270 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 18. ign. 
2 5 2 
UNFINISHED 
f f ! t 
t t • • 
The Longest Long Run for 1911 on Record 
This wonderful score at flying targets, 
made by Mr. Lester S. German, at 
Galveston, Texas, January 31st and 
February 1st. 
Mr. German Shot 
DUPONT 
SMOKELESS POWDER 
The Totvder that MaKes 
and HreaKs 'Records ’ 
>>> 
A Classic for Sportsmen 
AMERICAN BIG GAME IN ITS HAUNTS 
- Boone and Crockett Club Series 
Edited by GEORGE EIR.D GR.INNELL 
An invaluable work not alone for the sportsman, but for the student and lover 
of wild life Treats of big game preservation and protection in the broader sense; 
tells of the habits, habitat and life history of the larger wild animals; touches upon 
the problem of the public forest domain, and is rounded out by interesting hunting 
reminiscences by such leaders in the fraternity of big-game hunters as Madison 
Grant Paul J. Dashiell, George Bird Grinnell, jas. H. Kidder and W. Lord Smith. 
Bound in cloth, library edition, heavy paper, richly illustrated, 497 pages. 
Postpaid, $2.50 
FOREST AND STREAM PUBLISHING CO., 127 Franklin Street, NEW YORK CITY 
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asking to be shot, they were just bound to wipe 
old Snapper’s eye and make him madder than a 
wasp. He’d eight guns in the butts, had Sir 
Anthony, for the first drive, and the drivers 
were working in round the shoulder of the hill, 
and already you could see the birds rising in 
clouds and pitching again in the heather in the 
distance, and Sir Anthony licked his lips as he 
thought of the treat he was going to have. In 
a few minutes more he and his friends would 
be blazing and banging away like a Coronation 
celebration, and the birds would be tumbling 
about the butts like Niagara translated into 
feathers, when the dirigible came up—and the 
birds went down. They simply couldn’t face 
the awful apparition whizzing above ’em. They 
dropped plumb into the heather and squatted 
there that terrified they’d ha’ let the drivers 
kick ’em into pillow stuffing afore they’d ha' 
got up a foot. 
Nat rally, as soon as young Dunkin recognized 
where he was he was in such a fluster he lost 
his head for a moment and jerked the rudder 
so hard to starboard that it jammed and he 
couldn’t move it, and he gave such a tug—the 
wrong way—at the control lever that it 
wrenched off the magneto switch and the petrol 
stopcock, and the dirigible started on a circular 
tour with a radius that brought it nicely over 
the line of butts once during every revolution. 
The thing just became an extra-special satellite 
of the earth, with a reg’lar orbit that took the 
best of Sir Anthony’s moor and killed every 
chance of sport. 
At first young Dunkin was in a bit of a 
fluster, then he suddenly saw the situation in 
the correct light and chuckled like a wheel¬ 
barrow as wants greasing. The girl didn’t 
seem to be thoroughly enjoying herself, and she 
crouched in the bottom of the car and felt as 
happy as you do in a wet crowd when the next 
fellow’s umbrella is shooting off a stream of 
cold water down your neck. 
“Oh, George,” she says, “this is too awful!" 
“Awful?” says he. “Why it’s simply ripping! 
I’ve got your father on toast this time.” 
“Yes,” says the girl, "1 suppose l.e will be • 
quite as hot as that—and as crusty!” 
And then the dirigible came sailing over the 
butts again, and Sir Anthony roars: “Here, 
you blamed idiot, take your beastly bag-o’-tricks 
off my moor!” 
“Can’t—rudder’s jammed—boundto go round 
and round just as we are doing,” yells back 
young Dunkin, as the thing commenced an¬ 
other lap of the course. 
“Then stop the confounded machinery! Shut 
it off at the main! Cut it off at the meter! 
Choke it! Throttle it!” 
“Can’t! Bount to go on as long as the petrol 
lasts!” 
“And how long will that be?” shrieked Sir 
Anthony the next time the dirigible came 
round. 
“About eight hours!” shouted back young 
Dunkin, cheerfully, and circled away. 
“Oh, stop the measley old thing, or I'll put 
both barrels of No. $ l / 2 through it!” screams 
the Baronet the next time young Dunkin comes 
round. 
“If you do, Sir Anthony, you’ll jolly well 
pepper your own daughter, for she’s in the car 
with me!” chirps young Dunkin, and the girl 
peeped over the edge of the car. 
“Come out of that! Come down at once, 
Amelia! You’re breaking my heart!” roars 
Sir Anthony. 
“If she did she’d break her neck, and that’s 
worth a dozen of your hard old heart!” snaps 
out young Dunkin in passing. “Say, Sir An¬ 
thony,” he says, pleasantly, as he skims round 
once more, “do you remember our interview 
of the other day?” 
“Every word of it, and I stand by what I 
said,” thundered the Baronet in a rage. 
“I’m making rings round you,” says young 
Dunkin sweetly at the next circuit. 
“I guess I’m dropping more birds than you. 
Sir Anthony, for I’ve dropped every blessed 
grouse your drivers have put up!” he sings out 
the next time, while on the very next circuit 
he was standing up in the car, and the girl was 
standing up, too, and young Dunkin had his 
