Nov. 10, 1893.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



408 



apprehensive of you know not (because you don't happen 

 to think it is the ppirit Indians chasing you)— and then 

 see if the light of old man Jones's house, one story, but a 

 mansion, does mt look to you the most welcome thing in 

 ail the world. 1 Irnow it seemed that way to us. And 

 when the ponies had pattered ofl: the miles that still lay 

 between us and the light, and when we had with diffi- 

 culty pushed through the crowd of various expostulating 

 dogs, and gained a seat under the roof and near the light, 

 what a warm, relieved, happy, contented feeling came 

 into the heart ! You have to be a hunter to feel that way, 

 because, unless you belonged to one of the two families 

 who live on the Flats, you wouldn't be there unless you 

 were a hunter. 



Chauncey J ones, or old ma.n J ones, he is more gen- 

 erally called, has as yet had no artist to paint him, but 

 be should have. He is one of many, a type, the old- 

 timer, of whom too few are left. He used to shoot buffalo 

 on the flats and sell the tongues to the emigrants down 

 where the trail crossed Walnut Creek. He now grazes 

 some cattle over the old wallows. His sons, John and 

 Frank, shoot ducks these days on the "Black lake" pond 

 on the north side of the flats, where Deception Creek 

 oA^erflows the level and so comes to an end. If you can 

 not have a good time walking and talking and shooting 

 with these, while the daughters, Nellie and May, stay at 

 home and cook supper for you, then you aren't any kind 

 of a man at all. But I suppose some one will be wanting 

 to know just how many ducks we killed, and to this es- 

 sential part of the programme I must hasten. 



Four Dozen a Day. 



The two boys, John and Frank, had been averaging 

 about four dozen ducks a day for some time. John told 

 me that he thought he had killed 2,000 ducks himself this 

 fall. This was all on a bit of lake about a mile square, so 

 shallow that one could wade all over it. Its shooting 

 properties lay in the fact that it was this year the only 

 water on the Flats, and was moreover very abundantly 

 supplied with feed. The Arkansas Eiver is dry at the Bend 

 this year. The only other water at all near, so far as I 

 know, is the "salt marsh" below Eaymond, twenty to 

 thirty miles distant, where also remarkably good shooting 

 has been had this fall. The conditions being such, and 

 there being very few shooters on the lake in the Flats, the 

 birds had refused to leave, and had ofl'ered the two Jones 

 boys, who live only half a mile or so from the lake, a duck 

 shooting privilege which might well turn almost anybody 

 a dark green color of envy. 



John and Frank were out on the lake when we arrived, 

 and we went out in the dusk to have a look at the country. 

 We found the wide and shallow lake with shores ab- 

 solutely bare and affording no cover. The water-growth 

 was from 12 to 16 in. high, and scanty. To make a. blind 

 seemed impossible. Nevertheless the birds were flying 

 in hundreds, every way we looked. We saw plenty of 

 mallards and pintails, and great numbers of spoonbills 

 and teal. While we lay in the dark along the bank, try- 

 ing to get on the fly way of the ducks, we heard the 

 chatter of four different "flocks of white geese, and the 

 sonorous honking of one flock of genuine Canadas, Be- 

 peated flashes of firei beyond us told where the boys were 

 at work in the flight, and we knew that they shot into 

 the flock of honkers, though we could not say with what 

 success. We staid long enough for me to find that I had 

 torn a big hole in one of my rubber boots, and so was 

 hors du combat . Then, for fear of getting lost on the 

 Flats, as even the Jones|boysand their father, long as they 

 have lived there, have been known to do, and as a stranger 

 is almost certain to do, we pulled out for the house. 



When the boys got in that night they told us that they 

 had bagged that day 63 ducks and 1 goose. The goose 

 was a Canada, and John killed it out of the flock we heard 

 come over the marsh at dusk. Both assured us of good 

 shooting the next day. 



