A CART LOAD OF GEESE. 



J- F. 



" Dreaming again, old man? " 



" No; hardly dreaming; just wander- 

 ing back about 20 years; thinking of the 

 grand times I used to have with old Jock; 

 and especially of the night we shot the 

 snow geese, just before our wedding.'* 



" Write the story of that hunt, for Rec- 

 reation." 



And no sooner said than done. 



Poor, dear old Jock; a faithful friend; 

 truthful to the letter; an expert hunter, a 

 good shot, one of nature's noblemen, and 

 yet a half breed Indian. May we meet on 

 the other side of the range. 



For 11 years we lived side by side, and 

 hunted together in the wild muskegs, on 

 the untrodden prairies and in the forests of 

 Manitoba. 



The old man had crossed the country 

 with Dr. Rae, and other celebrated men, 

 when it was known to only a few Hudson 

 Bay employees, and when it was overrun 

 with Indians and buffaloes. As a natural 

 consequence he had an unlimited fund of 

 anecdotes and reminiscences to draw on, 

 such experiences and adventures, in fact, 

 as fall to the lot of few men. But while 

 thinking of that dear, honest old friend I'm 

 wandering from the hunt I was going to tell 

 you of. 



More than 20 years ago old Jock came up 

 to my bachelor establishment, one evening, 

 with his usual cheery salutation, " Hello, 

 boy." I knew by his smile he had good 

 news. 



" How'd a wavey hunt go, boy? They're 

 flying some to-day, and to-morrow they'll 

 all go North." 



" I'm your huckleberry, Jock," I said. 



" All right, boy; come along. Bring lots 

 of shells. I'll have old Blue in the cart by 

 the time you get down." 



I rolled up a blanket, 200 shells, and the 

 little 16 gauge gun; some newspapers, for 

 decoys, and away I went to Jock's house. 

 Old Blue was harnessed in the regular old 

 " shaggi nappi " harness and hitched to the 

 Red river cart, used by the plains hunters 

 in the palmy days of the buffalo. 



The harness was made of rawhide, gen- 

 erally buffalo hide, about 3 inches in width, 

 and sewn with deer skin thongs. 



The cart — all hand made, without a 

 single nail or a piece of iron in it — had 

 wheels some 6 feet in diameter. The shafts 

 formed the body of the cart, by extending 

 them some 3 feet back of the wheels. A few 

 stakes on each side and a rail on the top 

 formed the sides. A raw buffalo hide 

 covered the bottom and made side boards. 



This was just the rig to cross the boggy 

 marshes with. It furnished both music and 



exercise, for its occupants. Its old hubs, 

 worn by years of hunting had abundance of 

 play, and squealed and wailed in every key, 

 as it jolted from hummock to hollow in a 

 vain endeavor to dislodge the passenger-. 

 Old Blue was blind in one eye, and he was 

 as honest as his owner. He required no 

 driving. Once hooked in Jock walked 

 ahead and old Blue's nose was at his back. 

 When Jock pulled something had to come. 



The 21st of May, 1875, saw 2 happy men 

 wending their way slowly into the big 

 marsh that extends from the Red river a 

 distance of 25 miles due East, and is sev- 

 eral miles wide. 



A few geese were flying North as we 

 reached the hunting ground; so we hustled 

 old Blue into some willows and in 10 min- 

 utes had our blinds up, on either side of a 

 burned strip of grass. A second growth 

 had sprung up green, making a great con- 

 trast to the dry hay on either side. 



About 70 yards to windward we set up 

 some paper decoys and soon the ball 

 opened. The wavies (snow geese) would 

 come falling over each other at Jock's per- 

 fect call. They would sweep away past us, 

 and then turn, sailing gracefully up to the 

 decoys, against the wind. On they came 

 between the blinds, " kuk, kuk, kuk." 



"Now, boy!" And old Jock's little 20 

 gauge and the trusty 16 speak, and we have 

 some more decoys to put out. 



As the sun sets the flight increases. The 

 full moon rises as old Sol dips in the West- 

 ern horizon, and still they come. " Quoh, 

 quoh," as far as we can hear, the chattering 

 is going on. Flock after flock comes in to 

 the decoys and the dead flock grows apace. 



Suddenly the wind changed and came 

 from the North; oh, such a cold blast! 

 The wavies felt it too, and began to light. 

 There were miles of them, like long snow 

 banks. 



We shot, and called till we were hoarse, 

 and they fluttered about our blinds almost 

 at the very muzzles of our guns. The re- 

 ports only brought more birds, and we got 

 more shots. We gathered none till morn- 

 ing. It was impossible to mark them down, 

 in the moonlight. 



At last we got hungry, made a cup of cof- 

 fee, and then took our blankets and curled 

 in the blinds to await the coming of day- 

 light. But it was no use. The geese keot 

 coming and squawking over our blinds, 

 and gave us no rest. 



We would get up and fire a few shots 

 and then a lull would come. We would try 

 to sleep, but scarcely would we close an eye 

 before new flocks would come and the 

 pandemonium would be turned loose again. 



455 



