FROM A HUNTER'S NOTE-BOOK. 



WILL G. EARLE. 



Learning that ducks were fairly plentiful 

 on a lake some miles from town I, with 

 my shooting companions, Cad and Pete, 

 planned a 3 days' trip. 



We were soon ready to tramp the 5 miles 

 to the lake. We took nothing with us but 

 guns, cartridges, and a small snack of 

 grub; knowing we could find board and 

 bed with our friend Jones, whose farm was 

 near the lake. 



It was the second week in October, and 

 the country could not have been more 

 beautiful. The forests were crimson and 

 gold, and the fields, filled with shocks of 

 corn, made picturesque settings for the 

 quaint farm houses. 



Just before dusk we reached a clearing in 

 which stood an old barn and a stack of 

 marsh hay. There we built a fire and 

 warmed our supper. After our meal we 

 turned in beside the fire, on a bed of hay. 



Near dawn we were awakened by the 

 cries of a pair of loons on the lake. After 

 eating our cold snack, we went to the lake, 

 and erected our bough-houses near the 

 edge of the marsh. 



The ducks did not commence flying for 

 some time, and then only in singles and 

 small flocks of 3 to 10. The first to come 

 over was a small bunch of teal, from which 

 Cad dropped 2 and Pete and I one each. 

 Then came mallards, butter-balls, and more 

 teal, varied with an occasional shot at 

 geese, till the flight stopped. 



About the middle of the flight, I was 

 startled by an exclamation from Pete, 

 " What do you call them things coming? " 

 Glancing up, I saw a flock of 5 sand-hill 

 cranes, about T /z mile away. 



They were flying low, having no thought 

 of danger. 



" Get your shells with coarse shot, boys," 

 I exclaimed, " and don't fire too soon." 



The cranes did not notice us till they 

 were within 20 yards. Then they veered 

 and began to mount. We rose suddenly, 

 and the 5 birds struck the grass in obedi- 

 ence to our double salute. 



The flight over, we piled our game in an 

 old dug-out, which I had hidden in the 

 marsh the previous Fall, and crossed the 

 lake, to the home of our friend Jones. 



He gave us a hearty welcome, also a 

 hearty dinner. 



Next morning when we arose, not a duck 

 was to be seen on the lake. We were dis- 

 appointed, to say the least, and were about 

 to start for home, when our host stopped 

 us. 



" Don't be in a hurry, boys, there's lots 

 of grouse back on the hard-wood ridge." 

 So for the hard-wood ridge we started, 

 accompanied by Jones's brace of setters. 

 We had hardly entered the woods when a 

 bunch of 7 grouse was flushed, 4 fell, as 

 a result of the first shots of the morning. 

 The birds were hardy and strong of wing, 

 and it tried our skill to the utmost to bag 

 one grouse for every 2 shots we fired. 



About 2 miles from Jones's farm we sat 

 down on a log to rest. As it happened, we 

 were 4 or 5 rods from a deer runway, 

 which was hidden from our view by brush. 

 We were counting our game, when a snap- 

 ping of twigs near by, caused us to look 

 up. There stood a startled buck, which 

 had just caught sight of us; and a doe and 

 fawn were coming out of the bushes be- 

 hind him. 



They looked at us for a moment, and then 

 dashed off down the hill. 



We sat and looked at them; having noth- 

 ing in our guns but 6s and 8s. The 

 dogs, however, before we could stop them, 

 started on the trail of the deer. We gave 

 chase, calling and whistling, but they heed- 

 ed us not. After nearly a mile of running 

 we concluded we did not want the dogs, 

 after all. 



We started to retrace our steps but lost 

 the runway and turned into an old path 

 which led around the base of a hill. This 

 brought us out to the main road; and we 

 knew we were lost, as far as the location 

 of our grouse went, as we had not crossed 

 a road during our chase of the dogs. 



After indulging in choice sarcasm on the 

 wood craft of a party who could not follow 

 a deer-path, we turned back and com- 

 pleted the circuit of the hill. On the op- 

 posite side we struck the runway again, 

 and, by the luckiest of chances, walked 

 right up to our grouse. 



Securing them, we moved on toward 

 Jones's. Fair sport was enjoyed on the 

 way, and before we arrived at the farm we 

 had added enough birds to our score to 

 make 18 brace. 



Mouldy Mike — Where gold is found the 

 vices of civilization soon follow. 



Dusky Dick — You're right. Look at 

 Klondike. They've got laundries started up 

 there, already. — Stray Stories. 



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