THE MUST DAY OF THE CHICKEN SEASON 



A. B. (<>\V IK. 



The persistent whir of my alarm clock 

 finally brought me to a proper realization 

 that it was the morning of the long awaited 

 day— the tst of the chicken season in Min- 

 nesota. I had been elected to awaken the 

 other members of our party, to get them 

 on the road by 4 o'clock. There were 4 of 

 ns: the Mayor and the Postmaster, 2 vet- 

 eran chicken slayers; the Doctor and I, 

 both young and green at the business. 



A mist was falling when I got out of the 

 house, which gave me great joy; for I had 

 heard that something of this kind was 

 needed to make it easier for the dogs, on 

 the 1st day. After I had awakened the 

 veterans, I went to the depot to meet the 

 Doctor, who was to come on the 3.20 train 

 from St. Paul. The train was an hour 

 late. 



During that hour, I received more abuse, 

 and was threatened with more kinds of 

 deaths than ever mortal was before; and 

 all because I asked an operator a few ques- 

 tions, and got 2 sleepy hunters up a few 

 times to see that it was clearing. It finally 

 did clear; the train came and we started; 

 the Postmaster and the Doctor, with the 

 former's Irish setter, Pat, in one rig, and 

 the Mayor and I, with his Irish setter, 

 Crank, and his pointer, Teddy, in the other. 



The slaughter was to take place on the 

 great flats, as they are called, between 

 Rothsay and the Red River of the North. 

 We had just reached the Eastern margin of 

 the flats when one of the dogs, ranging 

 ahead, showed signs of game. In an in- 

 stant the veterans were out and following 

 their dogs closely. Soon a chicken rose, 

 almost out of range. The Postmaster tried 

 one charge from his repeater, but never 

 touched it. I saw the Mayor smile, as the 

 bird sailed away. He told me, on the way 

 ■out, he did not like to hunt with the man 

 with the repeater on the 1st day, because 

 " the cuss always shoots as well on the 1st 

 day as the last; while I can't hit anything." 

 That was why he smiled at the miss. 



We were all out now. A few stray birds 

 got up, and it was my turn to smile when 

 the Doctor missed an easy shot. We soon 

 decided this was not the kind of hunting 

 we were looking for, so moved on. Soon 

 we came to one of the " very places." It 

 was a swale covered with green grass, while 

 on either side was a narrow strip of wheat 

 stubble. The Postmaster and Doc followed 

 one strip; the Mayor and I the other. 

 After going some distance, Ted took a 



hack tack and located a small covey. My 



fat companion got 1 bird, and 1 tried to 



get another, but failed. 



The other hunters were now ahead of 

 us, coming up on our side of the swale. 

 When they were within about 40 rods, Pat 

 found a scattered covey. To their disgust 

 and our amusement, the gunner-, wasted 

 several charges without getting a feather. 

 We saw them look curiously at each other 

 and then move on carelessly in our direc- 

 tion. Suddenly a bird got up between, them 

 and flew toward their rig. Doc raised his 

 slaying machine and was about to fire, but 

 hesitated for fear of shooting the horse. 

 The Postmaster, however, was getting des- 

 perate, so blazed away, missing the bird, 

 but hitting the horse. The animal was too 

 far away to be injured, but near enough to 

 be well stung. He wheeled around, nearly 

 upsetting the buggy, and started for home 

 at a brisk trot. His owner took after him, 

 yelling: " Whoa, whoa," in a voice that 

 would have stopped a coyote. 



Fortunately, a haystack was right in the 

 line of flight, and the animal decided to 

 sample the hay before going farther. He 

 had cause to regret this, or the run, or 

 something else, for he was treated to 

 a sound flogging when the irate Post- 

 master caught him. We drove down to 

 congratulate the Doctor on his skill in 

 sending so many charges of shot into the 

 air, and were making it generally pleasant 

 for him, when our friend returned with his 

 horse. We showered congratulations on 

 him, also, for his good shot and his big 

 game; but he did not seem to appreciate it. 



To our surprise, a bird got up within 2 

 rods of one of the rigs. By some accident 

 my gun went off and the bird dropped. 

 Then our fun commenced. The Mayor 

 and I each had a bird, and the other boys 

 not a feather. We made it interesting for 

 them for a while, giving all kinds of advice; 

 which they tried to laugh away. 



They finally left us, and we did not see 

 them again until the noon roundup. Then 

 we found they had nearly as many birds as 

 we, and were therefore inclined to be so- 

 ciable again. 



Though the chicken crop was light, we 

 returned in the evening with 2j birds in one 

 rig and 24 in the other. The Doctor was 

 happy because he had beaten me by 1. 

 Now, when we want to make the Post- 

 master very tired, we ask him if he ever 

 shot any large game. 



