Oct. 8, 1904.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
807 
side; but. the bird itself we~tould not discover. We 
searched for over an hour, in fact, until it was almost 
dark, beating down several acres of dead tules and 
withered flags, but all to no avail, the bird could not be 
located. While we were looking for him the ducks 
flew by and over us in myriads, but so intent were we 
in ■searching for the sandhill that neither one of us 
took a shot, until finally, in deep disgust and mortifica- , 
tion, we were compelled to give it up" — — 
"And you never got him?" 
"Oh, yes, we did; Charlie Rogers and Scrib were 
shooting from the same blinds the next morning and, 
coming out about 10 o'clock, Scribner ran across our 
crane, lying flat, in plain sight is a little open glade in 
the tules, stone dead, with his long neck doubled back 
over his shaded back and his long lavender wings fully 
outstretched. By our track, Scrib said that he saw- 
that Tom and I had tramped by the bird, within a dozen 
yards of where it lay, a score of times, and as he 
found it and Rogers carried it into Camp Merganser, 
they, too, had the gall to claim a hand in our triumph." 
"Well, as long as you finally got the bird, you didn't 
care, did you?' 
"No, not particularly; anyway, all feeling disappeared 
that night as we gathered around old Abner's table and 
feasted ourselves to bursting, almost, on roast sandhill 
crane: I can taste it yet." 
"Good?" 
"Good? That's no name for it. It was a young 
bird, fat as butter, and Abner had him dished up in a 
style that would have made the Waldorf Astoria's chef 
turn green with envy. Young turkey, with chestnut 
and oyster dressing, wasn't in it with our crane and 
the wild sage and onion stuffing with which Abner 
served it. I thought Charlie Metz and Billy Marsh 
never would quit eating. But here we are. Let's string 
the decoys a little further around the point this evening, 
where the birds coming from the west can see them 
quicker. From the way they are moving up the lake, 
I think we are going to have some great fun this 
evening. There, reach that decoy with your paddle 
there, and pull it along till we get round the point; 
I'll gather these in front of us." 
"Before we get ready, Dad, I want to ask you if you 
don't think the sandhill is the greatest game bird we 
have ever had in this section of the country?" and 
Gerard began pawing at the nearest decoy with the 
flat end of his paddle. 
• "No, I do not. I even think — look out there, you'll 
throw me into the slough if you lean oyer the boat in 
that manner — I even think he is not in it with the wild 
goose, and so far as comparing him with the whooping 
crane, he is as far beneath that bird as he is superior 
to a sawbill." 
"The whooping crane? I don't believe I know the 
bird you mean. Are there any of them round here 
now?" 
"Yes, sometimes. But they are almost as thoroughly 
extinct, so far as Nebraska goes, as the buffalo or 
wild pigeon, although Bob Low came within an ace 
of getting a shot at one last fall down near Clark's 
Lake, south of Omaha." . " 
"Then they were once plentiful here, too, like the 
sandhill." 
"Just as plentiful. In fact, when I came to Nebraska 
they were to be encountered almost as numerously as 
the sandhills. They are larger by at least ten inches 
in extent of wing and eight inches or more in length, 
and have always been considered a rarer and more 
valuable bird. They are as white as a swan, excepting 
the several inches of velvet black that tips the wing; 
and when floating in the bright sunlight of Nebraska's 
clear air are the most beautiful of all big American 
game birds." 
And you say they were quite numerous, too, when 
you came here?" 
"Yes, very, and as late as March, 1894, Bill Simeral 
and I killed two out north of Goose Lake in Deuel 
county — the spring we made that big kill of canvasback." 
Canvasback. I haven't heard you speak of that hunt. 
I don't believe. How many did you kill?" 
