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A Sportsman’s Paradise—II. 
One morning we steamed down the Santee 
River for a try at the ducks on the islands to 
the north of the river, and I having the first 
choice that day, chose a stand known as Thomp¬ 
son’s Creek. I was the first one dropped off the 
Happy Days, and at 5 o’clock transferred from 
our skiff to a square-bowed punt in the narrow 
canal for a long paddle to the center of the 
island, where I was told to find a big patch of 
tall grass and reeds and advised to take my 
stand in these. I had three of Percy’s live call 
ducks with me and his black English retriever 
“Bayden,” my ten-gauge gun, my faithful black 
guide and a covered galvanized iron can two 
feet high and eighteen inches in diameter to be 
used as a seat. It was an invention of Percy’s 
and I strongly advise every sportsman to pro¬ 
vide himself with one. In the can I kept my 
shells, oil-skins, an extra sweater and my pipe 
and tobacco, and so when it came to a tramp 
through the marsh my guide toted the can and 
I my gun and the decoy ducks in a small basket. 
We paddled through the narrow canal for an 
hour and a half to the end and struck off through 
the reeds for about two hundred yards where 
we found the tall grass. 
As day was breaking the ducks began to move 
around, and I settled myself comfortably on my 
can and my guide broke down a small place ten 
yards away from us, where he put out the two 
ducks, placing the drake some distance away. 
Then it became a question of how - skillfully my 
guide could work his duck call, and he certainly 
was an artist in that line. There was three or 
four inches of water on the marsh, kept there 
by the dam at the end of the canal, and the 
ducks were evidently feeding in the tall grass, 
so it was practically a continuous performance 
upon the duck call, because they could not see 
where the supposed birds were located and were 
lured entirely by the call. The birds would come 
from every direction and I was very glad I had 
the can to sit on, for the marsh was so soft that 
it would have been impossible to turn around 
if standing on one’s feet. I soon became quite 
expert in spinning around on the top of my can 
and before long had twenty-four ducks down. 
There came a lull in the flight and I sent the 
guide out with “Bayden” to pick up the game. 
I am sorry to say that of the twenty-four birds 
I had down we could only find twelve, and that 
after an hour’s hard work. The grass and reeds 
were from six to eight feet high and so thick 
that they were almost impassable for a dog. I 
never kill game that I cannot retrieve or use 
after retrieving, and so reluctantly I took up my 
decoys and started back down the canal. We 
stopped on the way for a time in a small pond 
hole opening off the canal, but soon found that 
the birds would not draw at all to the open 
water, and again we set out to return to the 
Happy Days. 
On Saturday Percy and I were left alone at 
the club, the other members leaving for George¬ 
town, and we decided to hunt wild pigs. Percy, 
armed with a .405 repeater, and I with a .30, 
mounted our ponies and set forth, followed by 
Paul with his pack of nondescript dogs. Some 
two miles from the club house we drew a swamp 
and the dogs started a big sow, running her 
for some time in and out of the runs the pigs 
had made beneath the tangled cat briers and 
finally making her break cover on the side of 
the swamp where Percy was. They brought her 
to bay in a muddy wallow at the foot of a tree 
that had been blown down and Percy killed her, 
although it took three shots to do it and each 
went through her. We were surprised to see 
the dogs take her trail again and soon heard 
them barking as if they had another pig at bay. 
We dismounted and followed Paul into the 
swamp to where the dogs were making such a 
noise, and found the old sow’s bed. It was a 
pile of sweet clean grass and leaves about six 
feet in diameter and four feet high, and inside 
we found four little pigs about ten days old. 
They were strong wiry little beggars, true razor- 
backs, and we put them in a sack to bring home 
with us. That evening we put them in a box 
and taught them to eat rice, flour and milk, and 
Paul assured us they “done raised a’ready,” but 
alas, a few days later a cold snap came and our 
pets were found dead in the morning. 
