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A FLIGHT OF WILDFOWL. 
From the County Gentleman. 
The Caribou Migration. 
St. Johns, N. F., June 8. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: The usual caribou reports are coming 
in daily. The great northern migration has be¬ 
gun. Every day the railroad and section men 
report herds crossing the track at various places 
bound to the summer feeding grounds. These 
herds vary in numbers from five to fifty. 
Besides the great numbers that move north 
about this time each year there are at least two 
other herds that only frequent their local habitat. 
One is on the great northe'rn peninsula between 
White and Bonne Bays. A couple of years ago 
this herd was reported in the neighborhood of 
White Bay, while at the same date a very large 
herd was renorted on the • extreme south coast 
near Burgeo. These were hundreds of miles 
apart, proving conclusively that there were two 
different herds containing vast numbers. There 
is also a smaller herd that never leaves the 
Avalon peninsula in the southeast of the island. 
These are not hunted very much and ought to 
be increasing considerably in numbers. It lias 
been suggested that this herd be preserved by 
turning the peninsula into a deer park and pre¬ 
venting any caribou killing whatever within its 
boundaries. 
This would be a good plan if we are to pre¬ 
serve this noble animal from extinction. It 
would also be advisable to establish another pre¬ 
serve in the neighborhood of the great northern 
peninsula. 
In this, probably the best game county for its 
size in the world, the machinery for the pro¬ 
tection of caribou, salmon or sea trout, is very 
crude. We need a good game commission to 
look after our present stock, to preserve and 
propagate it. Notwithstanding that representa¬ 
tions have been made time and again the authori¬ 
ties do not seem to favor the idea. 
Every year gross breaches of the game laws 
are reported. Sometimes caribou and salmon are 
killed and caught and left to rot on the grounds. 
Several reports have been sent in to the effect 
that beaver are being killed in spite of the fact 
that a close season has been established for 
some years to prevent their extermination. 
With the means at hand, and considering how 
poorly paid the wardens are, and the extent of 
territory requiring supervision, it is no matter 
of surprise that the work of protection is only 
indifferently carried out. 
W. J. Carroll. 
The Boy Behind the Man. 
Newport, Ky., June 8.— Editor Forest and 
Stream: What makes the “man behind the 
gun,” of whose deeds we hear so much, and es¬ 
pecially since the happy termination of our late 
one-sided argument with Spain? In answer I 
think it safe to say it is the boy behind the man. 
We are a nation of natural marksmen. From 
the cradle well nigh to the grave the spirit of 
prpficiency in the use of firearms holds full sway. 
Young America is early indeed accustomed to 
their use, and long before children of other na¬ 
tionalities enter their teens our youngsters are 
well upon their way toward making thorough 
marksmen. 
I was enjoying a quiet walk one morning re¬ 
cently along the railroad track just outside of 
the corporation line, when I saw a small boy 
carrying a gun. There was nothing particularly 
striking about him, except that he was so small 
that the huge straw hat he wore made him seem 
infinitely smaller. He was such a little chap that 
I wondered that he was allowed to carry a gun; 
but appearances are often deceptive, and I found 
they were so in this instance. The gun he car¬ 
ried in a mighty business-like way with its stock 
beneath his right arm, right hand upon the ham¬ 
mer and trigger, and left extended down along 
the drooping barrel, the muzzle well in front of 
him and out of harm’s way, all proclaimed a 
“ready” for anything that might chance to 
bounce or fly or swim. 
His weapon was a small rifle, carrying a .22 
caliber cartridge, and in the hands of an expert 
deadly to small game. Failing to follow his 
movements for a' minute . or two my attention 
was again attracted toward him by a sudden 
change in his deportment. He had been walking 
along the top of an old railroad fill some fifteen 
or twenty feet above the surrounding level, when 
I saw him suddenly crouch low, creep cautiously 
toward the edge of the fill, and then begin to 
slide and worm his way down the slope until he 
came to the foot, which was a wide ditch made 
in excavating for the fill. It was probably a foot 
or two deep, some thirty feet wide, and grown 
up in weeds and brambles with here and there a 
black locust or thorn bush. A line of telegraph 
poles skirted the edge of the ditch and paralleled 
the railroad track. 
