1 68 The Passenger Pigeon 



double barreled shotgun, powder flask and shot pouch ; 

 my little girl, then a miss of twelve summers, following 

 me. I took a stand on a slight rise in the middle of a 

 five-acre field and commenced shooting, you might say, 

 at wads of pigeons, so closely huddled were they as they 

 went by. Letting the birds get opposite me and firing 

 across the flock, I was enabled to kill from three to 

 fifteen pigeons at a shot. And my girl was wildly 

 excited, picking up the dead birds and catching the 

 winged ones and bringing them to me. 



You never saw two mortals more busy than we were 

 for a half hour. At this time my wife called for break- 

 fast, as we were near the house, and I found my stock 

 of ammunition nearly exhausted. We went into the 

 house for our breakfast and when we came out the birds 

 were flying as thickly as ever. She says, let us count 

 the pigeons and see how many we have. We found we 

 had killed and picked up in this short time twenty-three 

 dozen. My wife said I had better take them to Three 

 Rivers, which was our nearest town, and sell them. 

 And as my ammunition was about exhausted, I hitched 

 up my team, took twenty dozen of the birds and drove 

 ten miles to the station, sold my birds for sixty-five 

 cents a dozen and returned home well satisfied with my 

 day's work, and having on hand a good supply of am- 

 munition for the next morning's flight. 



Now I wish to pass along, the lapse of time being 

 about sixteen years. During this time I had removed 



