170 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 29, 1896. 
UNCLE LISHA'S OUTING.— XIV, 
A Wild Goose Chase. 
Uncle Lisha and Joseph set forth in the belt of trees 
that shaded the west bank of Little Otter from the Slab 
Hole to the South Slang, so intent upon the performance 
of doughty deeds that they skulked with bent backs till 
the acne could be endured no longer, and with a loud 
sigh of relief they straightened up just at the very time 
and place to disclose themselves to a flock of ducks that 
were enjoying the seclusion of a marsh-locked pool. 
Startled by the sound and the sudden apparition of 
human forms arising within forty paces of their retreat, 
the ducks sprang into the air with a simultaneous splash 
and vociferous outcry of alarm. In no less surprise the 
two gunners stood gaping at the retreating flock, then 
with one accord they squatted with lowered heads till the 
whistle of departing wings grew faint in the distance 
and then turned their humiliated faces full upon each 
other. 
"Sam Hill!" Joseph ejaculated, "what a chance it 
seems 's 'ough we 'most hed." 
"What a couple o' dumb'd dodunks we be, more like!" 
Uncle Lisha responded in intense disgust. "Naow le's go 
'long an' use aouw eyes an' act as if ducks had some tew." 
With this determination they proceeded, yet more cau- 
tiously, stopping frequently to examine the marsh before 
them, with heads as gradually uplifted as grass rises after 
the pressure of the foot. At last they discovered a pool 
similar to the one at which they had exposed themselves 
so unwarily, and a careful reconnoissance disclosed a 
flock of twenty or more dusky ducks taking their ease on 
the reed-hedged pool, some asleep, their broad bills rest- 
ing on their round breasts, others leisurely sounding the 
shallows with elongated necks for choice tidbits, while a 
few alert old drakes carried their wise heads high, in con- 
stant vigilance. 
The hunters squatted for a brief, whispered plan of 
attack, and having arranged it, moved forward , stooping 
low, to occupy the spot selected for the onslaught. There 
was one place in the line of approach where the screen of 
weeds was so low that it could only be passed without 
discovery by crawling, and when it was reached the 
hunters went on all fours — not on hands and knees, but 
on hands and feet — hitching their prone guns along step 
by step. Now, though their heads were quite out of sight 
of the ducks and the ducks unseen by them , their poste- 
riors were fully exposed to the view of the vigilant senti- 
nels, who at the sight of these two strange objects undu- 
lating slowly forward above the tops of the rushes at 
once sounded the alarm, and the whole flock sprang to 
wing with an uproar of splashing, fluttering and quacking. 
The unlucky hunters halted without a change of pos- 
ture and listened in dismayed silence till the tumult of 
departure had subsided, before they ventured to drop 
upon their knees and look in the direction from which 
the sound of retreat had come. Then they arose and 
gazed upon the deserted pool, whose nearest semblance 
to life was in a few scattered feathers drifting across the 
quiet space. 
"Wai" — Uncle Lisha exhaled the wordjafter holding his 
breath a long time — "I sh'd like to know what on this 
livin' airth scairt them 'ere ducks. They never seen nor 
heard us, that's sartain." 
"I swan to man, I do' know," Joseph said, "erless they 
smelt us, an' it don't scarcely seem 's 'ough sech tough- 
nosed critters could smell much anyway. But I d' know. 
S-8-s-s-h ! See that 'ere tormented gre't henhawk? Mebby 
id was him scart 'em. H-s-s-h!" He sank his voice to a 
whisper as a marsh hawk came cruising low along the 
rushy level in such intent quest of game that he did not 
see the two motionless figures, and then with an upward 
slant alighted on a dead tree top within close range, still 
scanning the marsh and unconscious of danger, while 
Joseph cautiously got his gun ready and took deliberate, 
deadly aim. As his executioner staggered backward from 
the recoil of the deadly charge the pirate tumbled from 
his lookout and fell with a swift, feathery thud on the 
hard margin of the shore, where Joseph pounced upon 
him in utter recklessness of beak and talons that still 
attempted revenge or defense. 
