902 
FOREST AND STREAM 
Slowly another picture is forming. I see Colo¬ 
nel Park bending over the counter and handling 
with loving care a beautiful little 16 gauge shot 
gun. “I’d buy that gun if I was you.” At that 
time the small bores were considered toys— 
“girls’ guns.” The Colonel knew better. I 
bought the gun and—was never sorry afterward. 
Deer, a wolf, two lynx, ducks and other game 
galore fell before that little gun. Some one bor¬ 
rowed (?) it. I wonder if he took good care 
of the beauty? 
Shutting off the light and coming back to the 
present I see over in the corner, Miss Twenty, 
Little Sixteen’s sister. This gem is also from 
the same factory. If I were to get another, 
the only change I would make, would be to have 
the barrels 28 inch instead of 26. I think, too, 
that the cartridge men put too much powder in 
the cases. For rabbits, and other game in the 
brush I think two drams a plenty though the 
heavier load has never proved unpleasant. So 
far as I have hunted with the little girl, I find 
that she is just as vicious as a 16 or a 12 for 
the shooting done around here, and that No. 7 
shot is plenty heavy enough. With fives I put 
seven shot into a picnic dinner plate at 45 yards, 
and that is as close as a gun ought to shoot for 
my purposes. Also, a crow seeking “safety 
first,” was let down at 75 yards, and never 
cawed afterward. 
Then too, one may hunt all day with the 
twenty, and come home in the evening able to 
split the kindling and do the other chores. One 
has no legitimate excuse for being all tired out 
if he lugs the little beauty in his arms all day. 
I had shot a “pump” for years, and have a de¬ 
sire, in changing to the double gun, to yank the 
fore arm loose every time I fire, which is bad 
business for the second barrel. That is no fault 
of Miss Twenty, though, and she has so many 
admirers that I have to keep a constant eye on 
the little minx lest she elope with some, too 
fond lover. 
Hello, Memory’s operator is busy with a new 
film! 
This time three old men are shown. They are 
tinkering with a launch on Platte River, where 
the swift stream rushes toward Round Lake, and 
thence into angry Michigan, in sight of Sleeping 
Bear Point—on clear days. 
I do not know their names; never inquired— 
but as kindly a trio to tell one where to get 
the river chubs for big fish bait, it was never 
my good fortune to meet again. 
They had a cabin on the lake shore; a horse, 
cow and chickens. Also water craft. Each had 
his appointed task to do—cooking, gardening and 
the like, and when the work was all done (and 
not until) did the three go fishing! 
Fishing? Perhaps; but it was just enough for 
the next meal, and then, as the boat rocked in 
the breezes, came conversations on art, science 
and of the deeds of ’61. 
When the raw winds began to blow, this trio 
hied to Florida, where on another lake they had 
a cabin, and the orange tree replaced the whis¬ 
pering pine. 
When the birds began to fly northward, the 
trio shut up the southern cabin and followed, 
stopping in Ohio until the ice was out of the 
Plattes and the trailing arbutus was through 
blooming. 
An ideal life; selfish? Who shall judge! 
These three wise men wore the G. A. R. but¬ 
ton. It has been years since I saw them. I hope, 
if they are alive, that the red of the sumac, the 
white of the billows, and the blue of the skies, 
make banners for them, brave soldiers, their 
warfare o’er. 
What scene is Memory now projecting? Ah, 
it is the Thomas family at View Desert. Why 
I have not thought of them for ages. Yes, there 
is Lew, also Oliver, also “the missus,” the girls, 
and the baby. 
Where are they now? I heard that two of 
the boys were running a fisherman’s paradise 
somewhere in Minnesota. Wonder if it is so? 
Lew, do you remember the time your “old man” 
got lost within forty rods of the cabin—the cabin 
that housed him for 40 years? It rained that 
night, and when, in the gray of the dawn Thomas 
came to realize that the uncertain shape he had 
seen at times all night long, was his barn—it 
were better to censor this film 1 
Have the motor boats spoiled the fishing? 
Any more bears at White Birch Lake? Do you 
remember the camps of the Olentangy Club; or 
the time two of us, having bought that birch 
canoe from the Chippewas paddled it 8 miles 
across Lake View Desert, and wearing hip boots 
at that? 
