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An Autumn Evening 
A hell-diver, swimming with rubbery ease 
across the creek, approached the stolid decoys, 
eyed them suspiciously for a moment, then 
sank gradually below the surface, to reappear 
only when well out of range. Away up in the 
great arch of the sky two red-shouldered hawks, 
mere specks against the cloudless blue, swung 
in intersecting circles, their screams coming 
down faint and softened by tbe distance. 
All about me stretched the broad meadows, 
brown and yellow and green in countless shades 
and variations, basking in the mellow sunshine 
of mid-afternoon. Even the stream seemed 
drowsing under the spell of Indian .summer as 
it wound away northward in shining curves to¬ 
ward the red and gold of a distant group of 
swamp maples, standing out in soft relief 
against the smoky background of the Palisades. 
Years ago, when ducks were more plentiful 
than now, these same Hackensack meadows 
afforded soipe very pretty shooting and the old- 
timers tell of big bags of teal, blacks and mal¬ 
lards, and, when a heavy southeaster drove in 
the open-water birds, of bluebills and redheads. 
But the increase in the number of gunners and 
the decrease in the number of ducks have 
changed all that, and now every bird you get 
must be fairly earned by long and patient work. 
In October and November a good many black 
ducks still come in to the marshes to spend the 
night, but constant pursuit has made them 
wary to a degree, and before dawn they are 
gone again, scattering to their daylight resorts 
along the Hudson, not to return till long after 
the sun has disappeared behind the western 
hills. Many a time when it had become too 
dark to shoot, I have picked up the stools after 
a fruitless wait- in the blind, and paddling 
quietly homeward through the night, have heard 
the zvhew-whcw-whew of strong wings as flock 
after flock arrived, and the occasional reedy 
quack of some wary old drake as he circled 
about looking for a safe place to light. 
The afternoon of which I write was too warm 
and windless to be theoretically good for duck 
shooting, but as there happened to be nothing 
else to do, I launched the canoe about two 
o’clock, and with half-a-dozen decoys in the 
bow, paddled off up the broad creek with the 
rising tide. It was mighty pleasant out there 
in the sunshine, and for a couple of miles I 
idled contentedly along, satisfied with just be¬ 
ing in the open air. Where an island of broken 
wild rice stems stood at the edge of the channel 
the canoe was turned aside into a smaller branch 
creek, and paddling up this a few hundred yards 
to where it widened into a broad slough, I put 
out the decoys and then started in to build a 
blind. By four o’clock this was finished, and 
nothing remained but to sit back comfortably 
and wait for the hoped-for birds. 
As the sun approached the horizon flocks of 
redwings and grackles passed overhead on the 
way to their roosting places, and as the gray of 
evening commenced to spread over the eastern 
sky, I sat up and began to take notice. It was 
really too early to expect anything to be doing, 
but when birds are so scarce one does not like 
to risk losing a shot. Gradually the dusk closed 
in over the marshes and the air grew damp and 
chill. Then, just as nearby objects began to 
blurr in the failing light, there came a ques¬ 
tioning quack from away off to the left. An¬ 
other bird answered behind me and presently 
the soft whistling of wings sounded overhead, 
then died away in the gloom. They had passed 
well out of range, but had evidently noticed the 
decoys, so I waited motionless for their re¬ 
turn. For perhaps five minutes I crouched ex¬ 
pectantly in the blind, when suddenly three dark 
objects showed against the glowing west, and 
with set wings, headed for the decoys. As 
they came two were almost in line, and the 
spreading lead from the barrel covered both. 
The other towered like lightning, and though I 
held well above him, not even a feather 
answered the second shot. 
The two sharp reports had aroused all the 
birds in the neighborhood, and from several 
directions sounded startled quacks and splash- 
ings as other ducks took wing and circled aim¬ 
lessly about. Several flocks passed close 
enough for me to hear the hiss of their wings, 
but only a single bird came within sight, and he 
paid the penalty for his rashness by tumbling 
with a satisfying smash into the cattails beside 
the blind. 