Following the boy’s fixed gaze I saw a large 
common red-headed woodpecker perched upon 
the apex of one of the poles some distance ahead 
of the boy. It was busily rapping away at the 
decayed top of the pole and apparently paying 
no attention to the threatened danger, in all prob¬ 
ability unconscious of it entirely. 
For a moment I saw the little Nimrod study 
the situation like a veteran. Then he dropped 
low again and treading softly yet swiftly, began 
making his way toward another pole which lay 
between him and his intended prey and partly 
hiding his movements from the bird. With his 
little gun now at the trail, stooping well forward, 
his steps silent, swift and straight, his face drawn 
and set with the strain upon his nerves, he 
seemed in very truth the incarnation of the In¬ 
dian lust of chase. Just before he reached the 
sheltering pole I saw him wince and draw up 
one foot as though in pain, but this was no 
fitting time for hesitation, and he softly put it 
down again and resting it upon his heel now 
continued on his way. Reaching the pole he 
leaned against it for a moment as though faint 
or weary, then straightened up, and. standing- 
on one foot, braced himself against the pole, 
drew the gun up alongside, steadied himself for 
an instant,, drew a quick sight at the bird upon 
the adjoining pole some one hundred and fifty 
feet away, and fired. 
The instant the little gun. cracked the unlucky 
bird quivered, the bright red head grew redder 
still, his feathers spread out until he seemed as 
large again, and he fell stone dead at the foot 
of the pole. 
“Good shot!” I cried, involuntarily; but the 
boy, true to his training by some master hand, 
gave no sign that he saw or heard. After a 
quick, but comprehensive glance at the dead bird, 
he quickly opened the breech of the gun, deftly 
inserted another shell, closed the breech, cocked 
the piece and was once more ready. Then—and 
then only—did he alter his strained position. 
Carefully taking down the leg which rested 
against the pole, and turning up the foot, he 
slowly and painfully extracted from its sole a 
great black locust thorn which was bedded deeply 
in the flesh. This accomplished, the little 
Spartan let out a sigh of relief that was dis¬ 
tinctly audible where I sat. Down went the foot, 
the little figure at once straightened, the gun 
came to his ready once more, and the boy strode 
proudly forward to retrieve his bird. 
“Where’d you hit him, son?” I called out. 
“Right a-top of his head,” he said, as he 
brought the bird to me, and I saw where his 
bullet had cut the head as neatly almost as the 
surgeon’s knife could have done it. 
“You held too high, son, and very nearly 
missed him.” 
“Well, you see sir. I thought the gun wouldn’t 
carry up so far, so I had to give her a good 
full sight and hold a little high. It’s a good 
thing, though, that I didn’t hold her higher. 
Gee, but she shoots flat!” 
It was an actual fact. The precocious young¬ 
ster, knowing the tendency of a bullet to drop 
below the mark aimed at, had in effect scientifi¬ 
cally calculated the trajectory of the bullet to a 
nicety and it was as pretty a sho't from every 
point of view, all things considered, as I have 
ever witnessed before or since. 
“How old are you, youngster?” I interrogated 
once again. 
“I’ll be eight next March,” he said. 
Is it any wonder then that with the rising 
generation so closely in touch with the effective 
use of modern firearms, the “man behind the 
gun” has become a living actuality in these 
United States of ours? 
John S. Roebuck, Jr. 
Quick Work. 
On a recent Sunday afternoon two Manchester 
(N. H.), men found the freshly killed carcass 
of a large buck in the woods. They reported 
their find to County Game Warden Harry Chase, 
with the result that before sunset on Monday 
three men were arrested and one of them held 
in $200 bail for trial by the county court. 
