Dec. s, 1903-] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
'Gus,' says I, 'I'm goin' into the woods to see the fun, 
but I ain't goin' to take any chances. Will you lind 
me one of your han'kerchiefs?' says I. 'What for?' 
says he. 'Never mind,' says I, 'but get it.' He got 
it and thin I spread it out on the bar and had Gus 
to paint on it in bould charackters with a piece of a 
stick and black ink: 
DON'T SHOOT, 
I'M A MAN. 
" 'Gus,' says I, 'I'm goin' to hoist that on me rifle 
and carry it like a flag at the head of a regimint.' 
"Well, I was up bright and early the next mornin' 
reconnoitrin' the hotel, and seen me gallant sport 
march of? alone with his brand new rifle and his brand 
new shootin' suit. I started after him whin I seen him 
inter the woods. I felt purty sure that he'd keep to 
the beaten thrail up the mountain, and thin down to 
the valley beyant, but I was mistaken, for whin I 
intered the woods after him and made a spurt to get 
well up in his rear, I couldn't get a sight or hear a 
sound of him. Howsomever, I kept on to the valley, 
hopin' he might make his way there somehow. It was 
my idea that if I ran into him he'd be so disgusted with 
his luck that he'd employ me there and thin — but I 
was detarmined to make him apologize first for his 
words of the night before. Well, I poked about all 
day, but never once got wind of him. 'Mebbe,' says 
I, 'the poor child's tired out and gone to sleep some- 
where.' As evenin' came on I began to feel a bit tired 
meself, as I always do whin I have no excitement, so 
I thought I'd rest a while and have a pull at the pipe 
before startin' for home. 
"I sat down on a rock behind a strip of bushes, takin' 
the precaution to plant me flag alongside of me. It 
was a beautiful evenin', fine and mild, with the settin' 
sun gildin' the brown laves of the forest. I was 
smokin' aAvay, continted enough in spite of me disap- 
pointed, whin I heard somethin' crack. I turned me 
head to listen, and the next minute bang! wint a rifle, 
and the pipe was knocked out of me mouth. Aha! 
thinks I, I'm up agin it, after all. I threw myself flat 
on me face and awaited devilopments. In a minute 
or two somebody comes runnin' up, and then I heard 
the voice of me new acquaintance: 
"'My God!' he cried, 'it's a man!' 
"Thin he took to sobbin' like, and— 'I first lost me- 
self,' says he, 'and now I've shot a man. Oh, miser- 
able wretch! What'U become of me?' 
"I remained stock still, and again I heard him break 
out: 'He's dead— stone dead. No use stayin' here. 
Let me save meself.' 
"With that he turned and fled. I jumped up at 
once and made after him at a distance. 
" 'I'll tache this woodsman a lesson,' says I. 
"He kept to the valley, but didn't seem to know 
where he was goin', only dashin' along whatever way 
was clearest. In a little while it began to grow dark, and 
thin, as I seen him stop to take breath, I gave a long 
wailin' cry, as of a man in distress. He looked about 
him like a frightened deer, and thin took to his heels 
agin. 
"After a while he came to a clearin'. The moon was 
risin' and everything looked dim and ha'nted-like. 
Thin I began dodgin' about the clearin', utterin' moans 
and groans, with an occas'nal wailin' cry like the first 
one. There's an echo 'way back in the valley, and it 
took up the sounds of me voice and made such a hor- 
rible din that bedad I was almost frightened meself. 
As for the poor chap in the middle of the clearin', he 
seemed paralyzed with fear. At length he threw him- 
self down on his knees and covered his face with his 
hands. 'I took pity on him, and comin' out of the 
woods began to hello to him. He looked up and seen 
me, and thin he jumped to his feet and was away as if 
he'd seen the divil. 
"Stop!' I cried, 'or I'll shoot.' 
"You see I wanted to get him home, for I was afraid 
if he spint the night in the woods he might expire from 
sheer fright. But he didn't heed me, but dashed on 
and disappeared in the woods. I followed him for a 
while, but he was too nimble for me— and to be sure 
the fear in his heart put wings on his feet— so I gave 
up the chase and made for home. 
"In troth. I felt sorry for the poor tinderfoot, though 
he'd nearly done for me, and prayed that the Lord 
might spare him through the night. I rached home 
very sad and anxious— I was thin boordin' at the Widow 
Casey's— and didn't spake a word to a sowl. but wint 
straight to bed. I couldn't sleep a wink from thinkin' 
of the poor wanderer in the woods, and blamed meself 
contin'ally for playin' such a trick on him. Howsom- 
ever, I was up long before dawn, and stuffin' a few 
provisions and a flask of whiskey in me pocket, made 
off on a search expedition. 
"It was just breakin' day as I rached the clearin'. 
I looked about, and the ground bein' soft after rain 
had no trouble in findin' the thrail. I pursued it for 
a considerable distance, thin lost it on a ledge of 
rocks. I looked around the ledge, but couldn't find the 
sign of a footstep. I was puzzled. Some trees grew 
close to the ledge, and I thought he might have sprung 
into one of thim to hide, so I looked through thim, but 
to no purpose. 'Whatever could have become of him?' 
says I, sorely puzzled. While I was debatin' the ques- 
tion I heard a groan. It seemed to come out of the 
ground. I looked around more attintively than I had 
before and seen a clift in the ledge. 'Ah, ha!' says I, 
and up I wint and there found the poor little dude sport 
lyin' on his face between the rocks. Ividently in his 
wild flight he'd stumbled and fell in. I got down be- 
side him and shook him. 
" 'Me poor lad,' says I, 'this is too bad. How do you 
feel? Are you hurt?' 