"The weather doesn't seem to make much dilt'ereuce," 

 said John; "the ducks never leave the lake, but just fly 

 around all over it, all day long," This Elysian state of 

 a flairs betokened ducks that wei*e not educated, and I 

 rejoiced, until I remembei-ed about the torn boot. 



•'You can't do anything without hip boots," said John, 

 "but you'll have time to drive over to Hoisington in the 

 morning and get another pair. It's only two or three 

 miles." 



No Boots, and No Balm. 



Accordingly I went over to Hoisington in the morning, 

 thinking to equip myself early and easily. Alas! the 

 disappointments to which the human heart is subject. 

 Not a store in the entire city — and there were two stores 

 — had a pair of hip boots, though I was assured cheer- 

 lully that plenty were ordered and on the road, and that 

 if I could wait a couple of weeks I would see Hoisington 

 fuller of rubber boots than anything I ever did see. Not 

 having quite so much leisure I went to the livery stables, 

 to the gun stores, to every place, and made private quest 

 for high boots. I inquired for local shooters, and even 

 stopped on the street two or three men who looked as 

 though they might have hip boots at home. It was of no 

 use. There were no boots in Hoisington. At the time it 

 seemed to me there was no balm in Grilead. I could see 

 four hundred million ducks flying just out of reach, 

 myself on the bank with no boots. This is something 

 which Dante thoughtlessly left out of his Inferno. A 

 punishment so exquisite in pain that no good shooting 

 man could ever really deserve it. 



I drove back to the lake, and John seeing me coming, 

 rose up out of the scanty cover and waded out to meet 

 me. "Johnnie," said I, "did you ever hear of the Cheval- 

 ier Bayard?"' 



Johnnie allowed he didn't remember him. 



"Well." said I, "the Chevalier Bayard was once lying 

 on the field of battle, pretty much cut up and thirsty as 

 usual — 1 mean cut up as usual — and another gentleman 

 was lying near by in much the same shape. It came a 

 question as to which of them should take a drink. 'You 

 need this worse than I do,' the chevalier said. 'Go ahead. 

 After you.' 



"He was pretty white, wasn't he?" said Johnnie. 



"That's whatever, my friend. He was a man worthy 

 of imitation. Now, I couldn't get any boots in Hoising- 

 ton." 



"The — !" 



"No. Yet still, my friend, I observe that you have on a 

 pair of very good ones, I notice also in you a family re- 

 semblance to the Chevalier Bayard. Behold me! I am 

 that other soldier. My necessity is a whole lot greater 

 than yourn. Besides, I will give you six bits for those 



boots for the rest of the day. Shuck them off, .Johnnie, 

 or I don't know what I may do to you. " 



Johnnie shucked 'em, though I must say he did not do 

 80 for the money, "You're only here for one day," said 

 he. "and I can shoot here every day. Take 'em along, 

 and go right on out to my boat, you'll get plenty of shoot- 

 ins:. I've killed eight already this morning." 

 tliThere are plenty of Chevalier Bayards lying around in 

 the country, if you only go about it right in developing 

 them. From now on, Johnnie Jones has a warm place in 

 my heart, and I owe him an obligation which no six bits 

 can discharge. Still, feeling as I did about it, it was 

 probably a wise thing for him to take oft' his boots when 

 he did. " 



Putting my decoys — a doaeu canvas ones— and a lot of 

 shells into a sack, I waded out to the boat. It was a home- 

 made affair that sat low down on the water. The heaviest 

 of the scanty cover barely concealed it, and I saw at once 

 that the only way to get any shooting was to lie flat down 

 in the boat'and keep still. So I put out my decoys, and 

 got out my caller, and was soon in a very enviable frame 

 of mind. 



It did not take long to prove that Johnnie Jones was a 

 duck shooter, and that he had picked the very best place 

 on the whole marsh for his blind, A point of land jutted 

 out just back of this spot, and narrowed the flight which 

 passed over from one side of the lake to the other. More- 

 over, a great patch of torn up bulb gi-ass and other water 

 grass showed that the ducks had found plenty of feed 

 near by. In my mind I complimented Johnnie while I 

 thanked him in my heart. 



