Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MARCH 8, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. la 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
In the Woods with Allie 
By EDWARD BRECK 
{Concluded from last week.) 
O NE evening they returned with downcast 
countenances and we said things. There¬ 
upon Lou bet me that they would bring 
home at least two ducks in their canoe the next 
time they went out. Done, of course, and next 
day in the forenoon, when they landed, Lou 
swaggered up to camp with two web-footed birds 
swinging from his fist and the remark; “Well, 
I dunno!’’ Great was the joy of Allie and Unk 
and of their sycophant guides, and my irritation 
was such that I restrained it with difficulty. But 
I smelt a rat, or, more properly speaking, a fish- 
duck. 
“Let me see those ducks, Lou,” said I. He 
handed them over for examination. A glance 
was enough. The Injun had skinned them and 
cut off their heads, but had forgotten to ampu¬ 
tate the feet, which were yellow. I exulted and 
remarked: “Lou, did you ever see a black duck 
with yellow legs?” Lou blushed as well as an 
Injun can, and Unk couldn’t help snickering. 
“Nothing doing, worthy chief,” I continued. 
“These alleged ducks of yours are sheldrakes 
pure and simple, just plain stinking fish-ducks; 
that is, no ducks at all, and the bet is off.” 
Then followed an acrimonious and compli¬ 
cated discussion as to bets, and it goes without 
saying that both those rogues voted dead against 
me. My ornithological gorge rose and likewise 
my sense of justice. I suspected a trick, and it 
turned out later that those sheldrakes had been 
dead for a couple of days when the plot was 
concocted. 
“Now, look here,” I broke out, “you fellows 
may know a lot about X-rays and wireless, and 
how to make confiding editors cough up fat 
checks, but when it comes to fur and feather 
and hide, just remember that little Eddie is the 
authority of this camp, and I tell you that a 
mei'ganser is not a duck. It has a differently 
shaped bill, different habits and different flesh. 
When we said ducks, we meant edible ducks, real 
ducks, and you know it.” 
It was easy to see that I was annoyed. Allie 
perceived this at once and fairly whooped with 
malicious joy. But they would not budge from 
their position until we finally reached a com¬ 
promise, according to which I should pay the 
dollar if Lou would fry and eat a sheldrake for 
dinner. I was satisfied on the whole, for I had 
tried to eat sheldrakes myself, had parboiled 
them, roasted them, fried them, and then thrown 
them away as far from camp as possible. We 
gathered about Lou and watched. It was a mat¬ 
ter of a few moments for him to split one of 
the sheldrakes and slap it in a frying-pan with 
a big lump of butter. We jibed, but he merely 
smiled indulgently. The bird sizzled and pretty 
soon an odor began to go out from it, to our 
astonishment by no means a disagreeable odor; 
quite the contrary. In less than ten minutes Lou 
was eating that sheldrake with a countenance 
that was either beautifully made up or expressive 
of genuine satisfaction. “Have a bite?” he 
asked. 
Doubtfully, furtively we did, and be it re¬ 
corded here upon the tablets of sporting history 
that that despised “fish-duck” was both tender 
and delicious, with not the very slightest trace 
of fishiness about it. The upshot of it was 
that we ate up both birds with avidity. I paid 
Lou the dollar, and sheldrakes are ducks from 
now on. 
“What is the Latin name for fish-duck, 
Eddie?” was one of Allie’s favorite questions 
for the rest of the trip. 
We were not destined to leave Wildcat with¬ 
out a further nocturnal adventure of a singular 
kind. Hod, the mimic, had been throwing all 
the barred owls of the county into excitement 
by his excellent imitation of their ridiculous cry. 
We had played our “Pede,” solemnly taken our 
good-night potion, and were stretched out, feet 
to fire, either watching the flames flicker lower 
and lower, or reading some book by the light 
of the acetylenes. It is curious that as in the 
“Tent Dwellers,” Allie limited his reading to a 
juvenile volume of the most crystal purity, while 
my library consisted of Prevost’s “Cousine Laura” 
and Gyp’s “Totote,” while Unk divided his time 
between several novels of the colorless modern 
Anglo-American kind, and an immense tome 
which he said was the very latest on wireless 
or X-rays or something. No wonder he invari¬ 
ably went to sleep over it, and it soon became 
second nature for me to reach over, brush his 
cigarette, very often still burning, out of the 
danger zone, blow out his light, and throw it out 
of camp to avoid the stench. 
I was awakened some time after midnight 
by Unk, who announced that some beast was 
walking round the camp. I listened and heard 
a noise as of small stones being thrown together. 
DR. BRECK IN CAMP. 
From “The Way of the Woods.” ('ourtesy Outing Publishing Company. 
