214 
cal luxuriance. Immediately behind this 
rank growth spread acres upon acres of 
level, closely cultivated fields, so such wild 
life as prefers seclusion sticks to the river 
banks. 
At one point the erratic course of the 
river straightens for about a mile, and I 
question if there is a fairer ‘‘bit” of its kind 
in all North America. It has been my privi- 
lege to study the most impressive and ro- 
mantic scenes, from the Atlantic to the 
Pacific, yet this mile-long stretch of tree- 
embowered, sleepy river stands alone, a 
veritable gem of its kind. Not one imposing 
feature, mind you—yjust a silver, velvet- 
shadowed flood, walled with impenetrable 
green, which in autumn flames with color— 
the suttee of the widowed year. 
By reason of the close cultivation above, 
game, and especially the quail (Bob White, 
I ought to call him), favors the dense cover 
of the river banks, but, owing to conditions, 
the man who tramps ashore gets little if any 
shooting. He may get in a double at the 
first flush in the fields, but that is the most 
he can expect. In half a minute the bevy is 
snugly tucked away in the massed cover of 
the bank, and while dogs may flush and ears 
may hear the resonant hum of hasty flight, 
the man atop the bank sees naught of the 
outgoing birds, as they boom for the farther 
side, and plunge into cover as baffling as 
that which they have hurriedly vacated. 
But there is a way (there usually is), and 
I learned it in the hard school of experience. 
With a busy and well-broken dog either side 
the stream it is possible to keep the birds 
whizzing back and forth, for the simple 
reason that there is no other cover for them 
to go to. To kneel in a Peterboro and stop 
quail buzzing across an eighty-yard wide 
stream is no easy task, yet it can be done, 
and the doing of it is a joy immeasurable. 
Of course, the sportsman needs must be 
kneeling well forward in the canoe, and this 
demands the assistance of a punter, and 
mark you, the right kind of a punter. I had 
the model of all punters—and a she at that! 
Cast your bread upon the waters, etc. I had 
carefully instructed her in the mysteries of 
canoeing, and as a result I had not alone a 
bon camarade but a keen and able assistant, 
who could drive, stop and steady a canoe as 
emergency might demand. Day after day 
RECREATION 
we haunted that long reach of river, and 
day after day we bagged our dozen or more 
of plump birds, in a place which most of the 
local sportsmen voted entirely unsatisfac- 
tory, if not impossible. An outline of one of 
many days will suffice. 
Upon the morning in question I had pad- 
dled a few miles before the canoe came to a 
dead stop. Putting finger and thumb be- 
tween my lips, I whistled with ringing force, 
“ Ka-loi-hee! Ka-loi-hee!” The third call 
brought a response, a long-drawn “ Oo-oo- 
oo!” and within fifteen minutes the brush 
rattled, and I knew that somebody was 
coming. It was somebody, too. A figure 
straight as your storied Indians, a pair of 
eyes that could look you through and 
through, yet having, if I may make bold to 
say so, one spark of the devil in them which 
by no means marred the scenic effect. The 
face—but, bother the face!—tis the ensem- 
ble that counts! Anyway, she got into her 
place astern, picked up her paddle, and the 
light craft slid away up-stream to a point 
where both banks were covered with heavy 
brush. Here Jess was ordered out, and ina 
minute she was busy in the cover. Then the 
canoe sought the other bank and Don went 
ashore and began a systematic rummaging 
of the promising places. 
That quail were there we well knew, so 
there was no cause for astonishment when a 
white shape, dimly seen through the brush, 
suddenly halted. Both dogs thoroughly 
understood their work, so when the canoe 
was abreast of Don’s position, he at once 
responded to an order to flush. In a mo- 
ment there sounded a roar of wings and 
about twenty birds started across the 
stream, while three or four clung to their 
own side and pitched a couple of hundred 
yards ahead. In an instant My Lady’s 
paddle was flat upon the surface, and the 
canoe, consequently, as steady as a church. 
The whirring quarry was barely thirty-five 
yards away, and the dropping of a brace 
was a simple matter enough, the birds fall- 
ing about midstream. 
Through the bush came the faithful, each 
anxious to get there first. Smash into the 
water they went, for Don, though a pointer, 
had been carefully schooled to this sort of 
thing. Luckily, there was a bird apiece, 
else there might have been trouble, for both 