"Well, canvasback and redhead, but principally can- 
vas—we brought back to Omaha exactly 604 birds after 
a ten days' shoot, this number including the two whoop- 
ing crane and seven swan. That was never duplicated — 
that is. in the high character of the birds — by any two 
hunters in the history of Nebraska. But I'll tell you 
about that later; just now I want to tell you about the 
crane — the whoopers. While they were abundant in 
the sandhill country, I never heard of many being killed 
here — hunters were always contented with geese and 
ducks, probably, however, because the whooping crane 
is about the hardest bird to approach in the world. He 
is as keen-sighted as an Andes condor and has the 
most acute hearing of any animal I ever hunted. They 
are great fliers, and when in the air circle much of the 
time so far in the zenith that they seem but bits of 
down, and send through miles of air a note both wild 
and strange, ringing as the blast of a silver bugle, it 
is almost a hopeless task to get a shot at one. They — 
well, isn't that gall for you? I'll kill the drake on the 
water and you take the hen when she rises." 
A pair of redheads, gliding onto us and into the water 
as noiseless, almost, as disembodied spirits, had dropped 
right into the midst of the decoys behind us, apparently 
unalarmed at the tones of my voice and perhaps un- 
aware of our proximity, and calling Gerard's attention 
to them. I cracked away, and the old cock dropped 
his bright chestnut head and fell over on the water, 
kicking spasmodically, and the Kid knocked down the 
hen, as with an affrighted squeak, she leaped into the 
air and sought to get away, whirling right toward us 
and over our heads. But she calculated without her 
host. Gerard's first barrel cut a handful of feathers 
out of her ashen tail, and the second "sent her plunging 
dead on a long slant into the glistening tules. 
"Well done!" I cried. 
"Nothin" at all surprisin'," answered he, "I had in 
one of those long-killing shells of yours." 
Even before we had a chance, after downing the pair 
of redheads, to push our boat back into the covert of 
tules, another pair of ducks, baldpates this time, came 
skimming down the channel just above the surface of 
the water, Gerard and I both saw them at the same 
time and, deeming any warning supererogatory, we both 
crouched low down on the hay in the boat and waited 
for them. The boy being in the bow of the boat and 
nearest the channel, I whispered to him to take the 
leader and I would attend to the one in the rear. 
They were soon opposite us, and the reports of our 
Parkers followed each other in quick succession. So 
quickly, in fact, that they almost blended into one, and 
two white-crested members of the wildfowl family lay 
struggling hopelessly upon the water. - 
"Oh, no, we arn't shooting a little bit this afternoon! 
ejaculated the young sportsman in an effusion of exulta- 
tion, as he broke his gun and slipped in another brace 
of r shells. "Two doubles, on single birds, in less than 
three minutes, looks as if things were coming our 
way, eh?" , ■ 
'-'Yes, indeed, it does," I replied, "but then all the 
signs point toward a good flight this evening as I told 
y 0*1— but, heavens and earth! look at that line of mal- 
lards coming down over the hills! Push! Gerard, push! 
Let's get into the tules— they are coming straight our 
way!" 
And tugging and pushing and pulling like a couple 
of -Trojans, we soon had our boat tucked well back into 
a -labyrinth of tules and, stooping low, I gave a loud 
quack, on the caller, thrice in rapid succession, then 
waited. 
As long way off as they were, I saw that I had 
attracted their attention. In those low sandhill valleys a 
caller can be readily heard for easily a mile, and by the 
birds in the air I think a good deal further. Anyway, 
the brllk of the approaching flock had heard my signal, 
for as they came on over the lake, they came down 
with a rush, and when I uttered the chattering notes 
of- an old hen, the fragment of the flock that had de- 
viated a trifle to the north, turned and followed the 
Wain bunch. When about 200 yards away, they all 
swerved a little, the way of all new-comers when ap- 
proaching an unfamiliar line of rushes. I called when 
|hey swung off and chattered as they turned again, 
and down they came on a line like a charge of im- 
petuous dragoons, with long green necks stretched 
to, their utmost tension and heads gleaming like flash- 
ing gems in the slanting sunlight. . 
They cupped their wings and dropped their bright- 
colored legs, and three birds, some yards in advance of 
the main line, like generals leading their troops, alighted 
right in among our decoys before the others had 
bunched sufficiently to give us a good rake at them; 
but Gerard was slightly unbalanced by the advance of 
1 he long line of glorious birds, and he arose and let 
drive "among them a half minute too soon. Then- 
there Was a whirl and a wild scramble in the air, which 
seemed filled with thumping wings sheering upward 
and outward amid a weird chorus of affrighted cries, 
while at the crack of the Kid's first barrel a whirl of 
green and gray and black strikes the weedy waters, 
two birds falling right together, and at the report of his 
second barrel another white-collared neck droops and 
another pair of wings are folded. ', I was a bit slow, but 
in the aerial riot. I caught two with my right as they 
crossed, and got another with my left as the last strag- 
glers were rapidly crossing the danger line. 
