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tubes on him and blew him clear | 
through the bush, just to help him along. ■ 
By the time he was found and pocketed, 
Stick’s gun barked, over to my left, and 
a dead quail tumbled through the tops 
of a scrub oak. Pushing on, we soon 
came clear through the patch to the 
marsh, ■\vithout putting up any mors 
singles. I opined that they were hid 
in back behind us, and so lay down in 
a pine grove to w’ait, while Stick went 
back to camp. In a quarter of an hour 
came the hen whistles; here, over to the 
right; there, in that thicket to the left. 
They were all around me! I got up and 
poked along slowly. Mike and Jim-dog 
had gone back with Stick, so it was go 
it alone. 
Then, up jumped a bird, with tho 
suddenness that they are capable of. 
He gave me a snap in the twilight, 
and that started the rest. Picking up 
the slain, I browsed on home — the end 
of a perfect day! 
W E decided to go on to Wading 
River on the morrow. I have 
canoed down it several times. It 
is a pretty trip, through about 60 canoe 
miles of wild pine and cedar country, 
with never a house and only a few 
bridges. In November a few years ago, 
where the bulge in the river at Wading 
River bridge makes a lake several miles 
long and a mile wide, it was full of 
ducks and lily pads. Now, as Stick was 
duck hungry, we decided to trj' for ducks 
there, and it only needed Herman’s vote 
to make it unanimous. 
Soon there came a yell out in the 
gloaming, and I dashed out madly with 
the fry pan — and, lo and behold, the 
Scourge held up a bunch of quail, instead 
of the well-known molly that we ex- 
pected ! 
“That will do for you!” said I, “Next 
stop. Wading River for ducks. Are you 
on?” He was. 
Wading River proved somew’hat of 
a disappointment. It was as wild as 
ever, but although we scouted the whole 
east shore of the bulge, not a single 
duck did we see, nor any flocks trading 
up and down the river. Where they all 
went to that year, is beyond me. On the 
■way back to camp, which ■we had left 
“as is” in Nowhere, we got another 
rabbit out of a deserted farm yard. 
Field ran him in the classic manner, in 
and around the deserted buildings grown 
up with weeds and shrubbery, and finally 
he dashed across an open space, where 
the Scourge reduced him to possession. 
Him we ate, that night in camp, and 
next day sent the car rolling northward, 
for it was Sunday and the furlough ■was 
up and the rest had to get back to their 
various greasy grinds. As a quail coun- 
try, South Jersey was an agreeable sur- 
prise to me. I have gone further, — 
much further, — and fared worse! 
