July 2, 1910 ] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
9 
farmer would not care for the out-of-season 
melons left, I proceeded to hunt out the largest 
one and tuck it under my arm. Then the thought 
struck me that if it should prove a bad one I 
would be no better off for my long walk and 
small sin, so I hunted up another likely looking 
melon which—with my gun—loaded me heavily. 
I had adjusted my load and turned toward 
the shady grove near where we had entered, in¬ 
tending to go there to eat the melons, when— 
from the direction of the house on a slight rise 
in plain view—I heard loud calls, whistling and 
the barking of dogs, and saw two men and three 
big dogs running toward us. 
One hasty glance assured me that we were the 
objects of their quest, and that one of the men 
had a gun. Also that the smallest of the dogs 
looked as large as a yearling calf, and that all 
were coming fast. 
I felt that ordinary prudence demanded that 
I abandon the melons, but so great was my need 
I could not bring my¬ 
self to do so. Gripping 
them tightly I tore off 
down through the field 
at top speed, determined 
to save them if possi¬ 
ble, but at least to make 
a desperate effort. 
I was making record 
time and felt sure the 
enemy could not be 
gaining, when I hap¬ 
pened to glance down 
at Ponto, running a lit¬ 
tle in the lead. That 
paragon of polite dignity 
was a sight to behold. 
He looked like a cur 
caught sheep killing. 
His tail was tucked be¬ 
tween his legs, his head 
drooped low, while his 
long ears flapped up and 
down like a pair of 
broken wings. Every 
time the pursuers gave 
a shout or the dogs 
opened up extra strong 
he would tuck his tail 
a little more and hump along a bit faster, as 
complete a specimen of demoralization as I had 
ever seen. Scared almost to death as I was, yet 
the sight of my big self-contained dignified 
friend, the victim of such panic, caused me to 
laugh in spite of my fright. 
We made the first fence safely, but in scramb¬ 
ling over it I dropped one of the melons and 
had only time to see its beautiful pink heart 
shining up at me, when the dogs reached the 
fence at the other side of the field and set us 
off at renewed speed. 
The next was a newly plowed field and the 
hardest kind of going. The sun beat down from 
overhead, and it was dreadfully hard work, but 
we had to stick to it, as the pursuit was con¬ 
tinued vigorously. 
Sobbing for breath I struggled on, holding to 
the melon and hoping to reach a safe position 
before being overtaken, while Ponto flopped de¬ 
jectedly along ahead. 
I knew the dogs were gaining, but had seen 
nothing of the men when I last glanced back. 
Staggering blindly along I finally reached the 
grove of trees and fell to the ground, utterly 
exhausted and unable to retreat further. I made 
up my mind to try to defend myself against the 
dogs and make what defense I could to the men 
when they came up. 
The fierce fight for breath kept me wholly 
occupied for a few moments, and then I began 
to take notice again. My pursuers were nowhere 
in sight, and the dogs were returning slowly, 
stopping occasionally to look toward our retreat 
and bark defiance. I was wonderfully relieved, 
for visions of a fight for life with these savage 
beasts had alternated with mental pictures of 
being haled before a criminal tribunal to answer 
to the charge of robbery as I raced madly along 
with the goods on me. 
Creeping to a large tree near the edge of the 
timber I looked out from behind its sheltering 
trunk and was delighted to see all my pursuers 
returning to the house. My conscience did not 
hurt me nearly so much when this fact was as¬ 
sured, and I returned determined to enjoy the 
melon that had come so high. 
Mr. Ponto, the erstwhile majestic, was now 
the literally abject. Flattened out on the ground, 
hugging it as it were, he grovelled. Eyes roll¬ 
ing wildly and apparently ready to take flight 
at the first sign of our pursuers, he seemed to 
think the situation still critical. His was surely 
a tender conscience over a brave heart. 
With a final look around, to be sure the coast 
was clear, I got a comfortable position and pre¬ 
pared to give myself up to the bliss of eating 
the luscious melon, feeling glad, indeed, that it 
was large. As I turned and settled it in position 
between my knees preparatory to applying the 
knife, I called Ponto to come and share my 
anticipated delight, but his soul was too full of 
the bitterness of his recent humiliation to per¬ 
mit of his taking any interest in the occasion. 
With a sweep I drew the knife from end to 
end of the beautiful dark rind and leaned over 
in expectancy to see the glorious pink meat blush 
in the sunlight as I laid it open. Drained of 
every drop of moisture as my poor overtaxed 
body seemed to be, yet my mouth fairly watered 
at the delightful prospect before me. The cool 
feeling / of its surface to my hot hands was good 
and the rip of the rending knife was music to 
my thirsty soul. 
With a “crunch” it fell apart, cut^ evenly jn 
half, and instead of the anticipated delicate pink 
smiling up at me, I sat facing a sickly, imma¬ 
ture green pulp that a starving, shipwrecked 
sailor-—days without food or drink—could not 
have eaten. 
The irony of fate—retribution, complete and 
awful! I groaned in anguish of spirit as I 
looked at the mockery before me and thought 
of the perfect condition of the one dropped and 
broken at the first fence. The punishment would 
have fitted the crime if I had stolen the man’s 
whole farm instead of the two melons. 
Getting slowly to my feet I scattered the two 
halves with lusty and vicious kicks, and slowly 
we started on the long walk home, the old dog 
slinking along, every now 
and then looking back 
over his shoulder as 
though fearing further 
pursuit and punishment. 
My education con¬ 
tinued and I learned a 
little each day. Fre¬ 
quently I bagged game, 
getting specimens of 
about every thing in our 
territory, but still being 
able to miss quite a 
large percentage of shots. 
One crisp, frosty morn¬ 
ing shortly after our 
watermelon experience, 
we made an early start, 
intending to make a 
good long day of it. 
After varying success 
with small game, Ponto 
notified me that prairie 
chickens had been feed¬ 
ing around through a 
bit of thick cover we 
were crossing. With 
head held high he 
worked over the ground, 
crossing and re-crossing trails, until I felt sure 
there were several birds scattered about feeding. 
He finally pointed, and it was a single that flew 
straight away. I held Hue and the big bird 
pitched into the grass, clean killed. “Getting 
easy,” I thought, and continued to think, until 
the next one sailed out of sight, untouched. The 
third burst out of the grass at my feet with a 
roar and swung sharply around to the right. A 
hard shot for me, even now, after many years 
of practice. I felt sure it would escape, but hap¬ 
pily leading well, and then a little more, I killed 
it and there were two of them down. My! what 
a glorious day, and what sport for kings was 
chicken shooting. I was loaded by the time the 
old dog was back with the bird and ready to go 
after another. He was some time finding the 
next, but finally came down, or rather up on it. 
Standing erect, with head drawn back, as he al¬ 
ways pointed grouse, he was a grand animal— 
the very picture of canine royalty. Another one! 
Three out of four, and it tried to take an un¬ 
fair advantage by flushing before I got well up. 
I had to lay my gun down and do a bit of double 
MEADOW LARK. 
From a photograph by W illiam C. Herman. 