The last pale yellow of the sunset was fast 
fading from the sky, and it grew too dark to 
shoot. Quietly I pulled the canoe out of its 
hiding place in the grass, found the dead birds 
after a few minutes’ search, and picking up the 
decoys, slid away down the star-lit stream. The 
full moon rose above the Palisades, and as the 
soft light flooded the valley the boat house 
loomed up ahead, weird and ghostly in the 
silence. Robert S. Lemmon. 
In Old Virginia. 
Clarksville, Va., Oct. 25. — Editor Forest and 
Stream: To the shooting and hunting men I 
wish to state as game warden that there is the 
largest crop of partridges and quail in Southern 
Virginia on the Dan, Staunton and Roanoke 
rivers that we have had in ten years, and we 
have more wild turkeys here near the town of 
Clarksville than we have had in fifteen years. I 
think at least 125 wild turkeys have been raised 
within twelve miles of this town. 
I attribute the great increase of game to the 
breaking up last summer of rabbit and hare hunt¬ 
ing by a worthless class of people, mostly ne¬ 
groes. There has been a great many deer raised 
on these rivers this time. The hunting season 
opens Nov. 1 and closes Feb. 1. During this 
time we have got great sport laid up for us— 
wild turkey, quail, deer, wild goose and ducks 
here, and more rabbits than a man can carry, and 
fox hunting. It has been several years since our 
Northern hunters have had a good year’s hunt¬ 
ing here, but this will be one of the best we 
have had in ten years. L. H. Yancey. 
Hunting with Uncle Hi. 
A series of letters written to relatives by a sportsman 
sojourning at a camp on the Grasse River in the North 
Woods. 
XI.—THE FINAL HUNT—DUCICS AND BUCKS. 
We went on our last deer hunt of the trip 
yesterday, and it turned out to be an occasion 
long to be remembered. The day broke clear 
and cold, with a brisk norther blowing. The 
leaves were ankle deep, dry and noisy. There 
was little to warrant the hope that we would be 
successful in our quest for deer with horns. 
But the mating season is at hand and the fre¬ 
quent “pawings,” as Uncle Hi calls them, told 
us that the bucks were abroad and in their prime. 
Because of the wind we went north to Hard¬ 
wood Island and separated after agreeing to 
meet again in the afternoon at the southwest 
corner of the' island and close to the river. Not 
a deer did we see, and when we reached our 
meeting place we exchanged condolences and 
then started over the rocks to the river trail. 
As we approached a brook we discovered three 
great black ducks in a setback. As they turned 
to rise against the wind I fired my rifle at one 
of them, but missed. Up the river they flew, 
and silently and wearily we followed them to¬ 
ward camp. 
We had covered about a mile and a half of 
the distance when my ear detected a loud quack¬ 
ing out in the river. We stopped and listened 
and the quacking became more vehement for a 
moment and then all was still. Although there 
was an almost impassable thicket between us 
and the marsh meadow through which the river 
flowed, I told Charlie I would try to make my 
way through it with a. hope of getting another 
shot at the ducks. On hands and knees I crawled 
through that jungle, the twigs whipping my face 
until the blood came. As I approached the river 
I sought the ducks, but could not locate them 
in the semi-darkness. I turned to make my way 
back to the trail and as I searched for an open¬ 
ing through the thicket I detected something 
moving up the river some ten rods away and 
close to an alder bush. Dropping on hands and 
knees I gained the cover of a large bush and 
discovered that a big buck was hooking the 
alder bush or sharpening his horns. I fired at 
him and he fell. Elated, I leaped a little brook 
that crossed the marsh just in front of me. As 
I landed on the other side I saw a deer running 
across the meadow and directly toward the trail 
on which I knew Charlie was waiting. Think¬ 
ing that this was the same buck I had just 
knocked down, I took quick aim and fired, but 
he continued to run toward the thicket. Fear¬ 
ful of hitting Charlie if I fired again, I called 
to him and told him a deer was running toward 
him. I distinctly heard the click as he pulled 
the hammer back and I knelt down to be out of 
range. Breathlessly I waited for him to shoot, 
but he did not. In a few moments he called to 
me, “Your deer is up here by the trail and he 
is dead.” 
Pleased beyond measure I turned to look at the 
bush from whence the buck started, and there, 