"He gave another groan, but didn't answer. I took 
him in me arms and carried him over to a grassy spot 
and sat him down with his back to a tree. He hung 
his head on his chest and seemed to be in a sort of 
thrance. I forced some whiskey down his throat and 
rubbed his hands and timples. Prisently he lifted his 
head and looked at me. 
" 'I've shot a man,' says he, then hung his head agin. 
" 'Come— come,' says I, 'you mustn't give way like 
that. Brace up and be a man.' 
"I put the bottle in his mouth agin and made him 
take a good swig. It put more life into him, and in a 
little while he got up. Thin lookin' at me, he repeated: 
" 'I've shot a man.' 
" 'Are you sure?' says I. 
" 'Yis,' says he. 'I seen him dead — stone dead. And 
I heard him.' 
" 'Heard him?' says I. 
" 'Yis — heard his ghost,' says he, trimblin'. 
" 'The Lord save us!' says I. 'But why did you shoot 
him?' 
" 'I took him for a deer,' says he. 'I seen something 
white and I thought it was the deer's flag.' 
" 'Oh, tear an' ages,' says I, 'this beats all,' and took 
to laughin', so that I had to hold me sides. 
" 'What are you laughin' at?' says he. 
" 'I'm laughin' at your simplicity and me own,' says 
I. 'Do you see that flag?' and I pulled Gus's han'ker- 
chief out of me pocket. 
"He nodded. 
" 'Well,' says I, 'this is the flag you shot at — and this 
is the man. And if you didn't shoot me it wasn't be- 
cause I didn't desarve to be shot, for carryin' such a 
thing as that into the woods.' 
"His face, which was pale as death before, flushed up 
with the joy in him. 
" 'Oh, tell me,' says he, 'that you ain't foolin' me — 
that you're in earnest?' 
" 'Sure, I'm in earnest,' says I. 'Here's me hand on 
it.' 
"'But how about those awful cries?' says he. 
" 'Oh,' says I, 'that was a little joke of mine to scare 
you .' 
" 'Ain't you the man I met in the barroom of the 
hotel last night?' says he, lookin' at me attintively. 
" 'The very same,' says I. 
" 'Well,' says he, 'I apologize for what I said to you. 
I was a fool to spake as I did of guides.' 
" 'Mebbe,' says I, 'you spoke of thim as you found 
thim. But they ain't ah the same.' 
" 'That's true,' says he, 'for you're a divilish decent, 
clever fellow, and I'm your friend for life,' says he, 
stretchin' out his hand. 'My name is Percy Van Coort- 
landt Brown, and you must let me reward you for 
what you've done for me.' 
" 'My name is Timothy Mulcahy, sir, at your service,' 
says I, 'but I don't want a cint for what I've done. I 
had the value of me money out of you last night. But,' 
says I, thinkin,' 'I have a poor old mother in Ireland, 
and if you have a mind to be ginerous ' 
" 'Let me have her address,' says he. 
"He took it down, and thin says: 'But really you 
must let me sind you something, if only for a soovy- 
neer.' 
" 'Well, if I must,' says I, 'let it be a pipe, for whin 
you fired that shot yisterday, bedad you knocked me 
old doodeen out of me mouth. And I must compli- 
mint 3^ou on your aim,' says I. 
" 'Mulcahy,' says he, 'you're the right sort. You 
shall have the finest pipe that money can buy. And I'm 
comin' back here next year for a whole week's shoot- 
in' with you. In the meantime, say nothin' about what 
has happened.' 
"■'I'll never spake of it while you're alive.' says I. 
"And neither did I, but " and here Tim lowered 
his voice — "I happened to read in a New York paper 
the other day that poor Percy Van Coortlandt Brown 
was no more. And will you believe, gintlemin, how he 
came by his untimely death? He was shot in the 
woods! 
"Sure there must have been a fate in it," concluded 
Tim. "But, anyhow, it would be a grand thing if fire 
arms could be kept out of the hands of fools." 
Kildeer Plover. 
Of all North American shore birds, perhaps none 
is so well known as the killdeer plover. Though not 
often seen in these days on the New England and north 
Atlantic coast, it is abundant in the interior, north and 
south, and though not found in great companies, like 
other plover, and most beach birds, its distribution is 
very general. Besides, its appearance is so striking, 
and its voice so shrill and so constantly in use, that 
TWO SNAPS AT A KILLDEER — ONE. 
it draws to itself the notice of every one who invades 
the territory which it inhabits. This shrill and charac- 
teristic cry has given it its vernacular name, as well 
as the specific name, vociferus. If alarmed by man, 
and especially if its breeding grounds are approached, 
the killdeer at once remonstrates by its shrill whistle, 
and not one bird only, but perhaps a dozen, if- so many 
are in the neighborhood, gather about the intruder, 
and flying near him seem to urge him by cries, threat- 
TWO SNAPS AT A KILLDEER — TWO. 
ening or imploring, to take himself off and let them 
alone. It is not by day only that the killdeer is heard. 
Often his remonstrant whistle comes to the ear of him 
who travels by night, and to judge from the way in 
which it circles about, or passes over him, its actions 
in darkness are much the same as during the day. 
Although one of our shore birds, the kildeer hardly 
merits the name of a game bird. It is neither especially 
good to eat nor good to kill, and there is neither pleas- 
ure nor credit to be had from its pursuit. Audubon 
says that in early autumn the birds of this species are 
fat, juicy, and tender; but he adds that at all seasons 
of the year the kildeer is shot by inexperienced sports- 
men. The pursuit of this innocent bird cannot be 
recommended. 
The illustrations here given were taken as snapshots 
not long ago in Mexico, and show how tame the birds 
are there. The picture of the one which is running is 
extremely interesting. 
