical series of twists and short 

 zigzags. Instantly Thompson's gun cracked, and 

 the wavering flicker of brown changed to a point of 

 white as the bird turned over and struck the mud. 

 " Whip-ip ! Sca-ip ! " twice repeated, and I folded up 

 one and sent the other to the mud, to bounce again 