"Gosh darn himl" he groaned, as the talons of one foot 
closed in a dying clutch upon his wrist, and then, as he 
strove to loosen it with the free hand, that also was 
caught by the other foot. Then the bird's head drooped, 
the fire of his eyes went out, but the death grip of his 
talons was not relaxed, and Joseph, helplessly manacled, 
turned to Uncle Lisha for relief. 
"Wal, you be in a fix. But I couldn't help a-laughin' 
if it was a-killin' ye." 
Joseph could see no cause for laughter, as the claws 
were withdrawn one by one, accompanying each with- 
drawal by a groan or a suppressed "S-s-s-s-p." 
"You're as bad off as the feller 'at ketched the bear," 
Uncle Lisha remarked as he deliberately performed the 
surgery. "Ye see, he follered a bear tract intu a hole, 
an' the feller 'at was a-huntin' along with him he staid 
aoutside. 'I've ketched a bear,' he hollered from inside. 
'All right,' says t'other feller, -fetch him aout an' le's see 
him.' 'I can't fetch him,' says he. 'Wal,' says t'other 
feller, 'come aout yourself.' 'I can't,' says he, 'he's got 
a holt on me an' won't let me,' says he. There, naow, 
I've got ye onhooked." 
With an unaccustomed display of temper Joseph seizsd 
the hawk by the legs and repeatedly banged the lifeless 
head against the nearest tree. 
"Good airth an' seas I What ye duin' that for? He's 
deader 'n a smelt." 
"Wal," said Joseph, looking rather foolish as the heat 
of his wrath abated, "I kinder thought mebby I'd better 
let him onderstan' 'at the's a herearter for hawks jes' 's 
much as the' is for other folks. I'm a good min' ter give 
him another polt. Dam him. Haow he hurt my wris's. 
Why, he hain't nothin' but feathers!" he exclaimed, when 
he had taken time to try "the heft" of his prize. "You 
might nigh abaout chuck him right intu a bed jest as he 
is, seems 's 'ough. Anyways, he's wuth a-hevin'." 
While reloading his gun he proposed lying in wait by 
this pool for whatever might chance to come to it, but 
Uncle Lisha longed for fresh fields of conquest and also 
thirsted for a draught of drinkable water which he hoped 
to find at some spring, and so marched along the bank, 
leaving his companion to conduct alone his own plan of 
the campaign. 
Joseph seated himself comfortably on a log close to the 
tallest weeds and did not wait long before a bittern came 
flopping lazily over the marsh and .alighted in the edge 
of the pool. He had never had so near a view of one 
and knew not what manner of fowl it might be, but it 
looked worth killing either for picking or eating. So he 
trained his gun upon it, and at the discharge it wilted 
down like a lopped weed. When with some difficulty he 
drew it within reach by the aid of a pole he was some- 
what disappointed in ite weight, but he said to himself: 
"It looks nigh 'nough like one o' them 'ere new-fangled 
Hang-shy rwusters tu be jes's good t' eat, which it hain't 
sayin' no gre't for it, an' then the's the feathers, what 
the' is on 'em, so I guess I hain't done so bad arter all, 
don't seem 's 'ough I hed." 
He had scarcely composed himself to another season of 
waiting when he was startled by the roar of Uncle Lisha's 
gun, and after a vain attempt to repress his curiosity 
shouldered his gun and game and hastened forward to 
learn the result of a shot so loud that he felt sure it 
must have achieved something great. 
Uncle Lisha had not gone a furlong alone when he 
came upon another patch of open water, where he saw 
a flock of large fowl, alarmed at his approach, crowding 
into a watery path that ran channelward into the depths 
of the marsh, He managed to get a slow aim upon the 
entrance just as the last bird was disappearing in it and 
fired. There was a clamor of consternation, a wild scurry 
through the rushes, but the nearest bird only beat the 
sedges convulsively with its broad pinions for a moment 
and then stretched lifeless head and wings upon the 
bending weeds. When Uncle Lisha realized how grand 
a feat he had accomplished he could hardly withhold a 
shout of exultation, and when Joseph came panting upon 
the scene he let it out in a great roar. 
