490 
FOREST AND STREAM 
April 19, 1913 
in a shivering line we crouched behind the low 
willows we had stuck with much difficulty into 
the frozen ground among the drift and touseled 
grass. 
Through the flying scud, off over the north 
shore, we saw the geese—some fifteen or six¬ 
teen big,'black fellows, all in full cry like a pack 
of fabled hounds of the storm. They were fly¬ 
ing with broken ranks, the fiercely scolding winds 
causing each bird to pilot for itself, although 
many yards in the lead was a wise old gander. 
They were still well up in the air, for in spite 
of the wild and boisterous weather, they seem 
to know that danger lurked below. 
While Ray and I snuggled close down along¬ 
side one another, old Sam was on his knees 
calling in the very best “goose” to the passing 
flock. We were about abandoning hope, how¬ 
ever, for the birds soon passed down the for¬ 
bidding shore, quite a ways to the east of us, 
when Sam suddenly exclaimed in an excited 
voice: “They hear me! They are turning, and 
we are going to bust a few of them !” and then, 
wdth his fist in funnel-shape to his mouth, he 
again sent forth that guttural auh-unk, uidc, unk, 
and in the dim gray of the straggling storm's 
snarling smudge, we saw the flock, curving out 
over the ice and spiraling our way. Then we 
forgot the hoarse voice of the storm, forgot the 
bitter cold and the oncoming night, as that rak¬ 
ing fever of excitement and expectancy, which 
I cannot describe, seized us in its wildest ecstasy. 
“They are coming right in !’’ and old Sam’s 
weather-beaten form bent lower among the tall 
grass blades, still sounding that ghostly call that 
was luring those big black birds on to .their 
doom. 
“They see the decoys; don't move, but be 
ready,” and Sam cautiouslj' jinked bis old gun 
(Jut through the thin willows. 
On came the geese through the flying gray 
of the winter night, the termagant winds rudely 
buffeting them, now to this side, now to that, 
as if to shield them from some intangible evil, 
the old gander flapping slower, until all the flock 
were abreast, and then with a louder honk, a 
single promptory trumpet blast, be drew them 
down lower over the whitened ice, and they all 
game winnowing silently along, like floating 
spirits in gray, toward the decoys grouped on 
the lateral bar extending out from the islet on 
which we crouched. 
The scentless smell, if I may use the ex¬ 
pression, of the blast and its swirling snows 
was in our nostrils, and the wintry stress was 
as the zephyrs of June in our half frozen frigid 
faces. Through the gloom we could now plainly 
discern the approaching birds, all silent as float¬ 
ing vapor, as if vaguely fearing the catastrophe 
about to whelm them. 
On they came from out the vortex of wind 
and snow, lowering as they advanced, until, al¬ 
together, meeting bravely the full savagery of 
the gale against their ashen breasts, they drop¬ 
ped their black legs, outstretched their broad 
pinions, to get the proper equipoise, to land them 
on the hard, unyielding bar, and on they came. 
At this almost frenzied climax, Sam, jump¬ 
ing to his feet, fairly yelled : “Give it to them !” 
A brilliant flash of lightning vividness burst 
athwart the bleak scene, revealing the troupe of 
actors that thronged that cold and wintery stage. 
Six sharp reports broke in loudly against the 
sullen baying of the gale, and five big geese, 
as if struck by a single bolt, were fluttering in 
the last throes of their wild life upon the icy 
bar. 
Sam was the first to shoot. At the crack 
of his first barrel, the grizzled old leader with 
folded sails and drooping white collared neck, 
came down with a plunge, and at his second, 
another relaxed his hold on the trenchant air, 
and with legs outstretched beneath it, long neck 
and black bill pointing skyward, fell slowly in 
a revolving whirl of white, black and gray. 
Quickly, so quickly as to seem to be all ming¬ 
ling together, three more tumbled to the 
whitenened sands, while the remainder of the 
flock, pouring forth a flood of the most far- 
reaching and distraught cries that ever rolled 
from living throats, were wheeling and sheer¬ 
ing in almost endless confusion across the black 
niebt, and then, still screaming that ghostly honk, 
vanished, darting far out over the murking river 
into the whirlpool of the night. 
“That's all,” was the laconic and matter-of- 
fact declaration of Sam, and while Ray and I 
gathered the still warm and throbbing bodies 
of the dead Canadas, he hurriedly, almost spite¬ 
fully, jerked up the decoys from their frozen 
sockets, slapping them together with a clang, 
and shoving them far back under the tangle of 
the willows, and shouldered his gun and plodded 
off stolidly through the swirl of the storm for 
home. 
Two hours later we were all in shirt sleeves 
and stocking feet gathered around the old base- 
burner in the little low ceiling room of the 
legendary old West hotel, clamoring like an¬ 
other incoming flock of unsuspecting geese over 
the wild mix-up on the bar in the truculency 
of the night's storm. 
Who missed his double, that was the weighty 
question. I said it was Ray, and Ray said it 
was I, and Sam, always ready to give a com¬ 
rade the best of it, said it was he himself who 
missed with his second barrel, and then Ray ex¬ 
ploded with a loud detonation. 
“You are a grand old liar. You had both 
your birds falling before either Sandy or I 
pulled a trigger. I believe in giving the devil 
his due. We were right side by side, and I 
know what I'm talking about. It was Sandy 
who missed his second goose; that I'll swear 
to on a stack of Bibles higher than Gilroy’s kite. 
But what's the diff? Let’s all take another little 
smack of that good old Yellowstone, and get 
to the hay. I’m all in.” 
And now, do you wonder, why an old 
sportsman has happj' memories of winter goose 
shooting? 
Eggs in Lime. 
A German epicure comes to the rescue of 
the Chinese in regard to their alleged habit of 
eating rotten eggs, says the London Shooting 
Times. The eggs, he says, are simply preserved 
in lime until they get a consistency like that of 
hard butter, and they taste something like lob¬ 
ster. He_ declares them one of the choicest deli¬ 
cacies he has ever eaten. He thinks there are 
no better cooks in the world than the Chinese. 
When he went to live among them, his friends 
predicted he would starve, but be had a good 
time and gained weight—more than he wanted 
to. 
