120 



RECREATION. 



and serves to hasten his gait,amid a great 

 squawking of fright. With wildly beat- 

 ing wings he climbs up, but a puff of 

 smoke from the other blind drives a 

 cloud of feathers from his side, which 

 float off on thewind likeashowerof snow. 

 His green head drops ; he whirls over 

 and comes down in the grass. 



"One on you, young feller!" he 

 chuckles. 



" Don't crow yet. I'll get even with 

 you ! " was the reply in excellent good 

 humor. 



"Whiz!" "Bang!" "Splash!" 



"Whiz!" "Bang!" "Bang!" 



That one got away. And so it went, 

 some shots cutting the birds down 

 others failing. Guns boom in the dis- 

 tance at intervals. Close at hand a 

 sullen, disjointed report proclaims the 

 presence of a siwash with his antiquated, 

 two-story musket. The fire of several 

 guns is visible across the marsh. At 

 the base of a mountain a light twinkles 

 and the lonely bark of a dog discloses 

 a solitary habitation. The shooting 

 must cease. Night is near at hand. 

 " But, wait ! here come some geese. 

 Five of them. Big fellows and low 

 down. They beat their wings heavily 

 overhead and four reports echo against 

 the mountain sides. Two dark forms 

 come to earth with thumps and we rush 

 out and gather up eight canvas, one 

 mallard, one pintail, two geese 



Our pipes are drawn, filled and lit. 

 We shake hands. Our pleasure is sin- 

 cere. A more exquisite hour's sport 

 never fell to our lot. 

 " Not much of a bag! " 



" Why, bless your dear heart, the bag 

 cuts no figure." I've had more sport, 

 lots of times, out of a brace of well 



killed birds than if hundreds had 

 been slaughtered. The " hot comers " 

 have always disappeared on my ap- 

 proach. What do we care about a well 

 filled bag ? I've hunted nearly all kinds 

 of game, from Illinois to Puget sound, 

 and never yet made a big bag. 



Given proper surroundings, a con- 

 genial companion, a moderate number 

 of birds and — " I love my worst enemy. 

 I can forgive the man who poisoned 

 my dog." 



"All hail, proud canvasback ! May 

 you never go where the buffalo went ! 

 May your bronzed plumage and the whiz 

 of your pinions gladden the hearts of our 

 children's children ! May posterity's 

 claim upon such thrilling moments of 

 sport be observed and'the ruthless hand 

 of reckless slaughter be stayed ere it is 

 too late and such grand birds be only a 

 memory. May the hunter's hand and 

 eye lose their cunning before extermina- 

 tion is complete ! " 



" Shall we not be warned ? Shall 

 this king of birds, and his first cousin — 

 the mallard — be allowed to perpetuate 

 his species ! " 



" Make it your business brother 

 sportsmen, to hammer away at the legis- 

 lators, sportsmen, hunters, laymen and 

 the youth, until proper protection is 

 assured ! " 



" From this most extreme northwest 

 corner of the Union — wriere wild fowl 

 are almost as scarce as in the eastern 

 states, and where there are hundreds of 

 birds now as compared with thousands 

 a few years since — the voice of warning 

 is raised to plead for temperance and 

 moderation, for protection and the 

 rights of our successors, that they, too, 

 may know such moments of pleasure. 