"Good airth an' seaB, Jozeff, I hev act'ally shot a wil' 
goose. I du b'lieve!" 
"Sam Hill, you hain't. Uncle Lisher," cried Joseph, 
standing on tiptoe and craning his neck to the utmost. 
"Not a ra'al wild goose, you don't mean. Wal, I snore if 
it don't look like one, seems 's 'ough, jest as true as you 
live!" 
"Why, of course he's a wilt goose, er was. He's tame 
'nough now, though," said Uncle Lisha, with proud as- 
surance. "An' naow we got tu git him. I s'pose the 
mud's more'n forty foot deep aout there, but I'll git him 
if I hafter stay here till the ma'ash freezes. Naow le's 
git some slabs an' things an' lay aout tu him." 
Laying aside their guns, they brought slabs and boards 
with which the spring floods had plentifully strewn the 
shore, and with no little labor bridged the treacherous 
marsh, till Joseph, a little the lighter and the least clumsy 
of the two, gained an unstable footing to the prize, which 
he lifted and cautiously edging his way along the narrow 
causeway bore it to the shore. 
"There," he said, plumping the gray goose down at the 
feet of its slayer, who squatted before it, caressing it and 
feeding his eyes upon it, "I don't b'lieve I wanter kerry 
it on such a rhud no furder. It don't seem's I would, tu 
hev it, not sca'sely." 
"Wal, I would, clean tu Danvis! Good airth an' seas, 
won't it make Samwil an' Ann Twine's eyes stick aout 
when they see it, an' them a-shootin' nothin' but leetle 
insi'nificant ducks. But there ain't no two ways 'baout 
it, I got tu ha' some water, er choke tu death. Le's go 
over tu that 'ere haouse and git us a drink an' then mog 
along back to camp. Why, it's the haouse where Samwil 
left the hosses tu. They're sorter neighbors, an' I da' say 
it will please 'em tu see this 'ere faowl, for it hain't every 
day 'at folks gits a chance tu look at a wil' goose clus tu. 
Why, what's that 'ere you got beside your hen hawk? 
Come to think on't I did hear ye shoot ag'in." In the 
elation of his own success he had not noticed the addition 
to Joseph's bunch of game, nor had Joseph in the midst of 
excitement and labor thought to call attention to it. 
"That's more 'n I can tell ye. That is, for sart'in. He 
looks consid'able like one o' these 'ere Hang-shy rhusters, 
but I don't s'pose he is sca'cely, 'cause I never hearn tell 
on 'em a-runnin' wil' as I remember on. Mebby it's one 
'at got strayed off f'm hum." 
"Wal," said Uncle Lisha, after a critical examination 
of the bird through his glasses, "I cal'late it's a mud 
hen." 
"Mebby it's a mud rhuster," Joseph suggested. 
"I couldn't say of which sect, but of that spechy. Wal, 
le's be a-moggin', for I be dryer 'n a graven image, so 't I 
can't spit 'nough tu enj'y a smoke." 
Thereupon they assumed their burdens and trudged 
across the fields to the farmhouse, which stood foremost 
in a straggling village of outbuildings. In response to 
Uncle Lisha's knock at the open kitchen door, a pleasant- 
looking woman came out of a cloud of fragrant steam 
that arose from a brass kettle of cider apple sauce upon 
, the stove. She wore a blue sock on her left arm like an 
improvised mitten, but the needle caught into the heel 
and a dangling loop of thread showed that she employed 
the intervals of watching her cookery in darning the 
family footwear. 
"Good arternoon, marm," said Uncle Lisha. "We 
stopped in tu see if we could git a drink o' water." 
She looked the visitors over a moment to assure herself 
whether they were of the sort to be served with a tin dip- 
per or a pitcher and glass, and then removing the sock as 
she went into the pantry, presently returned with the 
daintier service, which the old man's honest and respect- 
able face seemed to warrant in spite of his shabby 
clothes. 
