Dec. 25, 1909.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
1015 
swung on the rapidly disappearing partridge 
and to my surprise and delight I scored a clean 
kill. This was by far the sportiest shot of the 
trip for me. There is a wonderful exhilaration 
in such a shot. Stopping a partridge at fifty 
yards when under full headway with the impetus 
gathered from a couple of hundred yards of 
flight is something to be remembered. 
We soon had another. A bird was heard to 
flush among some trees near the dog. Upon 
investigation we found the bitch squatting to 
a point with her nose turned up to a small tree. 
On one of the branches of the tree was our 
bird. Mac promptly killed him when he flew. 
The la6t day we were out bright and early. 
Before we reached our hunting ground a foolish 
young partridge flushed from a small patch of 
cover not much bigger than a billiard table. I 
had just loaded and slipped up the safety on 
my gun, so I had no difficulty in securing the 
bird. An easy, shot easily retrieved. Vic showed 
signs of interest in the surrounding cover, so 
we started to investigate. Birds had evidently 
been running through it, but the bitch was un¬ 
able to locate them. One was flushed along the 
edge of a road which Mac promptly killed. 
No more birds being found, we moved on, in¬ 
tending to hunt the plains covered with scrub 
oak which adjoined the swamp. We had ex¬ 
amined the crops of some of the birds and 
found them full of acorns. For a long time we 
were unsuccessful, but after an hour’s hunt Vic 
pointed staunchly. The cover was not knee 
high with sweet fern and a few scattered scrub 
oak. It did not look promising, but when I 
reached there a partridge rose, giving me the 
easiest kind of a shot of which I availed my¬ 
self. This was pretty good—three shots and 
three birds. But that was the end of our easy 
shooting, and the end of our bag. Mac shortly 
after flushed a bird in the scrub oak which care¬ 
fully kept behind the brush until a long way 
off, and then sailed into the swamp, giving him 
but a hard chance. 
While making our way back along the regu¬ 
lar road Vic pointed at the edge of a very thick 
piece of cover. It was an awkward place to 1 
shoot, on the side of a hill and close to a 
swamp, so when four birds flushed wild we did 
not get any, although each fired twice. We 
followed these birds, which of course had gone 
into the thickest part of the covert. She soon 
began to draw and I followed her through a 
tangled mass of fallen trees. When she finally 
stopped to her point it was in the worst place 
of all. I scrambled over the logs to reach her, 
and while perched on top of a log about five 
feet from the ground and balancing myself with 
a branch in my left hand, the bird flushed, giv¬ 
ing me a nice chance. I could not let go of 
the supporting branch with my left hand and 
tried for the bird with one hand, but failed to 
hit him. I have frequently shot slow flying 
birds with one hand, but this partridge was far 
too fast. Mac also had a shot, but failed to 
score. 
On this hunt we had the most peculiar mix¬ 
ture of shooting which I have ever experienced. 
Usually the birds are found in “popple” thickets 
more or less dense, making the shooting fairly 
hard. Here we found no birds in these thickets. 
They were either in the thick swamps or the 
open adjacent. It was utterly impossible to kill 
any in the swamps, and the large majority of 
our birds were killed by easy shots in open 
shooting. We fired in all sixty-one shots, kill¬ 
ing twenty-five partridges, three woodcock and 
three rabbits. 
It is a very bad plan to take account of your 
shells and misses. It has a tendency to make 
one poke and refrain from taking a sporting 
chance. It was only after we had finished that 
Mac took account of stock and informed me of 
the result. Leonard Finletter. 
Floating Down the Little Sioux. 
Before sunrise my friend called at the house 
to take the trip down the river that had been 
planned the night before, and after a mile walk 
in the frosty morning air we came to the river 
where our boat was tied. 
Before getting in we got two big armloads 
of hay from a shock near by and put it over 
the bow of the boat and in the bottom. Our 
idea was to let the hay hang over the edges and 
bow, so that the sides of the boat would not be 
so conspicuous. Putting on board the guns, 
paddles, lunch and shells we shoved off on our 
way, the one in the bow to do the shooting and 
the other to do the paddling. A little ice was 
running that morning, but after the sun came 
out we enjoyed one of the fine fall days for 
which our State is noted. We had got nicely 
on the way when I saw a duck in the water 
near the bank. By sitting perfectly motionless 
we were able to float quite near before he began 
to take notice. Before we got in range, down 
the river he went as fast as he could swim. Then 
I knew we were after a cripple. Shooting on 
the river results in lots of crippled ducks, and 
to determine if the ducks would get over their 
injuries—before* the water froze up—we in¬ 
tended to get some of them and see for our¬ 
selves. A good many will tell you that the mink 
and the muskrat get most of them, but I be¬ 
lieve a large per cent of the cripples will get in 
shape to fly in a short time. 