^Breaking my gun, I stood patching the scattered 
flock gathering together again [far up the lake, and 
they at last united in a big bunch and went with the 
wind off over the hills toward Hackberry, where some 
of - our party probably awaited them. I could not re- 
frain from remarking, nettled a little, you see, at hav- 
ing such a grand opportunity spoiled by the impetu- 
osity of the boy: v 
"A trifle premature, Gerard; if you had only waited 
a" • \. ' % * 
"Oh, get out! What do you want, the earth? Didn't 
we khock down five? Could j reasonable man ask- 
more?" he got back with some acerbity, |_ ? 
."No, indeed; but that isn't the thing. : - There is a 
proper time for shooting at a flock of incoming mal- 
lards, as there is a proper time for everything else. 
We killed enough of them, to be sure, but I wanted you 
to..see those birds when they poised stationary in the air 
before dropping into the water. They would have all 
stood on their tails, as it were, until satisfied that the 
three birds that had already alighted had not made a 
mistake, and that, with a tremendous flock like that 
was" 
"There must have been a hundred of them!" - 
"Fully. And I say, with such a flock the spectacle 
would' have been one you would have remembered to 
the end of your days. I saw just such a picture back 
on the old Kankakee over twenty-five years ago, and 
I can close my eyes now and see it again, just as 
vividly as I did that glorious March morning so long 
ago. But, look out there! Knock that bird down; 
don't, let her get away !" 
And as I spoke, a big old hen mallard came around 
the south point of the rushes and was about to settle 
among the decoys, when she caught sight of us, and 
turning swiftly, was putting as much space between 
her and our blind as her terror-stricken wings would 
permit,, when the lad swung on her, and down she 
tumbled among the smart-weed with a broken wing. ' 
"Well, you got her; but she is only wounded and I 
don't think we will be able to retrieve her. But what 
do you say? Let's try it. There seems to be a lull, 
just now, and as a number of our dead birds have 
drifted out of sight, I think we will profit by running 
out and gathering them before the final round-up this 
evening. But aren't you handing it to them; think I'll 
have to match you against Billy Townsend when we 
get home, and if we could only spring ducks from 
the' trap, I'd back you for the money. Push now, 
altogether; we'll soon be out. There we are out, all 
right. Now. Gerard, you pick up the dead, and I'll do 
tB§ pushing." 
""All right, then, push over there among that smart- 
weed, and we'll try for that old hen first." 
Accordingly I slowly poled the boat, bow first, over 
to" the line of the weeds, which formed a thin brown 
wilderness along this side of the channel. Gun ready, 
Gerard was on his knees carefully scanning the line 
of dead growth as we slowly floated along the selvedge. 
Failing to discover her, I said: 
"She is right here; now let us both look sharp, while 
Lhold the boat still. -These old hen mallards are about 
the cutest birds of the whole family, and a wounded 
one is a tough proposition to solve. She has prob- 
ably immersed her body, and is lying still; but you 
can depend upon it, her greenish bill is above the 
water, concealed, maybe, by some clump of this pepper 
grass, and keeping her yellow eyes on us all the time. 
Hold on — still now — I think she is right under that 
little bunch over there," pointing with the pole to a 
-small- cluster -of the brown leaves, which were blacker 
than the rest, showing that they have been lately 
soaked in the water when the old hen immersed her- 
self. "You see how light the leaves are all around 
those — well their color has not been changed by a 
sudden bath in the water. I'll push you right up close, 
then take a whack at the bunch with the flat side of 
your paddle, and if she is there we'll soon find out." 
Depositing his Parker on the hay, Gerard seized the 
paddle, and when within striking distance, he brought 
it down on the clump of smart-weed with a loud smack, 
crushing them down into the water, and sending cir- 
clets of waves radiating away in all directions. 
