FOREST AND STREAM. 
735 
May 9, 1908.] 
some ill-fated porker in the probable embrace 
of the bear. John said, “That ol’ b’ar has done 
caught him a hawg for ’is supper, shore.” 
We prevailed on Nel to construct a duck stew 
for breakfast, so after supper we cleaned the 
ducks and put them on to cook to save time 
next morning, as all it needed would be heat¬ 
ing before it was ready to serve. Uncle and I 
then cut a lot of palmetto leaves, piled them to 
a depth of three or four inches under a live oak 
and on these we spread our blankets. These 
leaves have a natural curve, and properly pre¬ 
pared and placed they make a springy and com¬ 
fortable bed. The ocean was less than a half 
mile away, and as I lay drowsily watching the 
sparks from our camp-fire, the sonorous lullaby 
of the pounding surf was wafted to me. 
We were all up before dawn and each one 
took a portion of the duck stew. Each had 
added something to enhance its flavor, notwith¬ 
standing Nel’s protests. It was too watery, had 
cooked too long, had too much grease and too 
much onion in it, and we did not vote it a suc¬ 
cess. "Too many cooks a messin’ with it,” Nel 
indignantly answered to our complaints. 
"You fellows had better leave your guns in 
camp,” admonished Dad proudly, “and watch me 
do the shooting—you will learn something.” But 
we didn’t crave knowledge to any such extent 
as that. 
By dawn we were in our respective places, 
Uncle, Nel and Dad on stands with decoys, and 
Bennett and I roaming at will. John took the 
boat and busied himself in the big lake keeping 
them on the move. Thirty-two was the sum of 
the morning’s shoot. We encountered nothing 
but bluebills with the exception of one sheldrake. 
It seemed that every bunch that arose came 
Uncle's way and he had all the sport. 
“I thought you were going to give a demon¬ 
stration of your prowess,” uncle jeered at Dad 
on our return. 
“Well, if I had been on your stand I could 
have bettered your score. You burnt up a lot 
of ammunition for the number of ducks you 
brought in.” Then they locked horns. Aftei 
this all I had to do was to ask Dad how many 
shots Uncle fired that morning to set them going. 
Breaking camp, we crossed the swamp, and 
just before we reached Espanola Uncle and I 
parted from the rest with the intention of walk¬ 
ing back to secure some quail if possible. 
Rex and Jack did grand work and found two 
coveys for us. Out of the first bunch I killed 
two and Uncle one on the rise. Marking the 
flight he got three singles and I two more. Out 
of the second covey we each got one as they 
arose and he got three and I one more when 
we put the scattered ones up, making a total of 
fourteen. Those quail vanished like chaff before 
a gale, as we had eaten nothing since ten that 
morning. 
Next morning an early start was made to a 
favorite locality for deer about five miles north. 
Bennett winded a blast from his horn and his 
famous deerhounds, Veenie, Ring and Lumber, 
yelped about us with joy. Rex and Jack accom¬ 
panied us also and were not long in finding two 
coveys of quail for us along the road. Ten of 
the little brown birds rested in our bag before 
we finished with them. 
About three miles out we came to a shallow 
niarshv pond where Bennett assured us we would 
find mallards. Uncle and I got out and stealthily 
ONE BACK PULL. 
another back pull. 
LOADED. 
approached the pond to a spot opposite the road 
where we were told they always flew over. As 
soon as we were stationed the others drove 
directly to the pond from the road. Up jumped 
five big mallards with noisy quacks and swung 
over Uncle in nice easy range. He got in four 
shots and three of the big birds came tumbling 
to the ground. 
Joe placed us on stands three or four hundred 
yards apart, and taking the dogs he started to¬ 
ward a big swamp to jump a deer. Uncle took 
the first stand, I the next, Nel the third and 
Dad the furthest. Each of us was stationed 
beside narrow sloughs that extended from the 
big swamp somewhat in the manner of the out¬ 
stretched fingers of a hand toward the larger 
and denser Matanzas swamp several miles away. 
It was almost the unvarying rule for a deer 
when started to make for this latter swamp 
along one of these sloughs. 
It had rained during the night and the morn¬ 
ing was cloudy and still, ideal conditions for a 
run. I had been on my stand about fifteen 
minutes when away off in the swamp I heard 
the dogs give tongue. The chase swept on to¬ 
ward Nel and Dad, then it turned and passed 
less than a quarter of 'a mile away toward 
Uncle’s stand. The trail was hot and the eager 
voices of the dogs proclaimed the near proximity 
of the quarry. I heard them cross the road 
close to Uncle; stood and listened in expectation 
of his shot. But none came and at length Ben¬ 
nett rode up to ascertain the cause. Uncle bad 
tied Rex and Jack to a sapling, and hearing the 
hounds he started to walk through to the other 
side of the slough, a distance of only forty or 
fifty yards. But Rex and Jack protested so 
loudly at being left that fearing they would turn 
the deer he went back to keep them quiet. In 
this he made a mistake; had he gone on through 
he would have been in easy range of the deer 
when it passed. The dogs had passed entirely 
out of hearing toward Matanzas swamp and 
Bennett blew his horn in vain for their return. 
After waiting an hour or so I grew tired of the 
monotony and taking Rex and Jack walked to¬ 
ward Neoga to hunt for quail. I had good sport, 
putting up three coveys and bagging fifteen quail 
and two snipe. Then I went to the dove roost. 
I saw but very few and succeeded in killing 
three. Returning to our quarters I found the 
others had just arrived. The hounds had not 
been secured until too late to start another deer, 
but they had shot fourteen fine squirrels. 
The next day was Saturday, the last of our , 
hunt. We bagged twenty-eight quail before we 
had to leave off, although it was a fait sized 
bag which we brought home for ourselves and 
friends. C. M. Sandusky. 
Catching Ducks by the Legs. 
Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, March 12.— Editor 
Forest mid Stream: In your issue of Feb. 15. 
containing the article “Caught Ducks by the Legs,” 
you seem to doubt Charley Biederman's story. 
Ever since I have been in South America I 
have heard that the natives of the Argentine 
Republic catch ducks in this way, but instead of 
a watermelon they use a large hat • made of 
c*raw F. B. Gordon. 
The Forest and Stream may be obtained from 
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tup/ily you regularly. 
