436 



RECREATION. 



"been there before." The others, now the 

 light was out, had nothing to shoot at, but 

 they knew the poacher would go to the 

 marsh, so they shoved down hard for the 

 shore. They meant business. 



The poacher and his pardner pulled their 

 skiff into a little slash, concealing it as 

 well as possible, and taking their guns, 

 squatted in the long grass, about 10 paces 

 from the boat. They were on a small 

 sedge island. Within 5 minutes their 

 pursuers were on the island, too, holding a 

 hurried consultation. It was one thing to 

 shoot at a light 200 or 300 yards away ; but 

 quite a different proposition to follow up 

 2 desperate men, armed with shot guns, 

 the deadliest known weapons at close range, 

 through thick sedge and rushes. The 

 poacher was popularly supposed never to 

 miss a duck, no matter how dark the night ; 

 and his pardner was believed to be a fugi- 

 tive from justice. The majority favored 

 letting things go as they were and return- 

 ing to their float houses. One or 2, how- 

 ever, proposed to burn the sedge and run 

 out the fugitives. The debate waxed warm. 

 An accident decided the question. One 

 man thoughtlessly struck a match to light 

 his pipe. The skiff, full of dead swans, 

 with the shattered lantern still hanging on 

 the standard, was plainly visible. There 

 was a unanimous cry : 



"Let's take the skiff and leave 'em to 

 swim home." 



Willing hands seized the skiff. The 

 poacher and his pardner cocked their guns. 

 His pardner turned his single eye on the 

 poacher. 



"Talk to 'em," he whispered, briefly. "If 

 you don't, I will." 



The poacher half rose and his voice was 

 hoarse: "See here," he said, "you men has 

 messed me all up enough fur once. Now 

 git and don't furgit to leave that skiff." 



He paused, and his pardner came to his 

 assistance, adding, in a hard metallic voice 

 that vibrated with half suppressed rage, 



"If yer don't go, we shoot." 



The pursuers were clearly at a disadvan- 

 tage and saw the point at once. They were 

 at the water's edge and their figures showed 

 plainly against the sky. Their enemies were 

 well hidden in the thick sedge. Without 

 a word each man got in his skiff and 

 shoved off. 



"Now," said the poacher, "carry me to 

 the boat and shove for the main shore and 

 a doctor." 



How that trip was made will never be 

 known. The poacher was full of big shot. 

 The same load that put out the light, had 

 sent a piece of lead through his pardner's 

 left arm, making an ugly flesh wound. A 

 rifle ball had grazed his hip. Nevertheless, 

 the trip was made, and before daybreak 

 they were well on their way back to their 

 shack. The poacher cursed freely all 

 guns, gunning and gunners, particularly 

 battery shooters. His pardner's only com- 

 ment was, 



"There is a law of compensation." The 

 poacher broke off suddenly, 



"What's that there mean?" he asked. 



"Oh," said his pardner, carelessly, "it 

 means things always break even. If the 

 rich man gets his ice in the summer, the 

 poor man gits his'n in the winter." The 

 poacher grinned. 



"I reckon we be pore enough, all right, 

 if that's it," he said. 



A swarm of bees chased Willie, 

 Till the boy was almost wild, 



His anxious parents wondered 

 Why the bees pursued the child. 



To diagnose, they summoned 



Their physician, Dr. Ives, 

 "I think," he said, "the reason's clear- 



Our Willie has the hives." — Widow. 



