SHALL HE GET THE PRIZE? 



Editor, Recreation : 



Sopotoma lay lazily on the sledge and kept 

 the dogs moving at a trot. 



Jacques and I on snowshoes had some dif- 

 ficulty in keeping pace. Not always, how- 

 ever, were either dogs or guide so ambitious 

 and we did not complain. In the midst of 

 an animated conversation my companion and 

 I were interrupted by the yelping of the dogs 

 as they and the sledge shot past at a rapid 

 pace. A friendly stump obtruded, the sledge 

 struck it and stopped. Each dog executed 

 his own particular back somersault and be- 

 came entangled in the lines. Sopotoma 

 floundered up, but seeing their predicament 

 turned quickly. 



"Bear !" he said, and led the way. 



Sopotoma was laconic. He never used two 

 words where one would suffice. If a look or 

 gesture would convey his idea he employed 

 it. Jacques and I followed him and he point- 

 ed out a little bear sitting in the fork of a 

 fallen tree. 



All three of us raised our rifles. 



A shot. 



My rifle kicked. 



Bruin rolled over. 



Sopotoma untangled the dogs, put the car- 

 cass of the bear on the sledge and we pro- 

 ceeded. That night we had bear for supper. 

 I claimed the hide and met a storm of objec- 

 tion from both the Indian and the French- 

 man. 



Now, as my gun recoiled and I heard no 

 other report it was my impression that my 

 shot killed the bear. In fact, I did not know 

 the others had fired, but thought my shot had 

 anticipated their aim. I would have sworn 

 that I killed the animal. Jacques swore he 

 did, but not in the prescribed formula. 

 Sopotoma would have done so had his dis- 

 course permitted. 



Jacques and I had Winchesters, while 

 Sopotoma had an old Fenian raid musket 

 that carried slugs. 



Upon my claiming Bruin's fur the Indian 

 pointed to the wound, a big, jagged hole 

 that spoke all too eloquently of the passage 

 of a chunky missile, beside which a Win- 

 chester ball were an infant. Jacques 

 scratched his head, declaring that he had 

 killed the bear; he just knew he had — that 

 jagged wound — there must be another. But 

 he couldn't find any. 



Upon cutting up the meat Sopotoma found 

 three bullets. Two were Winchester balls. 

 The other was a shapeless mass of lead. 



The aim of all three of us had been per- 

 fect. All of us had struck the same identical 



spot. 



Juan Deranger. 



A TRUE GAME PROTECTOR. 

 Editor Recreation : 



(Scarcely a quail has been seen in Arenac county, 

 Michigan, this winter; last winter's cold weather 

 practically wiping them out. A bill is to be intro- 

 duced at this session of the legislature to pro- 

 hibit the killing of quail for five years. — March 

 Recreation.) 



Again and again we hear this same old 

 cry from the different states in the country, 

 the sportsmen all bewailing the passing of the 

 quail. Now if these men are so eager 

 to have the game protected, why don't they 

 follow the example of my friend and fellow 

 sportsman, William E. Wilson, of Rosemont, 

 Flunterdon county, New Jersey? 



Mr. Wilson's plan for the protection of 

 Bob Whites during the winter months is 

 very simple, and costs nothing. Whenever 

 there is a heavy snow storm, Mr. Wilson 

 takes several sheafs of unthreshed wheat, 

 and no matter how bitterly cold it may be, he 

 and his dogs start off in quest of the haunts 

 of the quail. In places where he knows that 

 these birds are in the habit of coming, he 

 takes half of a sheaf of wheat and ties it to 

 the low bushes, with the heads downward, 

 just at the top of the snow, and scrapes the 

 snow away from the immediate vicinity of the 

 wheat, and does the same thing in different 

 places, and in this way traverses eight or 

 ten miles of territory. 



Mr. Wilson is greatly assisted in this hu- 

 mane work by two of the finest pointers in 

 that part of the state. On days when the 

 weather has been bitterly cold, and in the 

 face of blizzards, while other so-called sports- 

 men were lounging in the village, Mr. Wilson 

 carried on his work. When Mr. Wilson goes 

 out he takes a large, feed bag with him, and 

 it is not unusual to see him return with a 

 dozen or more half frozen quail in it. With 

 the aid of his dogs he is enabled to find the 

 poor little creatures huddled together in 

 some half secluded spot, and with the aid 

 of a small net, captures th^m, confines them 



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