220 
FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. io, 1904. 
From Dawn Till Sunset. 
It was early morning. As yet the first long, mellow 
rays of an October sun had not appeared over a level 
stretch of land, marsh, and tree-line bordering on one of 
the great lakes. A thin blue night fog still hung in 
wreathy clouds near to the frosted, sandy earth that con- 
stituted a fertile island nestling within the wide expanse 
cf marsh land. 
Now and again in the uncertain morning light a mal- 
lard, widgeon, or sprightly little teal arose from a shal- 
low pond hole where it had been feeding, and after 
circling about low over the marsh, giving vent to an occa- 
sional quack, settled down out of sight in some new 
locality. 
As the yellow glow crept up into the eastern sky behind 
the feathery willow trees growing along the lake beach, 
separated from the island by a narrow strip of water and 
rushes, large flocks of blackbirds commenced sweeping in 
streams and clouds across the former, heading for the 
marsh, their harsh, chattering murmur first growing 
louder and then dying away as they sped on. Numerous 
other birds chirruped among the scrubby underbrush, 
while, despite the crisp freshness of the air, a song spar- 
row put forth a brave trill of melody, and once, from the 
row of dark, heavy-limbed Norway spruces standing on 
the north end of the island, came the clear, sweet whistle 
of a cardinal. 
A small brown cottage stood but a short distance from 
the row of spruce trees that afforded a sheltering protec- 
tion against cold winds. It spread over the ground in a 
picturesque rambling fashion, for it was only one story 
high, and as the light of the rising sun grew brighter, 
a column of smoke curled up from a short, stubby-looking 
chimney that surmounted the roof, proving that the occu- 
pants, like their outdoor neighbors, were awake and astir. 
Finally the big glowing disc moved up into the sky from a 
bed of fiery color, and the white frost that covered the 
stiffened ground and clung to every withered grass-blade 
sparkled like a thousand diamonds. 
The back door of the lodge opened, as the shafts of 
sunlight struck on the glistening little window-panes, and 
two figures emerged, while from the warm, snug interior 
issued the appetizing fumes of coffee and breakfast. The 
foremost was Pete, an experienced punter; and Billy, in 
the rear, was striving, under his father's tuition, to learn 
that art. The former's genial French countenance, made 
more genial by contact with the spicy crispness of the 
atmosphere, beamed forth from beneath a peaked cor- 
duroy hunting cap, while his stout legs were encased in 
trousers of like material several sizes too large, so that 
they looked like little brown barrels. These were stuffed 
into a pair of hip rubber boots, and the upper half of his 
ample figure was clad after an equally appropriate fashion. 
For a minute he stood on the doorstep, looking intently 
out toward the marsh ; then he turned to Billy, standing 
behind him, saying: "I'm a-stuck at where ter go. Sup- 
■ pose he'll know all right," giving a backward jerk with 
his thumb toward the interior of the cottage, where at 
that moment the Veteran and I were gathering our things 
together and adjusting rubber boots preparatory to the 
day's shoot. 
"Pete's getting worried, I guess," commented the 
Veteran, wisely divining that the punter was in a per- 
plexed state of mind from his solemn and thoughtful ap- 
pearance when a few minutes, previous the question had 
been put to him as to the likeliest place to go to obtain 
a good bag. Like Al., who presided over the kitchen with 
grace and fidelity, he was subject to worried spells. 
The Veteran, entering the former's domain a minute 
later, eyed him with concealed amusement. "Come, AL, 
haven't you got those lunches put up yet?" he asked, 
knowing well his dislike of rush or hurry, and that to 
urge either only meant increased slowness on the latter's 
part. 
"Well, I'm wrapping these things up as fast as I can," 
he answered, taking the question most seriously, as usual, 
but nevertheless growing more slow and nervous as he 
endeavored to roll the rather unappetizing form of a cold 
muskrat in a napkin. Although these poor abused marsh 
denizens are looked down upon by some as an article of 
food, to those who have eaten them, properly prepared, 
they afford an excellent and never to be despised dish. 