Immediately following there was a violent commo- 
tion within the aqueous tangle, and the next instant the 
rufous back and snake-like yellow head of the old heh 
showed themselves above the surface, and a second 
quick blow from the paddle stretched her two brown 
wings out on the surface, and her short tail feathers, 
sticking almost straight up, twitched and trembled in 
a way that plainly told that she was good as a dead 
duck. 
Another little push on the pole, and the Kid reached 
over, grabbed the mallard by the neck, shook the 
water from off her plumage and cast her back at my 
feet on the hay, and again picking up the paddle, we 
started back to where our dead were floating. 
Sandy Griswold. 
The Horns Must Show. 
Commissioner H. G. Thomas, of the Vermont Fish 
and Game Department, has sent out to wardens a notice 
embodying the ruling of Judge James M. Tyler in the case 
of State vs. Elmer E. St. John at Rutland Term of Court, 
March, 1904, for the illegal killing of a young buck in 
open season. After the evidence had been submitted, the 
court said : 
"Gentlemen — The view of this case that suggests itself 
to us upon all the evidence in the case, and upon the testi- 
mony of the respondent, is, that the deer had no such 
horns as gave notice to the hunter that he might shoot it. 
That is a short, statement of our view of the law. In 
other words, the horns must be visible — not merely that 
they can be discovered by a bunch after the animal is 
killed, but they must be visible so that they are noticeable, 
to the hunter that he may kill him in the open season. 
So, unless there is some other question, we shall so hold 
the law to be." 
Mr. Moloney— "There is no question about the act of 
shooting, but we claim it is for the jury to say." 
The Court — "We are inclined to construe the statute in 
that way, as we have indicated; so we shall instruct the 
jury that if they find that this animal was shot as the 
respondent himself testifies, and the horns were not so 
visible that he or a hunter going along could see these 
horns and have notice by them that he came within the 
statute, he had no right to shoot him." 
Following the expression of this opinion, the jury re- 
turned a verdict of guilty, and St. John was fined $100 and 
costs. 
. Commissioner Thomas notifies wardens to govern 
themselves by this decision, and to take pains to notify 
hunters that if they shoot deer where the horns are not 
visible, they will be prosecuted according to law. 
Bullet Molds. 
Williamsport, Pa., Sept. 26. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: The bullet mold described by Mr. Hardy in the 
number of September 3, interested me very much, espe- 
cially as I am in possession of a similar stone mold, 
which, if not a duplicate of his, is certainly a very close 
relation. 
My mold has been in a family of Pennsylvania Germans 
whose ancestors immigrated to America about 200 years 
ago, and came from Bavaria. 
The stone has about the same color and density as the 
oil-stones carpenters use to sharpen their tools. The 
dimensions are as follows : Length, 6 inches ; height, 
inches; width, 1]/% inches; weight, 14^ ounces. One 
of the high sides has entrances to six casting holes, the 
largest of which appears to be about 18 to the pound, each 
successive hole getting smaller. The opposite side has 
eight holes, with gradual reduction to about the size of 
a No. 2 buckshot. 
I think that this mold was first owned by poachers, or 
perhaps was used during war by the country people. 
The holes were evidently made by tools owned by gun- 
smiths, which were used by them to drill out the regular 
bullet molds made of iron. August Koch. 
The Duck's Scenting Power. 
. .St. Paul, Minn., Sept. 27. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
Did you notice L. F. Brown's statements regarding the 
power of the Anas obscurus to "scent" man? Now will 
the doubters as to the olfactory powers of the duck be 
good? Unconsciously Mr. Brown is pleading my cause 
as against Coahoma. I tell you, truth (and Limburger, if 
not below the frost-line) crushed to earth will rise again. 
Charles Cristadoro. 
Ten Little Rattlers. 
When a Springfield taxidermist left his place of busi- 
ness last night the sole occupant of his show window 
was a. rattlesnake captured on Mt. Toby about two weeks 
ago. This morning there were, to his surprise, ten addi- 
tional rattlers of diminutive proportions which evidently' 
had made their appearance during the night. Each little 
rattler was about a foot long. The mother rattler is 
twelve years old, as indicated by her rattles. — Boston 
Globe. 
