298 WALL STREET AND THE WILDS 



of an oar which I fixed upright in the skiff to 

 guide me back if I became in doubt as to my 

 course. Ducks rose near me or flew over me and 

 I shot them. With each bird that I shot I 

 changed my course and finally when I found my- 

 self burdened with some fifty pounds of them I 

 thought to return to my skiff. But where was 

 the skiff? I wandered blindly about. The Illi- 

 nois River lay to the east of me and the water 

 deepened as I traveled that way. To the west 

 was the slough of deep water over bottomless mud 

 and to swim to and through it among close-grow- 

 ing reeds, stems of wild rice and bunches of lily 

 pads, was impossible unless I threw away gun, 

 game, and possibly clothing. I was hopelessly 

 lost and growing more confused minute by 

 minute. 



I have often been lost, in the Rockies, in a 

 Florida swamp, and in a western cornfield while 

 shooting prairie chickens. From the mountain 

 you can descend to the valley and follow ravine 

 or river till you come to one that you know. 

 Strike west from within a Florida swamp and 



