May 10, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
(>09 
felt that they had one. Prior to this action they 
had all been busily harrowing the clover for 
beetles and other insects, but suddenly, at a com¬ 
manding squawk from some quarter, they all 
came to a halt, sat up straight and were all 
attention, and the roll was called, each member 
answering that same shrill, imperative squawk, 
separately, and tvhen this was over, they all 
joined in a chorus of caws, hopping contentedly 
about over the sward for a few' moments, and 
then rising, flapped their way in long, stream¬ 
ing lines of black, to the woods along the fur¬ 
ther ridge, where they roosted. 
One evening last fall, while duck shooting 
in the Loup with Sam Richmond and Charlie 
Dollarhide, we noticed three crow's in a row on 
the limb of a tree, tw’o of them being strangely 
perturbed, and making all kinds of fuss, while 
the other was perfectly quiet and looked like 
an invalid. His feathers seemed all to grow 
the wrong way, and a more miserable looking 
crow I never beheld. Sam wanted to rake the 
trio off the limb with his old Parker, but I re¬ 
strained him, and told him that I thought the 
middle crow had already been wounded by some 
hunter or was sick, and the other two were 
looking after him. So we waited and watched. 
After a while we saw the two outsiders make 
a start to fly, like starting for a race, but as 
the.one in the middle did not start, they imme¬ 
diately came back to score over. This they re¬ 
peated four or five times, the center crow pay¬ 
ing no attention to them, and suddenly they 
turned on him and began to give it to him with 
wings, beak and claws, until he squawked for 
mercy, and then they started again, and got 
away finely, all going together in a line just 
as they sat on the limb of the tree. I have 
thought much about this incident, but have never 
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been able to satisfactorily explain it to myself, 
but you can rest assured it raised many degrees 
the high esteem in which I have alw'ays held 
this bird since my earliest boyhood. 
The duck shooters in February are wait¬ 
ing for the ides of March, with their boister¬ 
ous winds and the oncoming of the ducks and 
geese. Lhitil then there is nothing to it but 
recollections of the past fall, with its beautiful 
golden days and joyous comraderie. Then again, 
perhaps, we may tread the old paths and look 
once more upon those familiar scenes, now 
marvelously changed by the mysterious alchemy 
of nature from what they were a brief four 
months ago. 
But it is almost as pleasing to look back 
and in imagination once more gather about the 
big log fire. We see the tide and rice stalks yet 
standing breast high, stripped of leaves and 
fluffy tassels, still bordering the open bayous, and 
a matted mass of dank hay, once fresh and fra¬ 
grant, lies on the ground, showing where our 
tent stood. An old broken oar and abandoned 
tent pins are scattered about, and a headless 
decoy or two adds a touch of sadness to the 
scene. Yonder is a pile of empty tomato, pea 
and corn cans and off yonder is a heterogeneous 
assortment of bottles bearing familiar labels 
with the magic word “Yellowstone,” prominent 
among them. The old well or water hole where 
we kept our butter is unchanged, and the wind¬ 
ing river, though man may come and man may 
go, flows on forever. There are not so many 
birds in the air as there were the last time we 
were there, or as much of anything else, unless 
it be memories. The marsh spreads out before 
us cold and uninviting, but when the winds blow 
balmy from the south at daybreak and nightfall, 
we will expect to see them again pouring in and 
out in thrilling flight. 
There are but two sounds that break the 
stillness of the old camp the first night out— 
the ludicrous medley of the coyote, and the 
weird wail of the winds around the canvas cor¬ 
ners and over the verdureless plain. 
There are lots and lots of men who do not 
know the most effective way to dry out a pair 
of wet rubber boots or waders; there are others 
who do not understand how to make the safety 
on a gun independent: who do not know the 
proper load for different sorts of game; the 
best ground on which to camp; how to build a 
blind; the habit of birds and so forth. And 
there are anglers who don’t know one fly from 
another, how to string a hook or attach a 
leader, the proper seasons and the bait for cer¬ 
tain fish and a thousand and one other things 
that would only adopt my plan. For instance, 
I learned while shooting in the sandhills one 
fall that the best way to dry a wet pair of 
waders is to stuff them full of old newspapers, 
set them by a warm fire until heated through, 
then pull the paper out and hang the boots in 
a tree or on the fence or on top of the house 
with the open leg pointing in the direction the 
wind is coming from. Try it when you have 
occasion. 
The robins that have already put in appear¬ 
ance in this locality according to report, are 
undoubtedly a bit premature, although I know 
that they often remain here all winter, and when 
the weather is much tougher, too, than it has 
been at any time this winter. However, I have 
Kennel. 
TF you have had bad luck with 
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AIREDALE TERRIERS 
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DOGS FOR SALE. 
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FOR SALE. 
Champion Lake Dell Damsel and Endcliffe Briarwood 
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Dogs placed with me will be trained ready for fall 
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