
DUCK SHOOTING NEAR LAKE WINNIPEG. 
we had made were much wider than any 
we have ever ordered before.’ ”’ 
Of course, a great deal of the above is 
““newspaperesque,’ pure and simple, yet 
the fact remains that the American people, 
481 
taken as a whole, are undoubtedly and un- 
deniably becoming more fleshy. Uncle 
Sam is becoming more and more like John 
Bull as time goes by! 
DUCK SHOOTING NEAR LAKE WINNIPEG. 
E, B, BUCHAN REESOR, 
Two years ago Harry Northup and J 
took a trip to the famous - breeding 
grounds where the Red river empties into 
Lake Winnipeg. We drove to Selkirk, 
about 26 miles distant, taking our provis- 
ions and shooting outfit with us, and send- 
ing my canoe by train. 
Six o’clock in the afternoon saw us at 
old Fort Garry, a former stronghold of the 
Hudson’s Bay Company, and still used 
by them as a trading post. There we made 
our first stop and a raid on’our luncheon. 
We reached Selkirk that evening and 
found everything in readiness for us. The 
rector of the Church of England, who 
was a friend of Harry’s, had attended to 
that. Leaving the horse in his care we 
packed our canoe, secured our hardtack 
in a convenient place and pushed on. 
With noiseless paddles we skimmed 
along beside the green banks of St. Peter’s 
Indian reserve until dark. Then we made 
for a landing, whereon to camp for the 
night. We couldn’t have chosen a worse 
spot, but when our fire was made, and 
supper cooked ‘and eaten we were too 
tired to paddle any farther, so we decided 
to remain. We had no tent, but spread our 
rubber sheets and rugs out, brought up the 
canoe for a canopy and prepared to sleep. 
fhe mosquitoes were upon wus in thou- 
sands. 
When I could stand it no longer I took 
the canoe and a rubber blanket and sought 
the middle of the river, leaving Harry, 
who didn’t believe the mosquitoes would 
hug the bank. 
I fell asleep and dreamed of giant mos- 
quitoes with great flapping wings and 
deafening quack-quacks. When I opened 
my eyes the sight that greeted them was 
sufficient to drive sleep far from me. The 
canoe had drifted among the rushes, and 
all around, as far as eye could see, were 
ducks—big ducksand little ducks, ducks of 
al! sorts and descriptions, teal, mallard, wid- 
geon, an occasional redhead and canvas- 
back, gadwalls, buffle-heads, shovelers and 
pintails—all dipping, splashing, circling 
and gabbling as free and happy as ducks 
could be, without fear of slaughter and 
without a thought of September Ist. 
I held my breath and felt for my gun. 
Not there; I had left it on the bank! As 
silently as I could I turned the canoe and 
paddled up stream % of a mile before J 
saw Harry, stretched out at full length and 
wrapped like a mummy. I tried in vain 
to get him out. The idiot yawned, blinked, 
turned over and slept—yes, actually slept 
again. Seizing my gun I ran to the canoe, 
jumped in, and was soon among the 
rushes. A plump canvasback was just ris- 
ing from the water, about 20 yards away, 
and disregarding those nearer, I aimed 
at him. Down he came, and 2 others of 
like kind, rising from the same neighbor- 
hood, swiftly follo-ved. Two I picked up 
easily, but not so the third. Under reeds, 
beside rushes, up and down, round and 
round, I hunted, but no duck. The live 
ones had no interest for me until my game 
was my own and I spent fully % an hour 
before I found him, wedged tightly in a 
tangle of the close growing rushes. 
With my spoils I returned to camp. 
Harry had prepared breakfast, and after a 
dive in the cool water and a race on the 
bank in place of a towel, we ate a meal 
that lightened the box by several pounds. 
Harry was infected with my enthusiasm, so 
we packed our outfit and started. We 
halted about a mile nearer the mouth of 
the river than the scene of my triple cap- 
ture. For an ho r the whirr of wings, the 
bang of the guns and the splash of water 
as the pretty creatures dropped, filled the 
air. Then we stopped and the search be- 
gan. It lasted the greater part of the 
morning and resulted in a dozen birds. 
We then started to find Devil’s lake, 
our objective point. When we arrived din- 
ner was our first thought and never have 
ducks tasted so good. Almost before sun- 
down we prepared ourselves for sleep, for 
Monday was to be the day of real sport 
and we wanted to be up before the sun. 
A cold wind blew up during the night 
and in themorningheavy clouds hung low, 
sprinkling occasional flurries of soft snow 
over the lake. It was the best weather we 
eculd have had for our shooting. Breakfast 
was a hurried meal,andputtinga few ducks 
into the canoe for decoys we pulled off. 
We soon reached a good hiding place, 
turned our backs on each other and pre- 
pared for sport. A single mallard, high up, 
came down, kerchuck, with my first bar- 
rel, and I picked it up at once. I had 
barely got my gun ready again when a 
