FOREST AND STREAM 
Yawcob Und Fritz 
How One Killed a Duck and the Other “Shot a Bushel of ‘Bull-Bats” 
By Will C. Parsons. 
(Continued from last issue.) 
656 
Half an hour later, Harding had caught some 
minnows, thrown a fish car into a boat and with 
the tenderfoot in the stern thereof was in another 
pulling across the lake to the South Inlet. Hard¬ 
ing knew that if any fish were caught, the ten¬ 
derfoot would want to take some home. Hence 
the fish car. The Inlet was pouring a flood of 
brown water into the lake, and the shoal at the 
mouth was deeply covered. Harding pulled the 
lumbering craft to and fro, now sounding with 
an car, now squinting along crossing lines of 
landmarks until he was satisfied as to the exact 
position. His parting injunction as he started 
back to pare the potatoes for dinner was to give 
them plenty of time to swallow the bait and to 
keep cool. 
From time to time during the forenoon Uncle 
Tom went to the door and looked out across the 
lake. He could see the boat bobbing about 
almost hidden in the loom of the other shore. 
Harding went on with his drudgery. No in¬ 
terest was felt in the matter at camp, save that 
there should be no accident. 
The boat returned at noon in response to a 
blast on a big tin horn from Uncle Tom, but no 
interested throng was waiting to ask “What 
luck?” Uncle Tom had ceased to have any in¬ 
terest as soon as he saw the boat near enough 
to be sure of reaching the landing safely. Only 
Harding was at the landing. Seizing the boat 
as it came to the plank and easing it off, he 
asked, “Caught anythin’?” At the same mo¬ 
ment he saw a broken tip in the bottom of the 
boat, and pulling in the fish car trailing behind, 
he lifted the cover and looked in. 
Then the leathery skin on his face wrinkled 
into a smile. “You have done well,” he said, 
“well as any of ’em.” He led the way up to the 
camp, a gnarled finger wormed under the gill 
covers of one of the morning’s victims, and 
holding it up to view said, “Four pounds, Tom. 
Good one, ain’t it? Two more, in the spring 
about the same size.” Uncle Tom stuffed and 
baked the fish for supper, and the Boston gen¬ 
tleman, as well as the guide partook thereof 
bountifully. 
“CALIFORNIA FISH AND GAME.” 
“California Fish and Game,” a quarterly pub¬ 
lication, has just been issued by the state fish 
and game commission, and the contents are of 
great interest, especially just at this time when 
the non-sale of game referendum is before the 
people for their approval or rejection. No better 
indication of the nature of the contents can be 
given than by the mere mention of the titles 
of the leading articles, which are as follows: 
“A Brief History of the Non-Sale of Game in 
California,” “Some Notes on the Non-Sale of 
Game,” “Efforts to Conserve the Game and Con¬ 
trol the Violator,” “Our Responsibility for the 
Preservation of the Game and the Fish,” “Fish 
and Game Conservation Dependant on Conserva¬ 
tion of Other Natural Resources,” “Bird Life 
as a Community Asset.” Other articles there 
are, all of interest and well written, and a num¬ 
ber of illustrations add to the variety and at¬ 
tractiveness of this first number. 
As many different kinds of trees are cut in 
New York for lumber as in any other state- 
There are about eight softwoods or conifers and 
about 50 different kinds of hardwoods or broad- 
leaf trees cut for commercial purposes. 
“Sa-a-ay Viilie. Blease, biease, row me der 
lake down!’” 
From the shore come shouts of ghoulish glee. 
The gang has “tumbled,” and as the boat touches 
the temporary dock, one Teuton is a prisoner of 
the allies, and is forced to surrender one pet 
bit of crockery marked on the side “20 years 
old!” 
One night a prowling skunk invaded the tent 
where Yawcob slept. The German awoke, and 
fired a rubber boot at the intruder. The pole 
cat “started and seemed to feel a thrill of life” 
and so forth and— 
Remember those whiskeres? Well, Yawcob 
went home smooth shaven! Why? Ask the 
cat. 
Now Fritz had been learning the ways of the 
fishes, and so far had not shown an interest 
in guns (thank goodness). After the decoy epi¬ 
sode he began to sit up and take notice. On a 
stormy day in camp, the thing to do is to clean 
up one’s guns, reels and other paraphernalia. 
