A Rabbit Hunt on the Prairie. 



The sun is just peeping over the hills in the east as I 

 climb into the wagon beside George in the early morning. The 

 night has been cold, the air is sharp and frosty; the grass 

 rustles under the horses' feet as we drive across the prairie 

 towards the big slough. I notice that George has a hired man 

 and boy on the front seat, a roll of smooth fence-wire in the 

 wagon and an extra horse leading behind. I figure it out that 

 he is going to do some work on the pasture fence, and is taking 

 the wire and hired help along for that purpose. On arriving at 

 the lower end of the big slough, the team is stopped, one end 

 of the wire is fastened to the whiffletree of the single horse, the 

 boy takes the horse by the bit and leads him across the swale 

 running out 150 feet of the wire; then he is headed in the same 

 direction and abreast of the team. I could not curb my curiosity 

 any longer; so inquired of George what this means and what 

 it has to do with our proposed rabbit hunt. 



"Well, Will, I see you are green in this business, so I'll 

 have to give you a few pointers. In the first place, we are not 

 going to do any hunting, but we are going to make the rabbits 

 do the hunting. Go over on the other side of the slough and 

 walk about ten feet ahead of the single horse and I will walk 

 ahead of the team ; keep a sharp lookout, and take care of all 

 the game that that gets up in front of your half of the wire. 

 \Yhen we start the horses, the wire will wake up all the game 

 between us and make them hunt a new locality ; so look out 

 for almost anything and don't get rattled." 



The drivers start up the horses, and the hunt is on. A 

 cottontail springs from the grass, and, at the crack of George's 

 little 16-bore, rolls over and is tossed into the wagon. 



"Hold on !" said I. "Look ! Look !" 



"Give it to him !" says George, "that's a jack-rabbit." 



I was carrying my gun at ready, and, bringing it quickly 

 to my shoulder, sent a charge of shot after the flying jack; but 

 I shot behind him, and he circled across toward George, who 

 neatly bowled him over. George asked me if I had ever seen a 

 jack before, and I told him I had been on a hunt in Kansas 



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