"Here they are," said Ab, at length, handing the lunch 
boxes to Billy, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so, 
and coming outside where we stood watching the flight 
of a string of widgeon, evidently intent on alighting near 
the location we had thought of as a shooting ground for 
the day. 
There were two ways of reaching our intended destina- 
tion : one by rowing down the river, thence around into 
a creek, and finally punting through the marsh until a 
favorable pond hole was found ; the other by walking to 
the southern extremity of the island, where a strip of this 
same marsh area divided the island from the beach and 
lake. Thus we had our choice between a watery roadway 
or a short, pleasant walk down the island, and as Pete 
had a boat load of decoys and other needful articles, the 
Veteran concluded to divide up, and while the punters 
were to go by the former route, we would walk and meet 
them at the end of the island. 
"I'll let Billy come an' get you while I'm pickin' out a 
place an' buildin' a good blind," were Pete's parting words 
before he disappeared around the corner of the cottage. 
"Well, I hope you will find a good place," answered 
the Veteran, in a tone of significance that caused Pete to 
eye him with a worried expression. 
"Do der best I kin," said he, accompanied by a nod of 
comprehension. "Come on, Billy," and away went the 
two in the direction of the dock, where their ungraceful 
but comfortable and useful punt boats awaited them, Pete 
clumping heavily along as though matters of weighty im- 
portance rested on his broad, sturdy shoulders; Billy, as 
usual, following behind. 
The cottonwood trees on the west side of the cottage, 
standing in a single line like the big protecting spruces, 
were slowly dropping their broad golden leaves as the 
frost nipped off the delicate stems, and before starting 
out on the walk down the island we perceived moving 
about in the bare branches a number of bluebirds, unfear- 
ful of our presence, and uttering those soft spring-like 
notes so welcome to the ear. It was the same everywhere 
on the island; wild life was seen in various forms. Here 
were birds singing and twittering on this snappy autumn 
morning, while quail whistled as the evening shadows 
fell ; ducks quacked in the distant marsh, yellowlegs called 
sweetly overhead, and now and then an old marsh hawk 
flapped lazily along in search of a wounded duck. At 
night the muskrats came forth and held full sway in the 
dark waters of the moonlit creeks, splashing, diving, and 
feeding to theit hearts' contents, while out on the bay, 
shrouded in the uncertain, misty light, rafts of canvas- 
backs and other ducks pulled tender wild celery roots 
from the shallow bottom, and thousands of mud hens 
croaked and fed close to them. Surely, I thought many 
times to myself, this is a sportsman's paradise. 
The frost was melting fast under the mild, beaming 
shafts of the sun, and the sandy road as we tramped along 
on our way to the end of the island, felt soft and yield- 
ing, while the tracks of woodchucks, rabbits, and delicate 
quail tracings were in many places as plainly visible as 
though marked on a fresh snow. After brushing through 
a thick growth of rich red sumac, withered goldenrod 
stalks and brambles on a narrow path that was a cramped 
continuation of the road, we neared the creek where Billy 
was to meet us, when, with beating wings, several 
widgeon sprang from the water, but unfortunately too far 
for a shot, so they sped away unmolested. Some dis- 
tance out in the yellow marsh we spied Pete, evidently at 
work constructing a blind about the duck boat that lay 
on the edge of a pond hole, and after Billy's arrival we 
were soon heading for his direction, seated comfortably 
in the punt boat, our hearts warming as we observed the 
number of birds stirred up by our presence in the neigh- 
borhood. 
"There is some difference in the appearance of this 
water now from when the carp are in here," said the 
Veteran, looking down into the shallow crystal depths that 
appeared almost like a huge aquarium, so luxurious was 
the growth of plants. "Then it's simply a mud hole, and 
swarming with fish from one end to the other," he added. 
Pete, as we pushed in to where he was putting the fin- 
ishing touches on a well-made blind, looked up inquiringly. 
"How you like this place?" he asked of the Veteran. 
"Pretty good, eh?" 
"Did many ducks get up when you pushed in?" ques- 
tioned the Veteran, in return. 