Fritz bethought himself of his carbine, and 
finding the lever was stuck, borrowed the coal 
oil can from the cook, and started in. Now 
there were three pairs of perfectly good hip 
boots reposing in the middle of the tent where 
the trout fishers had left them. The lever re¬ 
quired a great deal of persuasion, and finally: 
Bang!! 
Three pairs of good boots shot to pieces. It 
would have been the same if the men had been 
there in place of the boots! 
P. S.—Dear editor. This machine refuses to 
print what the three owners said when they 
found the mangled and rubbery remains. We 
divorced Fritz from the carbine right then and 
there and threw the Shells in deep water. 
One morning—and no one knows exactly how 
it happened—he came swinging out of the tent. 
Of course he wore the revolver. There was a 
flash, a sharp report, a smell of powder and 
burning “pants,” a yell, and another camper 
yards away sat down suddenly. The ball had 
creased Fritz’s leg and hit the camp stool right 
in the X. 
Another divorce followed! 
DAYS IN THE OPEN. 
The man who cannot get a few days’ joy out 
of Days in the Open, the new “Fishermen luck,” 
by Lathan A. Crandall, must be devoid of the 
sense that made Henry Van Dyke and Sir Izaak 
the shrine of all fishermen. Dr. Crandall is 
another of those wholesome ministers of the gos¬ 
pel, like our own O. W. Smith, who finds much 
in nature besides saving souls. He has that in¬ 
sight into fishes and their habits known only to 
the student of the outdoors. His writings are 
of that attractive quality that made Nessmuk 
king of nature writers. The book is full of charm 
and information. It is handsomely illustrated by 
Louis Rhead, a master hand at reproduction of 
piscatorial art. The cost of the book is $1.50 net, 
published by Fleming H. Revell Company of 
New York, and may be purchased from Forest 
and Stream, at the price mentioned plus postage. 
Every sportsman is familiar with the “bull- 
bat,” alias night hawk, alias about a dozen other 
names? This bird swoops and darts like a 
real bat. He gets his living by swooping, and 
is a swooper from Swoopersville. Eke he 
will dodge the quick movements of a human, 
and will apparently fall to the ground. He 
doesn’t though! 
Now Fritz was a heap shy on shot gun prac¬ 
tice, however good he was on rubber boots and 
camp stools, to say nothing of “pants.” He 
noticed the bull-hats, and commented upon them. 
One of the campers told the unsuspecting Ger¬ 
man that the bull-bat was target practice par 
excellence, and that as a trainer of shots, had 
the festive blue-rock backed off the table forty 
ways from the Jack. 
So, Fritz began his practice. Along about 
dusk some one asked him how many he had. 
“Ach gee,” he said, “der bushes she is full mit 
’em. I kill about von bushels.” 
(It is another rule of the club, but he did’nt 
know it—to go after and recover at once what 
you shoot at. Don’t bang away all afternoon 
and then have a general harvest-) 
So the gang turned out to pick up the 
“bushels.” Not one was found! 
Then some obliging member cut open one of 
Fritz’s “hand loaded” shells and the murder was 
out. That broke up the Grand Lake Superior 
Bull-Bat Handicap, and—almost broke one Ger¬ 
man’s heart. 
Yawcob had to “butt in” again before camp 
broke. The party had wounded a big bear with 
a .45. The animal had crept to the lake and 
died with only his nose sticking out on shore. 
Help to find the game was sent for. Yawcob 
and his shot gun, of course, found the nose, and 
there a perfectly good bear’s skull was blown 
to bits with two charges of -buck-shot, thereby 
ruining the chances for a fine club-room trophy. 
Murder-police-help! 
Does Yawcob go camping with the club now? 
He does—not. 
How about Fritz? Well—Fritz says: “She 
vas too poor mit shooting!” 
ILLINOIS SPORTSMEN HAVE NEW HOME. 
Ottawa, Ill., Nov. 13. 
One of the most unique and eventually the 
most popular pleasure resorts along the Illinois 
river is now in progress of construction on one 
of the islands north of the historic Starved 
Rock. Owing to the fact that the state has 
acquired the land on which the Illinois Park 
Club had its quarters, the club is now erecting 
new quarters on one of the -most beautiful of the 
islands of the group in the vicinity of the State 
park. 
The island is a little to the east of the old 
location, formerly on the south bank of the 
river. The island is well wooded and an ideal 
place for a club house. 
The club house itself will be an exact replica 
of the old time Mississippi river steamers of 
the “Robert E. Lee” and “Natchez” type. It 
