268 



RECREA TJON. 



had to admit it was a fine shot, but he who 

 laughs last laughs best, you know, and I 

 laughed last, for he made miss after miss 

 with the big gun, and not until his shoulder 

 was black and blue did he return to the 12. 

 Whenever a flock gathered in the water 

 I would send a 260 grain pill among them, 

 which would start them up, and of the many 

 stragglers our decoys would bring in one 

 or 2. 



So we kept on killing and missing, our 

 chilled condition being relieved by an oc- 

 casional dash after a cripple, and a hurried 

 return to the blind, until we thought we 

 had our share. Then we quit. 



While rowing home we looked at our 

 bunch of 14, and, as no bird I know of is 

 harder to hit, or hangs more tenaciously to 

 life when wounded, than do these high- 

 flyers, we shook hands with ourselves. 



A BARREL OF LIVE BEAR. 



E. S. SHEPARD. 



Away back in the 70's Amos A. Webber 

 and I were engaged in locating govern- 

 ment pine land in Northern Wisconsin. 

 One afternoon when walking along an old 

 tote road we came to an abandoned log- 

 ging camp, on the banks of the Tomahawk 

 river, a. branch of the Wisconsin, in what 

 is now Oneida county. Tame grass and 

 sorrel which had grown thick around the 

 camp and in the trail, enabled us to ap- 

 proach quietly. On coming around the 

 corner of the old cabin we spied a small 

 bear that had crawled into a barrel, leaving 

 only his hind parts exposed. Of course 

 the thing to do was to have some fun and 

 Webber catching up a club stepped care- 

 fully up to the barrel and brought down 

 the club as hard as he could on the bear's 

 hams. He made such a sudden spring that 

 he came up and caught his balance with the 

 barrel still on his head, emitting the most 

 unearthly howls imaginable. They sounded 

 terrible inside of the barrel. 



Whack! Whack! went the club on the 

 hind quarters of the bear and round and 



round he went while I stood guard over 

 myself, with a heavy club, for fear the in- 

 furiated creature might get loose from his 

 incumbrance and make a charge on me in- 

 stead of on his tormentor. 



After dancing the highland fling awhile, 

 and furnishing about as good a free circus 

 as I ever saw, the bear came in contact with 

 a stump and tumbled out of the barrel, ut- 

 tering roars that made my hair stand on 

 end for an hour. Webber gave him a few 

 more vigorous whacks with the club before 

 the bear got out of reach, which he did as 

 fast as possible. He ran across the chip 

 yard to the edge of the cedar swamp close 

 by, stopped, turned around, stood up on his 

 hind legs, placed his paws on his hams, 

 showed his teeth and growled, stepping 

 from side to side as though in pain about 

 the region of his crupper bone; but an- 

 other demonstration of the stout club in the 

 hands of his assailant put a stop to his 

 seeming observations. Then he went down 

 again and shambled off into the cedar 

 swamp, out of sight. 



THE HOG BEHIND THE GUN. 



F. P. W. 



Heaps of powder, bags of lead, 



Piles of birds, alive and dead. 



No end of smoke, and blood, and " fun " 



For the savage hog behind the gun. 



Slaughtered ducks and geese abound, 

 Killed while feeding on the ground. 

 He shoots till setting of the sun, 

 This razor-back behind the gun. 



He kills whatever comes to hand, 

 Quails, grouse or rabbits, while they stand. 

 Death to the game till the game is done, 

 Death to the hog behind the gun. 