"It we're full of 'em," answered Peter, as he stuck a 
wild rice stem in the blind. Then he pushed out in the 
pond hole, and soon had • a flock of decoys bobbing 
serenely on the blue water ruffled by a light northerly 
breeze. After a slight discussion, created by the fact 
that we would have to take turns shooting in the blind, 
and that I was to enjoy the first trial, the argument ended 
after the usual fashion, and I stepped meekly over into the 
hidden recess of the duck boat, while the Veteran pushed 
off with Pete to a place of concealment, calling back, 
"When you've killed some birds I'll come over and we'll 
change around." So I was content to settle down, open 
cartridge boxes, and lay them in a handy position, load 
up, and wait for the ducks. 
Perhaps I had sat thus for ten minutes or more, occa- 
sionally raising my head and taking a look around for 
any feathered marsh denizen that might be approaching, 
when "Mark !" and I raised up with alacrity as the word 
reached my ears. "Quack, quack, quack !" came sonorous 
notes and urging calls from Pete, doing his best to bring 
on the three cunning widgeon that I now espied winging 
their way low over the marsh and on the lookout for a 
favorable alighting place. They kept steadily on, appar- 
ently not heeding the decoys, and heading across the wind, 
while I watched them cautiously, now and then peering 
over the top of the blind. Then, as though some new 
idea had suddenly struck them, or perhaps having decided 
that a nearer investigation of the decoys might prove 
worth while, when nearly opposite the blind's position, 
they swung around, heading up against the light breeze, 
and came straight in. Waiting Until the foremost threw 
up his wings to alight, I raised suddenly to a sitting 
posture, and holding a little to one side on account of 
the wind's direction, I pulled the first barrel. At the 
report there was a splash, as the widgeon collapsed and 
struck the water, while the remaining pair recovered 
themselves with surprising quickness, mounting up from 
their hovering attitude almost before I could put in a 
second shot, which, however, availed but little, and they 
swung by to the left, more wary and wise than ever. 
After satisfying myself that the bird knocked down would 
not come to life and creep off unobserved, as often hap- 
pens when they are apparently dead, I loaded up and slid 
down out of sight. 
How the warm, golden sunlight and bright reflection 
on the water did tan one's face, not with a hot, disagree- 
able touch, but with a pleasant glow. Several times, so 
effectual was the deceptive appearance of the blind, that 
red-wing blackbirds came and hopped over the rush- 
covered stern or clung to a rice stem close beside the 
screen, uttering soft, rich trills. I came to the conclu- 
sion, as I listened, that one of their notes is distinctly 
like the sound of running water — a liquid gurgle of re- 
freshing melody. 
The next ducks to come in were, queer to relate, an- 
other trio, but this time they were black ducks. I saw 
them moving up my way from the opposite side of the 
marsh, and was ready as they drew within range, flying 
almost in a line, and not strung out one behind the other. 
On they came, while I lay low, with the usual preliminary 
palpitations, watching their approach through open slits 
in the blind, but instead of pulling down toward the de- 
coys as they drew near, they kept on in their flight, pass- 
ing directly overhead, and offering a splendid shot. Hold- 
ing, as I thought, well ahead of the center bird, I fired 
the first barrel with no effect, and put in the second on 
the duck to the left with the same result, and before I 
could load again they were far out of range. It almost 
seemed as though their eyes twinkled with derision when 
those black, plump forms showing in large clear marks 
against the sky, skimmed by, so near and yet so far, both 
shots falling behind. With vain misgivings I heard the 
Veteran shout, "Mark ahead !" and espied a single duck 
coming for the decoys — one of these self-same cunning 
old duskies. After much circling around behind and in 
front of the blind, just out of range, and evidently making 
a keen inspection of the decoys, he slowly dropped in, 
and before recovering from his surprise, as I raised up to 
shoot, he collapsed and fell with a splashing plump. To 
make sure of things, I gave him the contents of the second 
barrel, in order that there should be no danger of his 
giving me the slip, as several previous lessons had taught, 
now feeling in a decidedly better frame of mind, with 
shaken confidence partially restored. How different are 
the after-effects of a kill and a miss! The one elates with 
satisfaction and pleasure, and the other plunges us into 
the depths of chagrin ; that is, if the shot was not very 
difficult; yet without the latter the fascination of shooting 
to a great degree would be lost, for it is just these misses 
that keep up one's enthusiasm and tend to improve all 
shooting capabilities by urging a careful manipulation of 
either rifle or shotgun. 
