FOREST AND STREAM 
459 
September, 1919 
black coachman put the canopy top surrey 
in perfect order and prepare all things 
for an early start next morning, then to 
bed to dream of whistling plover. There 
was a thunder storm north of us in the 
night so when we started out next morn- 
ing according to program, just as day 
was breaking, the air was delightfully 
cool and refreshing. With Doctor and me 
on the back seat of the surrey and Irvey 
and the driver in front, we drove to the 
main road, then to the corner. Here we 
came to the clover fields and just at 
sunrise, as the driver was taking down 
the bars, the plaintive whistle of a plover 
came to our ears. “Hear them. Doc, hear 
them?” cried Irvey. And immediately he 
replied with a perfect imitation. Then 
we drove out over the field, eagerly look- 
ing for the birds we had heard calling. 
“There they are Doc, see them? Two 
of them. Now, Mr. A — this is your 
shot, for we are to take turns, you know, 
and you are the guest of honor. See 
their heads sticking above the clover, 
about two hundred yards to the right. 
Now Dick, 
drive along 
slowly to the 
right of 
them, as if 
you were go- 
ing to pass 
them, not too 
close. Keep 
off a little, 
that's about 
right. Now, 
Mr. A — be 
ready, and 
when the 
wagon stops, 
shoot quickly 
at one on the 
ground.” 
Slowly we 
drove as if to 
pass the 
birds at 
about forty 
yards, and 
they looked 
very alert 
and suspi- 
cious. When 
we were di- 
rectly opposite, the driver brought 
the horses to a stop and instantly the 
little Baker was at my shoulder and I 
killed the first bird just as it opened its 
wings to fly. Up sprang the other with 
shrill whistles of alarm, to be brought 
down with a quick “snap” shot from my 
second barrel, and I sat back with a sigh 
of satisfaction, while my companions 
slapped me on' the back with many con- 
gratulations, at our auspicious start, for 
most shooters believe if you kill your 
first bird in the morning, it brings good 
luck for the day. 
We found no more birds in this field, 
and drove to the next one, presently 
Doc excitedly said: “Irvey, see that big 
one off there to the left, see him skulking 
through the clover?” “Yes, I see him, 
but I fear he is an educated one, but we 
will try him. Dick, edge in on him a 
little.” But the bird was wild and soon 
took wing and flew over the field, utter- 
ing the while his plaintive call. Pres- 
ently two more rose from the field and 
began flying around while we stopped to 
watch them; finally two dropped in the 
adjoining field, while one alighted on top 
of a post in the fence between. Here it 
stood for all the world like a young tur- 
key, craning its neck from side to side. 
“Now, Doc, this is your shot, and it 
will be a long one, for he won’t let us 
get very close and I am afraid it will 
‘strain’ your old Parker.” “Don’t you 
worry about the Parker,” replied the doc- 
tor, “you put me within fifty yards of 
him, and he is my meat.” 
Carefully, Dick drove past the bird at 
about forty-five yards, and when he stop- 
ped the horses Doc blazed away. Up 
jumped the plover, and then Doc gave 
him his full-choked barrel. On went 
the bird, while Doc gazed longingly after 
it. Suddenly it began to falter, and then, 
closing its wings dropped like a stone. 
“Why, Doc,” said Irvey, “the old gun 
is some good after all.” “It’s your shot 
next,” said Doc, “and we will see what 
you will do with your old gas pipe.” 
The birds in the next field were wild 
and did not give us a shot, so we drove 
on about half a mile farther to another 
stretch of rolling clover fields and pas- 
tures. Here in an adjoining field we 
saw three plover, within shot of the low 
hedge row that divided the fields. We 
drove along about a hundred yards from 
the hedge and Irvey slipped from the 
surrey and started to stalk them. 
Stealthily as an Indian he crawled over 
the grass, and soon was at the low hedge, 
while we watched his every move. Cau- 
tiously he peeped through at the unsus- 
pecting birds, then sprang quickly to his 
feet and made a beautiful right and left 
on the nearest birds as they took wing. 
As he brought the birds to the surrey, 
he handed them to the doctor and said, 
“There, Doc, that’s what I do with the 
old ‘gas pipe,’ when I have half a chance. 
There’s a big wheat stubble, one field 
farther over,” he continued. “We may 
find some doves on it, so we will walk 
over, and meet Dick at the road again.” 
Reaching the stubble field, we sep- 
arated and walking about one hundred 
yards apart, started across it. Soon from 
in front of Doc, who was in the middle, 
away went three doves with flapping 
wings. Bang! went the Parker, do'wn 
went a dove; bang! went the other bar- 
rel, down went another. The remaining 
bird crossed Irvey, going very swiftly 
and at long range. Bang! Bang ! — On 
went the dove. Doc laughed sarcastically 
and asked, “What’s the matter with your 
old ‘gas pipe’ now?”— “Why you old 
sinner, that dove was sixty yards away.” 
— “Not a foot over thirty-five and you 
know it,” said Doc, “your old gun is no 
good, and you never could shoot much 
any way. You come down and take some 
lessons at the Old Bay Side Club, and 
we will try and teach you to shoot as 
well as we can.” 
With these two warm friends good 
naturedly “chaffing” each other, we 
passed on to the road and the surrey 
again. Then on to other fields, picking 
up a plover or dove here and there, and 
so in good time to the canal, and crossed 
it at the 
locks. A few 
yards farther 
on we passed 
over the 
beautiful lit- 
t 1 e “Mill- 
stone” River 
and drove 
for quite 
some dis- 
tance beside 
its shady 
banks. Here 
the Doctor 
grew remin- 
iscent and 
told of his 
bass fishing 
on this syl- 
van stream. 
“There in 
that shady 
pool yonder 
at the bend, 
I took a four 
pounder,” he 
said, “and 
you see that 
0 1 d ragged 
tree top, there beside that big rock ; well, 
in that old tree top I lost the biggest bass 
I have ever hooked. There was a big 
thunder storm coming, and I guess I 
didn’t handle him just right.” — “I can 
easily believe that,” said Irvey, “unless 
you fish much better than you shoot.” 
As the day grew on the plover grew 
wilder and more difficult of approach and 
the shots at a greater distance, so we 
made frequent misses but the bag stead- 
ily grew. After a time we passed the 
great “Belle Meade” stock farm and saw 
numbers of plover in the fields, but they 
allowed no shooting on account of fhe 
stock. It was a pleasure to see how popu- 
lar Irvey and the Doctor were. The Doc- 
tor had practised all over this country. 
Wide swung the gates when they asked 
permission to shoot on the farms, and 
many of the farmers’ wives came to the 
surrey side to shake the Doctor’s hand 
and invite us to stop to dinner. 
Just at the noon hour we arrived at 
(CONTINUED ON PAGE 499) 
Sportsmen used to drive to the shooting grounds behind a team of farm horses 
