SQUIRRELS AND SQUIRREL HUNTING. 207 



whistle; one call and its answer merely getting our 

 bearings, two calls repeated from one of us meaning 

 danger over in the other direction (when perchance 

 one perceived a squirrel which his fellow on the next 

 slope might not see), and three Bob ^Vhites! in succes- 

 sion being a summons to get together, for a squirrel 

 was in limbo and we must concentrate forces. 



I used to like to listen to the hum of insects in 

 the woods while waiting for the squirrels. The hunt- 

 ing was not all of it. I liked to think of the older 

 days, the days of midnight country serenades, of the 

 old-time and real negro minstrels, of Colt's revolvers, 

 and of "The Arkansaw Traveler." And my boyish 

 dreams were no mere fanciful or passing visions, but 

 were, in their way, the symbols of convictions about 

 life. 'T is a priceless heritage, the love for the coun- 

 try, and, once neglected and lost, it can not soon be 

 recovered. 



So, during my hunts, I have not only shot squir- 

 rels at all seasons of the year, among the buds of 

 springtime, amidst the mulberries in the summer, up 

 in the hickories in the autumn, and even on the icy 

 boughs of winter, but also have killed them with more 

 than one kind of firearm — with a .22 Flobert-Rem- 

 ington, with a .44 Henry, with a .56 Spencer, and 

 with muzzle and breech loading shotguns, both single 

 and double barreled — and have tried my hand with the 

 old cap and ball rifle, and have gone out breathing 

 forth slaughter with the more primitive weapons of 

 slings and stones. I have shot them while seated in 

 crotches scattering their nutshells below; and on the 

 sides of the shagbarks or maples, while they listened 



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