I. 
July ii, 1908.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
CHIPMUNK OR WOODCHUCK. 
“Monday inornin’ befo’ daybreak I sneaked 
to'rds Ridge pond, calculatin’ to knock over a 
woodchuck that had been raidin’ me lately. I 
igits close to his den an’ waits fer him to stick 
his nose out. It was right close to the edge of 
the water, not mor’n fifty yards off, an’ timber 
all around. Jist as old Mr. Chuck h’ists his 
. snoot ’bove the ground I sees a grey squir’l 
run out from an oak an’ set up, switchin’ his 
tail. An’ as I raises my gun, with five loads in 
the magazine an’ one in the bar’l, makin’ six 
loads in all, I hears a sort of a ‘wheesli, wheesh’ 
j cornin’ through the trees, an’ I squints over my 
shoulder, an’ here comes a big old mallard 
drake through the timber. I cuts loose an’ doubles 
the woodchuck with the first load, throws in 
a second shell quickern’ scat, nails the squir’l 
as he turns, reloads, soaks the mallard as he 
turns, and as he hits the wet ground close to 
I the pond up jumps a, jacksnipe, which I downs 
in midair as he jumps, an’ jist then a duck- 
hawk darts down an’ snatches my ‘jack’ as he 
drops, an’ I blisters Mr. Duckhawk with load 
No. 5, an’ slams in the last load ready for any¬ 
thing else, an’, sure nuff, as the hawk an’ the 
1 snipe hits the pond, up jumps a 5-pound big- 
mouth bass, an’ I gathers him with the last 
shell. 
“I’d been shootin’ so fast that I goes through 
the motion of pumpin’ in another shell, but 
- when she clicks empty I see I’m out o’ ammu¬ 
nition. So J hikes fer the pond to git the 
i snipe, not carin’ fer the durned hawk an’ the 
mallard, which is on land close to the pond, 
j Well, sir, as I runs down hill I jumps over a 
;!og iayin’ there, an’ the gun flies out o’ my 
hand, an’ as sure as we’re sittin’ here, the stock 
jpomes down on a 7-foot black snake a-layin' 
j quoded up by a stump, an’ jist natcherally busts 
; him wide open, killin' him deader’n a door nail. 
{ “I never waited to pick up the gun, but went 
put and fished out the snipe with a chunk o’ 
rrush an’ retrieved my duck. Then I come back 
jin’ got the squir’l, an’ bimeby the bass floated 
n with ’bout ’leven shot through him. I reckon 
I hat wuz about the most excitin’ time fer the 
ime it took that I ever had in my life. An’ 
■'’here would I a’been ef it hadn’t a-happened 
hat I had six shots ’stid o’ two? I’d a-prob- 
ibly been p’intin’ around, not knowin’ jist what 
- did want to shoot at, an’ mighta-lost every- 
; hing. 
“I came back to the shanty an’ had fried 
flack bass, an’ stewed squir’l, an’ roast duck, 
jin’ snipe on toast fer dinner. Yes, sir, an’ I 
eckon ef I’d been pestered with the old double- 
)ar’l mebbe I’d a-got the squir’l an’ no more.” 
“But what did you do with the chipmunk, 
f Joe-Dad’?” 
“What chipmunk wuz that?” asked the 
grizzled pusher. 
“The one you jumped on when you cleared 
■he log as you ran down to the lake,” was my 
nswer. “Don’t you remember killing a chip- 
nunk when you jumped the log?” The eyes 
>f the “pusher” brightened. He cut a three- 
nch crescent in a plug of black navy with one 
weep of his masterful “grinders.” 
“I’d plumb fergot that chipmunk,” said “Joe- 
lad.”—Chicago Tribune. 
SNAP SHOTS. 
It is said that there is a marsh in Norfolk, 
England, of about forty acres, where, if you 
ift three square feet of ground one spade deep, 
roviding that it is not on the rotten land, you 
I dll find three ounces of shot, dig where you 
j dll- The fact is that fifty acres of this land has 
een shot over, backward and forward, for 
ges, and the whole surface of the ground is 
overed with shot. 
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