/ 
PICKIN’ DUCKS 
‘ ‘ Golly! Look at dis, Mis- 
tah Bill! Dose 6’s done 
busted cl’ar through — dat 
Infallible shuah am de gol- 
shootinest powder.” 
HERCULES 
IN FALLIBLE -'-£C 
HERCULES POWDER CO. 
906 King Street 
Wilmington Delaware 
*'4 * ! 
The Bass-Oreno(above) ac¬ 
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The 
SS-ORENO\ 
No. 973 
Indian Moccasins 
“Both Lace or Slipper” 
Made of Genuine Moosehide 
Men’s lace ----- at $5.50 
Ladies’ or Boys’ lace - - at $4.50 
Slippers, Men’s - - - - at $4.50 
Ladies’ or Boys’ Slippers 
at $3.75 
Sent prepaid on 
receipt of price. 
Money refunded if 
not satisfactory. 
We make the finest Buckskin Hunting Shirts 
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and Mittens. Our Wisconsin Cruising Shoes 
have no superior as a hunting shoe. Send for 
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Metz & Schloerb, OS hk °shfwis 
floated slowly away with the current. 
Something must be done at once; but 
What? 
Suddenly my fingers which had been 
wandering aimlessly through my 
pocket, came in contact with the stub 
of a pencil. “A message,” I thought, 
“but how to get it ashore?” Then from 
the darkness of my despair flashed a 
gleam of hope. I tore the end from a 
shell-box and feverishly wrote: 
“White Flat, boat gone, help at once, 
Bailey.” 
It was one chance in a million. 
“Wild Bill’s” mate might fly home with 
it. Time and again I had proven her 
“homing” proclivities by throwing her 
in the air when I left my gunning stand 
at Billington Sea, and I always found 
her in the back yard when I arrived 
home. Would my wife notice her re¬ 
turn and find the note? That was 
the question. I pulled in “Mate’s” line 
and removed her from the “strands.” 
“Tie the note to her leg, Tom,” I 
ordered, handing him a bit of string. 
She lay perfectly quiet, her heart beat¬ 
ing swiftly against the palm of my 
hand while Tom secured the note firm¬ 
ly. “Oh, little duck,” I prayed men¬ 
tally, “go through for my sake and for 
Tom’s for my wife,” then I threw her 
into the air. Up she went, climbing 
swiftly to some thirty or forty feet 
when “Wild Bill’s” keen eye perceived 
her. The old rascal gave three long 
calls and in a moment “Mate” had 
alighted beside him and was clucking 
contentedly. “Grab that drake,” I told 
Tom, “and stick his head into your 
pocket.” Tom did so and I threw her 
into the air again. For a moment she 
circled us, quacking loudly, then as if 
sure of her bearings, sped off straight 
as a bullet for home. I watched her 
anxiously through my glasses noting 
that her course would take her directly 
over the gunners on the inner flat. 
Suddenly a white puff of smoke flat¬ 
tened itself against the hazy-blue 
shore-line. “My God!” I cried, “they 
are shooting at her!” Again the white 
puffs, but she kept bravely on. I 
breathed a prayer of thanksgiving. 
But no! she collapsed in mid-air and 
pitched into the sea; the deadly 10- 
gauge had got in its work. “We are 
either lost or saved now,” I exclaimed, 
“depends on whether she is crippled 
and gets away, or whether they pick 
her up.” “Maybe they killed her,” 
Tom suggested hopefully, “can’t you 
see?” “It’s too far to make out,” I 
replied, straining my eyes through the 
creeping dusk, “but they are not put¬ 
ting out any boat.” Tom’s eyes avoid¬ 
ed mine and he pulled up his hip boots 
a little farther, the flat was awash. 
Without a word he reached down and 
freed the decoys, our dead ducks had 
In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. It will identify you. 
Page 646 
