570 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Nov. i, 1913. 
A REAL GUN 
L C. Smith New Designs With Hunter One Trigger 
Above Illustration is TRAP Grade. 
Price with Two Triggers.$56 net 
With Automatic Ejector.$66 net 
With Automatic Ejector and Hunter One Trigger. .$86 net 
Write for New Catalogue of New Designs. Prices, $25 to $1,000 net. 
HUNTER ARMS CO. 
MAKERS 
776 Hubbard St., FULTON, N. Y. 
Walsrode and Wolf 
DENSE 
BULK 
Powders 
ARE THE BEST 
Machine Loaded Shells ANY LOAD Are Furnished By 
UNION METALLIC CARTRIDGE CO. WINCHESTER REPEATING ARMS CO. 
UNITED STATES CARTRIDGE CO. PETERS CARTRIDGE CO. 
SOLE U. S. AGENTS 
Sdh overling Dajy & Gale# 
302-304 BROADWAY, Cor. Duane St. 
NEW YORK CITY 
NEWFOUNDLAND 
A Country ol Fish and Game. A Paradise ior the Camper and Angler. Ideal Canoe Trips. 
The country traversed by the Reid Newfoundland Company’s system is exceedingly rich in all kinds of fish and 
Game. 1 All along the route of the Railway are streams famous for their SALMON and TROUT fishing, also 
Caribou barrens. flAmericans who have been fishing and hunting in Newfoundland say there is no other country 
in the world in which so good fishing and hunting can be secured and with such ease as in Newfoundland. 
Information, together with Illustrated Booklet and Folder, cheerfully forwarded upon application to 
J. W. N. JOHNSTONE, General Passenger Agent, Reid Newfoundland Company, St. John’s, Newfoundland. 
giving advice, rapping nervously with the gaff 
and leaning forward. 
“That’s the idea; down with the tip of the 
rod. Just so; just so. Now easy, easy, easy. 
Don’t force him; give him time. Give him 
elbow room and a lot of line; tire him out. 
Good old boy; now careful!” 
Checking the rush he began to play the lusty 
bass with such fervor and frills that he almost 
lost his balance, but he hung to it. Hungerford 
was ready with the camera, leveled it and drew 
Beachcraft, rigging and all into the little black 
box on to the film. The fish was landed and 
the captor was triumphantly presented with a 
Carnegie medal for bravery. It was a three- 
pound bass. It was some time later that Hun¬ 
gerford, who was given to still-fishing, was seen 
to peer over the side of the boat into the water. 
“Jumping Jupiter!” he 'announced, “what a 
swarm of fish!” I shaded my eyes and looked 
down. Beachcraft did the same. Suddenly 
Hungerford let out a despairing yell and fell 
overboard. As he came up the third time I 
grabbed him by the hair and pulled him along¬ 
side the boat. After what seemed two hours of 
hard labor we got him into the boat by the legs. 
Out of the 153 fish that Hungerford had counted, 
1 ut 152 escaped. And I hooked that one. After 
this Hungerford was plainly disgusted. He was 
wet as an old hen. and his feelings can well be 
imagined. I was disgusted also because I had 
not caught anything worthy of notice, so I threw 
in a penny for luck and a moment thereafter 1 
landed a minute specimen of fish life that I 
almost strained my eyes to distinguish. But I 
slipped it into the sack, which was hanging over 
the side of the boat. This sack contained Beach- 
craft's sensation. Hungerford was going to lift 
the sack and see how heavy it was, but in doing 
so he did not feel called upon to bring it out of 
the water. 
“Funny,” he says, “every fish we put into 
it seems to lessen its weight.” 
“Foolish,” I scoffed, deriding his remark. 
“You don't mean to tell me one with your flabby 
muscles could know anything about weight, any¬ 
how, do you?” 
“Well, all right,” said Hungerford. “Lift 
it and see.” 
“Just to show you,” I said, “I will lift it.” 
Suiting word to action, I did so, and I'll be a 
hammered down, eternally condemned, con¬ 
densed shade of a sea cook if there wasn't a 
hole in the bottom of that ossified sack. Through 
that hole there was every reason in the world 
to believe our highly treasured fish had flown 
on finny wings. Beachcraft, who had in those 
past hours cast himself into a state of inertia, 
babbled incoherently. 
“Oh, you rummies; oh, you mutts; oh you 
concrete-domed ninnies, now see what you have 
done!” Thus he delivered himself. “After all 
this I haven't got anything to show for my day’s 
work.” 
“I suppose I made that hole in the sack, 
ha?” I wanted to be informed. 
“And don’t you dare accuse me of making 
that hole or I won’t go fishing with you again,” 
said Hungerford. 
“Wouldn't be much loss,” mourned Beach¬ 
craft, shaking his head, fatigued and despairing. 
“The next time I go fishing I am going to bring 
some spikes with me and nail down every fish 
I catch.” 
Nail ’em down an’ see if I care,” I said, 
getting pretty riled over it. “If I had a nickle 
for every bass I have caught in my day, I would 
be fishing with a line made of gold, with 
diamond-studded hooks. And,” I added, think¬ 
ing to cool him, “if I had a nickle for every one 
I have lost, I would be fishing with a rope of 
pearls.” 
“Yes,” supplemented Hungerford, desper¬ 
ately raking his mind for one better, “and if I 
had a nickle for every fish I have lost I would 
be baiting my hook with radium.” 
Beachcraft’s jaw fell, and he swallowed 
three successive times. “That’s enough; that's 
enough, now. I can stand just so much and 
then I get mad. I'm hungry; that's what I am.” 
Instinctively we began to roll up our lines. 
On every face there was a light of understand¬ 
ing. Smiles broke through the storm clouds, the 
sun shone brightly. Summer had come. The 
result was that we lost no time in making for 
shore, for we had a suspicion that the cook 
and Hartley had spent their leisure time in mak¬ 
ing our meal. It was a weary three that made 
their way campward at about 4 o’clock that after¬ 
noon. We were hungry and sweaty and gen¬ 
erally depressed. Starvation seemed to stare us 
in the face. Our imagination had conjured up 
rare things that would be in store for us—a 
table bending beneath epicurean delights and 