We drew another swamp and the dogs started 
an old boar that they had brought to bay several 
times before. We could not get near enough to see 
him; he would not break for the open, so Paul 
and I started in through the cat briers to where 
he had made his last stand, and by much effort 
and many scratches, part of the time crawling 
through the hog runs, we came on him. At least 
Paul said a dark patch I could see through the 
brush was the boar, and he urged me to “t’row 
him.” I said, “All right, Paul; if it is one of 
the dogs, don’t blame me.” The boar was not 
more than fifteen feet from us and I took care¬ 
ful aim at the dark spot and pulled the trigger. 
Fortunately that one shot killed him, entering his 
back four inches behind his shoulders and going 
through his heart. He must have been on his 
haunches fighting off the dogs with his back to 
me. I used the word fortunately because if he 
had only been wounded he would have charged 
on Paul and me through the runway where we 
were on our hands and knees, unable to rise or 
get out of the way; and I have a confession to 
make. I had a lever-action repeater and had be¬ 
come so used to automatic rifles that I was hold¬ 
ing that gun at the present, ready for a rush, 
and the empty shell was still in the chamber. I 
confessed to Percy my stupidity and he said 
either I was the luckiest man in the world or 
that Paul had a rabbit’s foot concealed upon his 
person. We both agreed that it would not be 
wise to tell Paul anything about it. 
In the dining room at the club house there was 
a finely mounted head of a wild bull that I ad¬ 
mired very much and Percy told me it had been 
shot on a wide expanse of marsh and woods 
near the inlet called Big Murphy Island. This 
island contains some twenty square miles and 
there are between two and three hundred wild 
cattle living there that have been running \ 
for nearly a hundred years. So on Wednesp 
the next rest day, Percy and I set out down 1 
river in the launch for Big Murphy, taking vt 
us two of the guides and our friend Paul. '1 
club keeps a watchman on this island and 1 
lives in a house near the landing with a fai 
ful mule and two pigs for companions. It 1 
necessary for us to catch this mule, as he 1 
to take us down to the other end of the islic 
and we finally secured him by tempting him i; 
his stable with some corn. We all got in 1 
wagon and set out along the shore, the only r.i 
available being the ocean beach. We got ati 
four miles from the landing when we fur 1 
off into a patch of woods and one of the gui: 
climbed a tree on the edge of the marsh to : 
if he could find our game. He excitedly « 
ported that there was a big bull off by himl 
feeding out in the marsh half a mile away : 
Percy and I started through the tall grass: 
stalk our quarry. The wind was blowing 1 
most from the bull to us so he could not e 
our scent, and we got to within one hundred 1 
fifty yards of him when we decided to 0: 
hostilities. I fired the first shot which car: 
the old fellow to break into a run broadside 
us, and gave us a good mark. We each P 
three shots in all when he went down, and w: 
we got to him we found him stone dead n 
all six shots in him. He was a splendid anili 
weighing, we calculated, nearly a thousn 
pounds, and we set the guides to work skinr 1; 
and cutting him up while we tramped back 
the landing. It was 4 o’clock in the afterm: 
before the mule cart arrived at the lane 1: 
loaded with the head and the meat, and all 1 
way up the river the guides were telling ei 
other what high living the colored folks vir 
going to have as long as this fresh meat last 
We reached the club house with that self-sts 
fied feeling that only comes to the success 
hunter, and I for one am certain that the hit 
ing preserve of the Santee Club is truly a p;a 
dise for sportsmen. Edwin Main Pos 
California Duck Shooting. 
Los Angeles, Cal., Oct. 12 .—Editor Forest « 
Stream: Opening day found quail shooi| 
good, and the poorest sport on the pol 
ever recorded in the game books of the sevp 
odd duck clubs that enjoy almost exclusive 0 
trol of wildfowling in this part of the Ste 
The quail bred well this summer and seen!' 
have been slowly but noticeably increase 
This is the first time the season has opened! 
early as Oct. 1 in a number of years, andi 
a result young birds were found in large p 
portion in the bags. The limit is twenty < 
the low limit, coupled with a strictly enfor* 
no sale clause, and a season whose openinp 
deferred until the season’s hatching is cons 
tent to care for itself, are generally given cr 1 
for the improvement in sport. 
Owing to the fondness of quail for brip 
steep hillsides and their proclivity of taking! 
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