About now two spoonbills came over and I turned over 

 and let go, killing one and knocking the other down a 

 little further than I probably ought. "I^ook at that," 

 thought I. "Oh, but this is a snap, I'm a duck shooter 

 from away back, and I'll kill a thousand ducks right 

 here." Then a flock of gadwalls drew by, and I didn't 

 get a feather; and a flock of teal went over and I didn't 

 touch a teal; and a lot of spoonbills tried to light on the 

 decoys, and I didn't get a spoonbill. After missing eight 

 or ten shots I modified my views somewhat, and compro- 

 mised on a hundred. It was about 10 o'clock when I 

 began to shoot, and for a time I never saw ducks fly bet- 

 ter, though it was nearly all long shooting. At noon it 

 came off wax-m and the wind went down, so that the 

 flight stopped partially. At that time I did not have 

 quite a hundred ducks, but I did have seven in the boat 

 and sevei'al in the weeds. The edge was off my appetite 

 and I had boots to lend. 



After lunch at Butler's, nearby, where Mrs, Butler, a 

 sister of the Jones boys, cooked us a very good meal, we 

 traded around some on the boot question, Frank taking 

 my boots, I taking hislJand Johnnie resuming his own, 

 Frank went over to Hoisington on business and Johnnie 

 and I went after jacksnipe, of which we only got 4, the 

 mud flat lately populous with them having dried up too 

 much, so that we only saw 7 birds in our tramp. In my 

 absence after the snipe, a gentleman from Hoisington 

 sneaked up on my nice fleet of canvas decoys and shot 

 the stufiing out of two of them. When I got back I 

 found him in the boat, and we had a settlement then and 

 there about those decoys. He was the most comically 

 disgusted man I ever saw when I stated the price to him, 

 "Gee!" he said, "that's more'n a feller'd get for a whole 

 dozen of actooal ducks." I explained to him that it 

 served him right for pot-hunting, and that he ought to 

 have waited till the decoys were on the wing. Though 

 vexed and angry with him to a degree, he seemed so 

 humble and contrite about it that after he had settled and 

 gone off in the marsh, I lay down in the boat and laughed 

 till I ached. 



In the half-day's work at the ducks, the three of us got 

 a little over 30 birds. The evening being clear and moon- 

 lit, the geese did not come in on the marsh until it was 

 too late for us. I pulled up my decoys promptly at sun- 

 set and hustled ashore quickly as I could, for althoitgh 

 Butler's house was only a short distance, it had no window 

 on the side next the lake, and would be easy to pass in 

 the dark. Having been lost once on these flats I did not 

 want to try it again. If you lose one direction there you 

 lose them all. 



"I got lost once going horaefrom over here," said Frank 

 to me, as we talked of this later, "and I couldn't tell 

 where on earth I was. At last I hit a wire fence, and 

 then I knew where I was, for it only had three wires. I 

 knew the line fences had four wires, and the division 

 fence three, so I got the line for home all right. I came 

 in on the east side of the house instead of the west. Once 

 a lot of Great Bend hunters spent the night in the cours- 

 ing club's house, over in the middle of the flats, and 

 started out early for the lakes over in the Carvey pasture. 

 It was a foggy morning, and the first thing they knew 

 they came square up against the club house from the east 

 side, when they thought they had been going straight 

 west from it all the time." 



Opening Dav on Quail. 

