FOREST AND STREAM 
1195 
Thanks to the Migratory Law and Better State Protection, Flights Such as These Will Become Common Again. 
“SUMMERS” AND “WINTERS” 
FIFTY-EIGHT YELLOW LEGS CAME TO BAG 
WHILE THE PEACE SHIP STRAINED AT ANCHOR 
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THIS IS WHAT DID IT 
Marsfield Hills, Aug. 12, 1916. 
Dear B.—Please try to be at my house | 
1 by 3 A. M. I have discovered a lot of 1 
1 birds haunted in a marsh some twenty | 
| minutes’ drive with machine from here, 1 
| and they will probably make good shoot- 1 
| ing if we can get there by daylight. If | 
| don’t hear from you, shall look for you 1 
| at my house, 3 A. M., Tuesday next, f 
i the 15th. 
Very truly yours, 
Clarence H. Leonard. 
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At 2:15 A. M. on the 15th, we grabbed guns, 
shells, duds and lunch, and Ray, Rip and the 
Scribe set sail for Leonard’s. Clarence was on 
deck with a market basket full of wooden “yal- 
ler-legs” and ole Plum-centre, his trusty L. C. 
Smith twelve gauge. A short tack to wind’ard 
and we came to anchor in Uncle Lige Pratt’s 
yard down Duxbury way. We wallered through 
a huckleberry pasture, fell over and demolished 
a couple of stone walls, located a dim and dis¬ 
tant trail through the long wet grass of a 
deserted apple orchard, and fought our way 
through blood-thirsty, war-whooping clouds of 
mosquitoes defending a boggy wood lot, and we 
were on the marsh. A hundred yards from the 
By Pious Jeems, Jr. 
river was our stand—a low circle of water bushes 
enclosing a log seat, and in the shallow, muddy 
pond in front of us, Leonard set out the stool 
head on to the fresh southwest breeze, in two 
groups, one cn e.ither side. 
Yellow-legs were calling all around us—“sum¬ 
mers” and “winters” both. “More’n seventy 
‘winters’ opened their throats all ter once,” as 
Clarence described one particular noisy demon¬ 
stration from the east’ard. Little pods of black 
ducks shot by speeding toward the mud flats, at 
the river mouth. They were probably counting 
on an immunity bath till October 1, but a fusil- 
ade from a stand across the river disillusioned 
them. Some gunner couldn’t stand the strain. 
“Whew ! whew ! whew ! And again, “Whew ! 
whew! whew!! Mark east, a ‘winter’!” 
The alluring strains of Leonard’s whistle 
turned the bird our way, but it was still too 
dark to see our decoys, or else the “yaller-leg” 
was of a nervous disposition, for he swooped 
along the further shore of the pond, and landed 
on a mud flat at the west end out of range. 
Ray and Rip were anxious to stalk the bird, 
which had now disappeared behind a tuft of 
grass, but Leonard dissuaded them by saying 
they would probably lose some good shots if 
they left the stand. 
Another “winter” and several “summer” yel¬ 
low-legs joined the pioneer at the end of the 
pond, and we literally had to “hog-tie” the two 
boys to keep them from starting an offensive. 
Four “summers” of an exclusive turn of mind 
pitched camp in another puddle to the east’ard. 
Bang! bang ! bang! bang ! The stand across 
the river had opened hostilities, and one of our 
neighbors from the east’ard decided to pay us 
a call. Ray and Rip gave him a cordial welcome 
with four shots, and the “summer” passed out, 
his long yellow legs giving one last futile kick 
as he drifted down the pond on his back. 
As the sun rose, the birds began stirring, and 
for a short while the fun was fast and furious. 
A few “winters,” but mostly “summers,” were 
our visitors. The former passed by unscathed, 
but several of the latter stayed with us. Leon¬ 
ard was giving us a chance to demonstrate our 
scattergun efficiency, and it was a minus quality. 
Clarence himself, had not yet unlimbered “Plum- 
centre,” but his efforts on the little whistle, 
whenever there was a bird in the air, brought 
him swooping our way, as if there were a 
string tied to him. The whistle was a piece of 
tin the size of a silver dollar with a small hole 
in the middle over which the tin was folded. 
With this contrivance held between his lips, the 
open side out, and the small hole against his 
tongue, Clarence could talk “shore bird” with 
all the migrating tribes. I have heard many 
callers in twenty-five years on the marshes, some 
with mechanical whistles and others with their 
lips, but none of them could hold a candle to 