"Flock of teal coming in on your right. Mark!" sang 
out the Veteran, whose watchful eye was ever on the keen 
lookout from his place of concealment, and almost before 
I had time to cock the gun, there was a zip and whirr 
of wings, as by shot six round, compact little objects 
going like bullets. "Wait until they come around again," 
was my mental decision, and in fact they were past be- 
fore I could do or decide much of anything. Now, how- 
ever, they had made a sweeping turn, and were coming 
back on the outside of the decoys at a good rate of speed 
as I raised up to shoot. Rip ! went the first load of shot, 
and one of the green-wings dodged at the report, flew 
uncertainly for a short distance, and then sailed head first 
into a patch of wild rice with folded pinions. Singling 
out the rear bird with the second barrel, I shoved in well 
ahead of him and fired. Through good fortune I hap- 
pened to center him in the load, for down he came, thus 
making a brace, much more than I had hoped to bag. 
"Hey! Mark left!" called Pete, loudly, and with my 
fingers all thumbs I endeavored to. load hastily, and of 
course, as luck would have it, jammed two cartridges one 
after the other, until I was in a perfect fever of anxiety 
and excitement trying to dislodge them. Ducks Were cer- 
tainly coming thick and fast, I mentally concluded, bruis- 
ing fingers as I tugged at the tightly wedged shell, and 
at last, with a supreme effort, out it came; in slid a couple 
that behaved themselves and I sat erect just as a hand- 
some gadwall, flying low and well on. the left hand, came 
sailing along. It was an easy shot, for he was moving 
slowly, and on firing he crumpled up and dropped with 
a splash close beside the boat. 
For a time there was a lull, and I leaned back, watch- 
ing the expanse of waving feathery-topped rice, stiff 
rushes, and blow-guns with my eyes just above the level 
of the blind, when all at once there was a soft whirring 
noise close to the boat, and I grabbed the gun a moment 
too late, as by skimmed a single widgeon that had come 
up behind unawares. 
Pintails, with their Ions necks and watchful eyes, were 
the next ducks to come investigating the decoys, some 
few minutes after the widgeon had given me such a 
clever slip, and as these came from the rear as well, I 
fortunately was on the lookout, and lay very quiet as they 
passed, waiting for them to swing around and give me 
a better shot. Sure enough, the whole flock turned and 
came back, as I had anticipated. Just as the first pair 
alighted, while the others wavered with beating pinions 
above them, I fired, taking the first shot at one -swimming 
among the decoys, and giving a hovering bird the contents 
of the second barrel. Down he came, while the first duck 
lay on its back, requiring no further attention, and it is 
needless to say that the remainder of the flock beat a hasty 
retreat ; too hasty, in fact, for they were gone before I 
could give them a parting salute. A few minutes after 
this, I thought I perceived a slight movement in the grass 
on the left side of the pond hole, and raising up to obtain 
a better view, here was one of the "coony" old pintails 
creeping quietly and stealthily away. In order to obtain 
a better view of him, I was forced to stand up in the 
boat, and as it had no support on either side, it was a 
trifle unsteady, so, as I fired, the recoil of the gun nearly 
sent me over backward into the water, and only by a 
wild balancing feat did I regain myself. It may be 
assumed that I sat down with alacrity. Nevertheless, I 
had the pintail, and was therefore contented, although the 
next time I had occasion to shoot a cripple, my bump of 
caution was more on the alert. 
A little later I counted up the birds floating in the 
pond or lodged in a tuft of grass, and found there were 
ten, so I thought it high time that my companion should 
change places with me, and hailed him accordingly, add- 
ing that I was quite ready to investigate one of Al's lunch 
boxes. This last consideration brought him over; and 
now ducks, beware ! 
Located in this new position with a natural screen to 
hide both punt boats, through which we had a good view 
of the decoys, for only the Veteran's he'ad showing now 