"That 'ere 's tumble good water for the time o'— for 
this part o' the country. We be'n a-huntin'," he con- 
tinued, as he held the glass to be refilled the third time. 
"We be'n a-huntin' an' got tormented dry. It's turrible 
dry work a-huntin', partic'ly when you're all the time in 
sight o' water 't you can't drink. An' I do' know but 
what it makes a feller drier tu shoot a wil' goose. I do' 
know as you ever see one." He lifted his trophy from 
where he had dropped it in careless conspicuity and held 
it up before her. 
"Why, you done well, didn't you," the matron said. 
"'Tain't often folks gits 'em. But I've seen 'em afore. 
Aour folks ketched one oncte an' we kep' him tew, three 
year, I guess, an' he mated along with aour tame geese 
an' we've got one o' the mixtur' yit. Why!" with .the 
final exclamation the expression of pleased curiosity in 
her face hardened to one of unpleasant surprise. "You 
jes' le' me look o' his neck," and laying hold of it and 
raising the feathers she disclosed a red string tied around 
it, at sight of which Uncle Lisha's heart sank with a 
sickening qualm. 
"Yes, sir," she said, "you've be'n an' killed aour ol' 
half-bred garnder. Be you some o' the folks that's a 
campin' daown here?" 
"Yis, marm." 
"Well, I guess Mr. Larkin '11 be 'raound there and settle 
with you for killin' of his garnder. He sot consid'able by 
him." 
"Good airth an' seas!" Uncle Lisha whispered in a sup- 
pressed roar, as if he feared that he might be heard at 
camp. ' 'Don't for massy sake let him come 'raound there 
talkin' abaout my shootin' of his goose. Where is your 
man? I c'n settle with him for 't right here. You go an' 
fetch him." 
Mrs. Larkin hesitated a moment in fear that they might 
depart in her absence, then bustled away and presently 
was heard calling her husband in the back yard. Then 
their voices were heard approaching in low dialogue till 
Mr. Larkin appeared entering the kitchen from the rear. 
He was a large, raw-boned man, his shoulders stooped 
with excessive labor, his fingers hooked like claws ready 
to pounce upon a hard task or an elusive shilling, while 
his broad coarse face strove to put on a mask of guileless 
good humor. He greeted them as if they were all old 
friends, grinning more effusively, Uncle Lisha thought, 
than the situation seemed to warrant. 
"Du, sir," Uncle Lisha responded, and proceeded at 
once to business. "My name 's Lisher Peggs, an' this 
'ere 's my neighbor Jozeff Hill, an' we live tu Danvis 
when we're tu hum. Jes' naow we're a-campin' over 
here. We don't make a business goin' raound killin' 
folks' poultry as a arin'al thing, but it 'pears we hev your'n 
and naow we want tu settle for 't. What d' ye cal'late 
the life o' your goose is wuth ? We don't want the car- 
kiss." 
"Wal, I d' know," Mr. Larkin pondered, with a subsid- 
ing grin. "Come in and sed daown. 'T won't cost ye 
nothin'. Won't ye? Wal, I don' know ezackly. That 
'ere was a turrible goose tu lay an' take care o' goslin's. 
I never see sech a — " 
"Mr. Larkin," his wife said in a severe undertone. 
"As I ever see sech a case for layin' an' car in' for gos- 
lin's as she was." 
"Mr. Larkin," his wife said in a deeper tone of reproof, 
and covertly punched him in the back, "it hain't a goose; 
it's a garnder." 
"Hey," gasped Mr. Larkin, his smile fading out, but as 
quickly returning. "Why yis, land, yis; so 't is. But I 
tell ye what, Mis' Larkin she sot a turrible sight by him, 
I tell ye." 
