756 
FOREST AND STREAM 
The Red Field - Tri - Aller 
Or How the Cotton-Tail Eliminated the Irish From the “All Age” Whiskers’ Derby 
By Will C. Parsons. 
Outside : A December nor’-easter howled 
through the canyons of the sky-scrapers. Half 
sleet, half snow, beat in merciless volleys against 
those unfortunate pedestrians whose fate it was 
to be out hunting the elusive pre-Christmas bar¬ 
gains in “gents” slippers. Trolley cars, their 
noise muffled by the storm, slipped by, gray and 
ghostly, like mastadons stealing through the pre¬ 
historic jungle. 
Inside : A cheery blaze roared in the open 
fireplace of the club room. Under the electrics, 
a blue haze of good tobacco smoke 'hung between 
the lights and the green of the billiard tables 
below. The dumb-waiter creaked its way up¬ 
ward laden with sundry steaming mugs. 
It was the night of December fourth. On the 
morrow, the game laws would close the shoot¬ 
ing until another year. 
In front of the cheerful fire, that sang and 
crackled as the sparks flew upward, two pairs 
of long legs stretched toward the grateful 
warmth; two pipes were freely drawing; two 
sets of wits were woolgathering along the south 
shore of Superior, on the bosom of Lac View 
Desert, on the placid Plattes, or else stealing- 
over the silent portages*of the virgin Crab Lake 
region. 
“Just hear that sleet!” murmered Charlie, dur¬ 
ing a lull in the conversation, cards and coughs. 
“Shall we go out tomorrow? All right, I’m 
game hut - ” 
Up the stairs labored Yawcob und Freetz, 
standing and puffing like two blizzard-attacked 
steers. Icicles hung from Freetz’s "muss”-tz-cht 
and 'his nose looked like the tail light of a 
cop-pursued automobile. Bang! went the storm 
doors. Kerslam! followed the inner doors, and 
both Dutchmen tumbled into the warm room, 
letting in a blast like a sliver from the North 
Pole. 
“You iss game vor vat?” came the duet, “pee- 
nookle, heartz, pilliards! No, yes, vat?” 
Then, we had to tell ’em! 
They had the horses and buggies. We had 
none- They stood in with the farmers in good 
hunting territory. Then we all belonged to the 
same hunting and fishing club. 
So it was, that at 4 A. M., December 5, the 
cavalcade started on a long drive in spite of wind 
and weather. In the single rig ahead (acting 
as pilots) drove the Teutons, fat and puffing 
clouds of smoke from their pipes. With them 
was a coon-dog of uncertain age and temper, 
said animal having been “roaded” unwillingly 
from a warm corner behind the stove, and as¬ 
sisted, complaining loudly into the buggy by the 
scruff of the neck. Rode also Limburger sand¬ 
wiches, two guns, shells and other impedimenta 
needed in the coming fray. 
Behind this rather crowded outfit rode Charlie 
and I, in a nice two-seated carry-all drawn by 
a pair of stout bays. With us rode Old Bess 
—an English setter lady-dog of mature years 
and large family. Also she was snipe-nosed, 
had cow hocks and her hair had a tendency to 
curl like a sheep, on that part of her anatomy 
destined by nature to sit upon. 
With all these handicaps Bess had honest 
brown eyes, could locate a bird and did not have 
nervous prostration when the covey flushed, or 
the gun cracked. Add to this the fact that she 
was a good foot-warmer and a good “meat-dog,” 
and I guess that takes off the marks for being 
snipe-nosed, eh? 
Charlie clung to his old ten-bore Parker—he’d 
never shoot anything else, though he used pow¬ 
der and shot in reason. I shot a sixteen. We 
also carried plenty of robes in the double rig. 
“What’s the idea of the coon hound?” queried 
my companion as we pulled up to get a light 
for our pipes. 
“Dunno. ’Spect it’s the same reason that makes 
those Dutchmen shut the wrong eye when they 
shoot- We’ll tie Towser up in the barn when we 
get there and let him go at that.” 
We did. 
The remarks that farmer made at the unearth¬ 
ly yelps Towser emitted during the day would 
have to be expurgated by the censor, to say 
nothing of what his wife may have thought 
when she found that the dog had killed three 
fat ducks, that had wandered in range while the 
canine was Carusoing at his best. 
Therefore, in this act, Towser registers 
skidoo and fades from the film. The only 
coon he ever followed was the one Freetz em¬ 
ployed to “barber” the double team! 
After a drive that seemed a hundred miles 
long, and through a moist atmosphere away be¬ 
low Shackelton, Yawcob und Freetz turned into 
a dim lane, and toward a dimmer barn. 
“Youse fellers youst d-d-drive aboued a mile, 
and put oop,” said Yawcob. “Und— take Tow¬ 
ser!” 
That’s, wben Charlie and I got a chance to 
“play safe” on the mournful bunch of black and 
tan. 
John, the farmer, was up and doing when we 
drove into his clean and well-kept barnyard. He 
helped us rub down the team, put them in warm 
and roomy stalls; made friends with Old Bess 
at once, loaded himself with our traps, and then 
led the way to the big kitchen of the farm house. 
Here Mrs. John was busy before a cherry-red 
stove that radiated luxuriant warmth even as a 
fat boy radiates smiles when some one presents 
him with a freezer full of real ice cream at a 
Sunday school picnic. 
Then she made coffee! 
It was the real thing. My! but it burned all 
the way down, and then bealed the pain so well 
that about three cups were required to bring 
back the memory of the first scald. 
She patted Bess, gave her some 'light break¬ 
fast, and “jumped all over” us because we were 
so cruel as to take a dog out hunting a day 
such as that promised to be. 
If Mrs. John’s heart gets any bigger, some day 
it will burst her wide open! 
“It’s warmer,” said John, coming in, “but you 
fellows must be crazy to go out a day like this. 
Better roll in and take a nap. Bet you haven’t 
•been to bed all night!” And we hadn’t. 
“We came to hunt: we hunt!” was the Indian- 
like short answer John got. 
Half way to the other farm we sighted Yaw¬ 
cob und Freetz. One of them appeared from 
his motions to be sighting through a telescope, 
but I know there was no observatory near. The 
other finally made violent gestures, pointing to 
us, and then, taking the unknown object away 
from his side-partner, made the very same moves 
heavenward! 
“Tell ’em it’s all gone!” I heard, as the breezes 
blew a waft of something pungent down our way. 
“I got one!” said Freetz, as he made a move 
toward one of the capacious game-pockets in his 
coat. 
"Yes,” drily (double sense) remarked Charlie, 
whose eyes are keen-sighted, “and that isn’t all 
you’ll get if you don’t quit looking for airships 
through that blind telescope you were working 
just now!” 
But all this was lost on the Teuton. 
His hand came slowly away from his hunting 
coat, and in it was an indescribable mess of blood, 
feathers, viscera, and the bill of a quail. He 
had sat down on a rail fence to rest, and didn’t 
know he was using the poor bird for a mat! 
Freetz weighs two hundred and ten! 
Well, we hunted and hunted. It rained and 
it rained. One bird got up and stopped at the 
ten-bores’ roar, but was so badly shot up that 
it was not pouched. 
By 11 a. m. the whole party, including the 
girl-dog were as wet as if they had fallen into 
the canal. 
“Ve kvit huntin’!” was the verdict of the 
Teuton twain. 
It' was about dinner time at John’s anyhow, 
so it didn’t matter. 
Yawcob’s feet hurt him. His 'boots had rubbed 
his ankles, and scarce had we entered the kitchen, 
wet as drowned rats, than he made a bee-line 
for a chair that stood near the sink. He sat 