 The following morning closed my stay at the duck 

 marsh, and lack of time forced me to decline Mr. Jones's 

 urgent invitation to go up Deception Creek after prairie 

 chickens, of ' which he had a number located. This was 

 Nov, 1, opening day on quail in Kansas, and I had 

 promised Dick Taylor, eight miles from the .Tones place, 

 to join him in a quail hunt on opening day. Moreover, 

 •to make matters more obvious, I had Dick Taylor's dog, 

 Dick, with me at the Jones place, although much to the 

 dog's disgust I had not allowed him to retrieve ducks in 

 the icy water, 



I am satisfied that I am the luckiest man on earth 

 about running across good dogs. If I should fall off a 

 ship in the middle of the sea I would doubtless come up 

 with a good bird dog in each hand. All over this coun- 

 try, where I couldn't take a dog of my own, I meet these 

 trained dogs, in all sorts of shapes, but of just the sort a 

 shooter needs. I don't mean dogs with lofty lineage, 

 but dogs with nose, doge that don't get tired, but which 

 will range, point and retrieve— in short, dogs that is a 

 solid and unalloyed comfort to shoot over, and dogs with 

 which you can go out and get game. Now, of all these 

 dogs whose acquaintance I have made at different time, 

 I would rather have this same dog Dick. If he were 

 mine the biggest $500 bill in the world wouldn't buy him. 

 Dick's sire was Mr. W. W. Carney's old setter Mack, a 

 handsome and well-bred dog, and his dam was an un- 

 known quantity owned by Cal Kiiilly, of Great Bend. 

 Dick himself is a stout, handsome fellow and more eager 

 after the gun than any dog I ever saw. Everyone in the 



country takes him hunting and there is no shooter in 

 Great Bend who does not use Dick more than his owner. 

 Mr. Taylor always has a bird dog or two about him, and 

 is an admirable trainer, but he does very little shooting, 

 and seema just to keep the dogs as a sort of public con" 

 venience. Dick owns any man for master who can 

 shoot a gun. Having been with me a whole day, he 

 seemed to think I owned him, and when in our shooting 

 either Mr, Taylor or myself killed a bird Dick always 

 brought it to me. Instead of being vexed at this Mr, 

 Taylor was amused and laughed at it. So you can see 

 he is a pretty good sort of a man. 



Frank Jones and I took the buggy and started on a leis- 

 urely drive over to Mr. Taylor's place in the morning. 

 We were within half a mile of the hous^— which has 

 a commanding site on a high hill and can be seen a 

 long way from, every side, even beyond the owner's wide 

 acres — ^when Dick, who had been nmning along in the 

 road, suddenly left it and came to a stiff" point at the 

 hedge row. Frank pulled up and tied the team, and I 

 sought an opening in the hedge, Dick meantime occasion- 

 ally looking back over his shoulder to see if we were 

 coming, as if imploring us to hurry up. We did hurry, 

 and on the rise of the bevy we got three birds. Then we 

 followed them down the hedge and got a couple more, 

 Dick picking out the singles in a way simply elegant. 

 Swinging up the hedge on the other side of the field after 

 some birds we had marked down, the dog began to road 

 rapidly, stopping and looking back for us in a way of his 

 own. Presently he pointed hard, and up went another 

 bevy, but on the wrong side of the hedge, so that we got 

 no shot. We could not see where the birds went, but 

 Dick unquestionably marked them down, for when we 

 got through the hedge he took us directly to them, on a 

 bit of wheat stubble. On the scattered birds his work 

 was fast and positive, with never a break nor a flush, and 

 I remember no prettier experience than we had here. In 

 a few moments we had an even dozen birds in our pock- 

 ets, and so drove up to the house after fifteen minutes 

 shooting, mightily pleased with everything in the world. 

 Mr. Taylor and his pleasant family put us perfectly at 

 home, and so went on an experience entirely too brief of 

 Kansas hospitality and Kansas £port. 



Ideal Sport, 



The country we were now in i^ quite unlike the 

 Cheyenne Flats. It is rolling farming land, well settled 

 up, with some hedges and occasional clumps of trees. 