"Wal, wal," and the old man spoke a little impatiently, 
"it don't make no diffunce haow much your garnder laid 
or your womern sot. What I wanter know is what he 
was wuth a-livin' an' haow much he's wuth dead, an' I'll 
pay ye the diffunce pervided I c'n raise the money," and 
he drew from his pocket the heart case which served him 
as a purse. 
"Wal, naow, I don' know; le' me see," said Mr. Larkin, 
weighing the goose in his hand and feeling its breast, 
"He hain't turrible meaty, and I carc'late he'll be tough- 
er'n tripe, an' it'll coost abaout as much tu chaw him as 
he's wuth. Then ag'in, lookin' at it from a opposite p'int 
o' view, he was lierble to continer a-livin' a consid'able 
number o' years, which he was the more val'able in that 
respeck." 
"The's the feathers!" Joseph suggested, with a view to 
bettering his friend's bargain. "The's an awful snarl o' 
feathers on that 'ere goose, which it seems as 'ough they'd 
ortu be took accaount on in the trade. Naow if you was 
a min' tu call it even, I do' know but I'd be willin' tu 
throw in this 'ere faowl 'at I got." He held up the bit- 
tern before Mr. Larkin, who viewed it at first with wonder, 
then with intense disgust, which his bland smile could not 
conceal as he exclaimed, 
"Land, what be you a-goin' tu du with that plaguey 
stake driver? No, I guess I don't want him. I'll tell ye 
what, Mr. Peggs, seein' it's you an' you're a stranger, you 
gi' me a half dollar an' we'll call it square." 
Uncle Lisha heaved a sigh of relief, and emptying the 
heart case into his palm he sorted out the requisite sum i 
from the handful of ninepence and fourpence half penny 
bits, centB and half cents which had been gathered in the 
mending of many boots and shoes. Mr. Larkin counted 
the much divided half dollar over twice and carefully 
scrutinized a doubtful penny of Canadian coinage before 
he reluctantly acknowledged the payment of the debt, 
and Uncle Lisha felt free to depart without the trophy 
which he had borne hither in the pride of his heart. Now 
as he trudged back to camp empty handed, while Joseph ! 
bore his own spoils in humbleness of spirit, he spoke but 
once and then only with heartfelt emphasis, 
"Damn the goose!" 
They found the tent and its environs silent and deserted, 
and after appeasing their hunger with a cold bite, Joseph 
sat down to pluck his fowls. He had not been long so 
employed upon the bittern when Antoine and the boat- 
man came strolling up from the landing. 
"What you goin do wid dat t'ing?" Antoine asked, after 
curiously watching him a few moments. 
"Wal," said Joseph, as he carefully plucked out the last 
feathers, "I kinder thought arter I'd got the feathers 
saved, I'd take an' dress it an' cook it an' see haow it 'ould i 
eat, jes' for the fun on 't." 
Antoine wrenched his interior with a groan of intense 
disgust, and snatching the bird from Joseph's hands, tossed 
it away with all his might. The lank form, with neck l 
and legs asprawl, went clattering through leaves andji 
bushes in a great curve, till it was lost to sight, and was i 
heard to fall with a dull final thud on the sands below the i 
cliff. 
"Dar, dat was de bes' way for cook up dat kan' o' vittle. 1 
You '11 was cook some bowfins one tarn, but you '11 a'n- 1 
goin' for stink de fire wid dat mud hens, bah gosh, no." 
Joseph's eyes followed this last featherless flight of the ; 
bittern and dwelt awhile on the point of its disappear- 
ance before he turned upon the Canadian and said re-.; 
proachfully, but without a trace of anger in his even 
drawl : 
"Naow, Antwine, seems tu me that 'ere is a 'tarnal 
mean kind o' caper, an' I do' know but what I'd ortu take 
an' fling ye ov' the laidge arter the bird, but it might, 
kinder break frien'ship, an' I guess I won't. But I mus' 
say it sorter seems tu me 'at for a feller 'at cooks eels an' 
mud turkles, an' I do' know but frawgs, you be dumb 
pertic'lar, an' as you might say, nicer 'n you be wise." 