“Bill Thompson,” guide—philosopher—fisher¬ 
man, is breaking into the pictures again. Again 
the Platte (this time the lesser lake) slowly ap¬ 
pears. “Bill” is after small-mouths, and is using 
that cane “pole” and no reel again! There is a 
room full of tackle back home, given “Bill” by 
grateful friends, but he scorns it. “Me for the 
big pole” is his slogan. When the fight was too 
strenuous “Bill” would dump the whole outfit 
overboard, and let the bass fight himself. 
Then there was the spring hole under the 
porch and the tame trout. Remember them, and 
the “snip” they used to make when one tossed 
a minnow into the pool? 
Ugh! This tobacco grows stale; the bowl is 
cold. 
The pictures fade and the light sputters and 
goes out. 
To-morrow? Only another work day! 
Good night. 
hardly tell what they will do; others are phleg¬ 
matic and comparatively steady. Most ducks aim 
to meet emergencies, they fly according to the 
needs of the moment. Some of our feathered 
friends rise perpendicularly, others quarter al¬ 
most invariably, some fly low and make for tim¬ 
ber, some like to face the wind, some go with it. 
A good deal of this knowledge comes to the 
shooter incidentally, is forced upon him. He 
would acquire it much sooner and far more sat¬ 
isfactorily if he would observe bird life care¬ 
fully. Study your bird; this is at least half the 
battle in wing shooting. 
Here is a useful little table of bird flight. I 
quote it from Charles Askins’ book on shooting: 
Feet per 
second in 
average 
Quail .. 
Prairie Chicken . 
Ruffed Grouse . 
Dove . 
Jack Snipe . 
Curlew . 
Plovers (according to variety). 
Crow . 
flight 
Mallard . tc 
Black Duck . 
Spoonbill . 
Pintail . 
Wood Duck . 
Red Head . 
Bluewing Teal . 
Greenwing Teal . 
Canvasback . 
Canada Geese . 
Some Hawks . 
Essential to Know Your Bird 
Man and Gun are not Everything in Modern Wing Shooting—A Few 
Facts to Keep in Mind 
By L. E. 
HE man and the gun are not all there is 
to wing shooting; the bird has to be con¬ 
sidered. He has a will of his own, and 
boundless space in which to exercise it. Since 
we have no way of controlling his movements— 
and true sportsmen do not wish to—we must 
rely on study of his nature and habits, take him 
as he is. 
Other things equal, the shooter with most in¬ 
timate knowledge of birds, their respective hab¬ 
its, mode and rate of flight, etc., will always 
do the most effective work. Practice on clay 
birds is not everything to the wing shot. The 
clay bird’s action is diametrically different from 
that of a live bird in that he springs from the 
trap at his greatest speed, probably 150 feet a 
second, then slows up rapidly. Birds, and all 
animals, gather speed, requiring a few seconds 
to get under headway. 
Next to the real sport, the best thing for a 
wing shot is a handtrap, carried by a companion 
who has been instructed to make the angles of 
flight as varied as possible. Two marksmen can 
Eubanks. 
take turns trapping for each other, and by in¬ 
telligent management can get some good train¬ 
ing. In any event, this is infinitely preferable 
to the contemptible practice of shooting the gen¬ 
tle, non-game birds. 
The study is a deep one, endless in its possi¬ 
bilities. Birds are as different as people. A 
good shot can get 80 per cent, of his snipes, and 
drop a leisurely curlew with monotonous regu¬ 
larity; but this does not prove that he has any 
“class” when it comes to bluewing teal sailing 
at 125 miles an hour. Wonderful indeed is the 
action of birds in the air, and as varied as won¬ 
derful ! A hawk can stand absolutely still in the 
air, then suddenly cut through space at 200 miles 
an hour, twice as fast as any aeroplane yet 
made. Then here comes a crow dubbing along 
at 25 or 30 miles an hour. What a difference! 
Some birds duck if they meet any obstruc¬ 
tion; a quail jumps it, a snipe dodges, a mallard 
swerves. A bluewing teal jumps with the wind 
and a canvasback whizzes at an incredible speed. 
Some birds are nervous, capricious—you can 