 Walnut Creek, lined with heavy undergrowth, runs a 

 mile back of Mr, Taylor's house, which is only about four 

 miles from Gi-eat Bend, In every hedge row, on every 

 timber claim and in almost every bend of the creek, 

 we found a bevy of quail. They were everywhere. Shoot- 

 ing began within ten minutes' walk of the house, and one 

 hardly needed to so two miles from home at any time. 

 Mr. Taylor had all the bunches located, and as soon as 

 one was too much scatterred would lead off for another 

 one. Shooting under such circumstances, in a country 

 full of birds, with a guide who knows the haunts of each 

 bevy, and with a dog which knows the business thorough- 

 ly and needs no admonitions and no handling — this cer- 

 tainly is ideal sport, and one cannot ask to see it surpassed. 

 "There are quail all over this part of the country," said 

 Mr. Taylor. "I could take you to new places every day 

 for a week."' A stranger would not fare so well, and 

 would besides continually fall foul of the posted lands of 

 the Alliance farmers. We shot most of the time on Mr. 

 Taylor's land, or that of friends of his. 



In the afternoon we were joined by a young man from 

 town, Charlie Zulerman, who brought out his dog, a 

 pointer. He and Frank took this dog and Mr, Taylorand 

 I took Dick and went in another direction. We crossed 

 the corner of a cornfield and picked up four birds, and 

 then went on over to the creek, hearing the others shoot- 

 ing very often further east. Shooting along the steep 

 and heavily covered banks of the creek we found to 

 be difficult work, and the birds had a good deal of 

 fun with us here. Dick kept on finding bevies and 

 singles, however, and we kept on shooting. When we 

 met the other party Mr. Taylor and I had seventeen 

 birds in our pockets, Charlie had five and Frank four. 

 Frank was trying the experiment of shooting 13-gauge 

 shells in his 10-gauge gun, and it didn't work very 

 well, I imagine. Going home we got half a dozen more 

 birds, making a total for a few hours of very easy and 

 leisurely shooting of somethiug over forty birds during 

 the day. 



The next day I had to leave for the East. Of course a 

 fellow always has to start for some place else just when 

 he gets well located. Nevertheless, Mr, Taylor and I got 

 into the buggy earlj^- in the morning and took a run ovsr 

 to a cornfield after some chickens, which we put up, but 

 too wild for a successful shot. Then we drove toward 

 the house again, and of course, as we passed a hedge 

 Dick came to a point. Mr. Taylor left his mettlesome 

 horse, Ned, without tying him, as the horse was used to 

 shooting and had never made any trouble about it. This 

 time, however, Ned felt different about it, and when 

 three shots sounded quickly just behind him he started 

 oft" on a dead run, only hitting the ground once in a 

 while with the buggy. That broke up the shooting match, 

 Mr. Taylor started after the horse and I started after 

 him. Dick didn't care a cent about the runaway but 

 went right on pointing singles all along the hedge, look- 

 ing grieved because I wouldn't stop to shoot, but pulled 

 him oft* his points. At a farmhouse Mr. Taylor stopped 

 for a saddle horse to follow the refugee, who, as he heard, 

 had struck the road and gone straight to town. "He's 

 all right," said Mr. Taylor, with the usual Western philo- 

 sophical way of looking at horse escapades; "I'll ride on 

 into town and get him. You just come along to that 

 clump of trees and go in there and shoot till I come 

 back." 



Doubting if he ever would come back with a sound 

 horse and buggy, I nevertheless followed instructions, 

 and as usual found a bevy of quail, of which I bagged 

 three before they mysteriously disapx^eared, quail fash- 

 ion. In half an hour I heard a shout and there came Mr. 

 Taylor with the buggy, driving Ned, who looked very 

 complacent and none the worse for wear. "They had 

 him unhitched and in a livery barn when I got into 

 town," said Mr. Taylor, A X'unaway here or there is 

 nothing out in Kansas, 



We now went back to the house again, and found that 

 we had 7 quail accumulated somehow or other, without 

 any work, I said good-bye to the family, much to my 

 genuine regret, and again we started Ned for town. Fool- 