We followed our duck a short distance when 
an old mallard duck rose from behind a pile of 
driftwood and doubled up on getting in range of 
a charge of sixes from my sixteen-bore. The 
next bend brought us near some overhanging 
trees, and into the water plunked a squirrel from 
his perch on a limb after connecting with an¬ 
other load. All this time our cripple was pad¬ 
dling away until, finally becoming tired, he 
crawled under a snag, hid his head and was 
made the first cripple for our pile in the bow 
of the boat. 
After an hour’s fun, which brought us several 
more squirrels and ducks, I changed places with 
my friend and instructed him how to do the 
work right—he was a novice, had never shot 
a duck or squirrel—we started out again. Pres¬ 
ently an old greenhead rose from behind a log 
not twenty feet away. My companion pointed 
and pointed, then the gun began to circle and 
the duck was gone. “Why didn’t you shoot?” 
“I forgot to pull the hammers back,” was all 
he said. A little further a squirrel was sun¬ 
ning himself on a limb of a tree. This time the 
hammers were back, and the fearless look on 
his face showed he meant business, but when 
near enough to shoot, around and around went 
the end of the gun and no noise. I said, 
“Shoot! shoot! man; we are getting out of 
range,” but it was no go. I turned the boat and 
headed up stream. “Now,” said I, “whatever 
you do, pull the gun off; make it go; scare him, 
anyway.” 
We have all been there. I well remember the 
old muzzleloading rifle dad used to hunt with 
that behaved the same way when I pointed it 
at my first turkey. I could not keep it still, 
even after I held it against the side of a tree. 
But that grown-up, twenty-year-old was so ex¬ 
cited he could not pull hard enough on the 
trigger. The last I saw of the squirrel he was 
still sunning himself. 
Another bend in the river brought us in view 
of a bunch of quail scratching in the leaves on 
the bank. I had my companion get out to fol¬ 
low them, as they had run over the bank on 
sight of us. Pretty soon I heard a gun, and 
then I could hear the leaves rattling like a drove 
of pigs running toward me, but it proved to be 
my man. He had a squirrel by the tail. That 
was one of the events of his life. 
At the noon hour we landed near an old 
log and devoured our lunch and only you and 
I, who have been there, know when, where and 
how things to eat can be enjoyed. Afterward 
we sat dozing in the warm sun, listening to the 
birds singing their last songs before leaving for 
the winter. Across the river a bunch of crows 
were serenading an owl that should have known 
better than to venture out. From all directions 
the crows were answering the calls for help and 
coming with a rush. 
Our start after dinner was made in the same 
order as before, as my friend wanted to kill a 
duck. Presently away went another duck. 
“Bang!” went the gun, and of all the noises 
you ever heard that old gun made them when 
it went off. Mud, shot, barrels—everything 
seemed to hit the water. In his excitement 
when getting into the boat he had poked the | 
barrels of the gun in the mud. He shoots a 
short-barreled gun now. We changed places. 
A couple of big ducks got up from behind a 
drift and I made a double. Another drift 
brought up two more big ducks which came 
straight over the boat and I never got a feather. 
A little further on a muskrat was caught dozing 
in the sun and taken aboard to mix in with the 
rest. Another bend brought to view a mink 
scampering along the bank. 
After getting more ducks and squirrels we 
reached our destination, where we hired a far¬ 
mer to bring us home. We had floated twenty- 
five miles to get four miles from our starting 
place. 
At home we were met by the youngsters. Il 
was the same old story: “What did you get I 
papa?” Then out one at a time came the mix¬ 
ture—you have all been there—first a squirrel I 
then the duck, muskrat next, then a squirrel anc 
so on, each one being received with a yell oi I 
delight. 
We got nine cripples and found that the in 
juries were healing up, and in nearly all case j 
they could have gone south before the wate 
froze up. Where wings were broken it seems ; I 
hard round lump formed around the break, an< I 
while some of the breaks were not knitted to I 
gether, the ducks could fly some then. In n> I 
case was there any inflammation around the in I 
jury; the action of the water or somethin I 
seemed to keep down the soreness. These duck I 
in most cases were poor and we kept them fc I 
the feathers. C. M. M. J 
