ADDON HALL 
ATLANTIC CITY 
On the Beach and the Boardwalk 
Hospitable, homelike. In thevery center of things 
For more than fifty years, these 
two delightful hotels have been 
the natural choice of cultivated, in- 
teresting people—bent on happy, 
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American Plan Only. Always Open. 
Mlustrated folder and rates on request. 
LEEDS and LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 


RED ROCK RANCH 
JACKSON, TETON CO., WYOMING 
Summer pack trips in the mountains and Yellowstone 
National Park, July, August and September. Guaranteed 
trout fishing. Summer boarders, cabins and _ tents. 
Hunting parties guided and outfitted September 15th to 
November 15th. Bear, deer, elk and mountain sheep. 
Guaranteed game and service run by western men in a 
western manner. 
W. P. REDMOND JAS. S. SIMPSON 
Address Jas. S. Simpson, Jackson, Wyoming 
References furnished. Rates on application. 
Gun Club Emblems, 
Medals, Awards, Etc. 
No obliga- 
Samples loaned secretaries. 
Write us fully in your 
tion incurred. 
first letter and we'll gladly submit fin- 
ished sketch. 
THE METAL ARTS CO. 
7800 South Ave. Rochester, N. Y. 
In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 



Pheasant Time in Idaho 
(Continued from page 593) 
very nose. They tempt one terribly. 
When my hunting partner finished 
feeding his stomach he strolled over to 
the brook, lay stretched out on the bank 
and sucked in a portion of the water. 
Then he slowly rose, took off his cap, 
brushed the clinging stickers from it 
and looked at me. 
“Take it from me,” he observed while 
examining his right shoulder, “this 
hunting business surely puts the black 
and blue spots on a fellow’s anatomy. 
My shoulder’s so sore I can’t even touch 
it and I’ve only shot a few times.” 
I smiled. 
“Not going to give up yet, are you?” 
I asked. “Sore spots bother a man on 
his first hunting trip, almost without ex- 
ception. I wouldn’t mention this to 
your friends to-night. Sore spots are a 
sure sign of inexperience.” 
Jim expected sympathy and was dis- 
appointed. I could tell from his look 
that he placed no credence in my state- 
ments. There was no doubt that his 
shoulder did bother him, but had I doled 
ut too much sympathy he probabl- 
would have decided hunting was too 
strenuous for him and golf would doubt- 
less have acted as a substitute. It pays 
to be hard shelled at times. 
My reasoning proved logical. Jim 
did not relish the unvarnished truth 
about his numerous pains and aches. 
Others might show some effects of their 
shotgun début but not he! It was com- 
mendable pride on his part. 
Before long Jim was able to go on, 
the pain having subsided. He told me 
at least forty times if once that the 
soreness was still there but was com- 
forted by the assurance that others had 
ridden in the same boat as he and with 
no more physical or mental suffering. 
By that time it was getting rather 
late. Some white clouds in the western 
sky were dimming the sun’s rays and a 
customary chill was settling over the 
little valley. The branch line train 
whistled by, frightening an unsuspect- 
ing flock of fat mallards which were 
munching the grass in a nearby slough. 
I killed two of them before they were 
aware of my presence. Jim gravely 
asserted he wasn’t very accurate in 
shooting from his left shoulder so saved 
his ammunition. 
“Time we were going back to the 
car,” I said at length. “Perhaps we 
can pick up a bird or two on the way.” 
“Fair enough,” Jim agreed. “You 
shoot ’em and I’ll pick ’em up.” 
Miserable as he was with his lame 
shoulder he could readily see the funny 
side of any situation. But I could tell 
that the affliction troubled him and that 
he was suppressing his emotions. 
“A week from now,” said I, “you 
will laugh at to-day’s experience. In- 
It will identify you. 
itiations never are overly pleasant, but 
you’ve undergone yours. The fun will 
come next.” 
The path to the car lay through vari- 
ous types of country—stubbles, rocky 
highlands, fields of golden corn, along 
miniature waterways lined with weeds, 
and the walking was sometimes easy, 
sometimes rough. 
Ever on the watch, I saw two pheas- 
ants rise from a field of corn ahead of 
us and soar into a neighboring patch 
of alfalfa. But they were far out of 
range and futile targets. We let them 
go 
On the east side of a hedge a hen 
pheasant took to wing and I dropped 
her dead within fifty feet of the spot 
from which flight began. Several 
others, companions of the one we had 
just bagged, arose from different parts 
of the field. They had fled as soon as 
the enemy was sighted and resorted to 
air travel when well advanced. 
Jim espied a “stubble duck” sitting 
in a pasture. The bird glimpsed him 
at the same time and it was a question 
of speed, nerve and accuracy. But Jim 
braved the torture of another shot and 
the pheasant bit the dust, falling limply 
in a clump of thick alfalfa. 
“Great work!” I cried, happy over 
Jim’s success. ‘“You’re learning fast. 
’Twont be long before you’re listed 
among the best of them.” 
Dashing forward with a vigor un- 
usual for him, Jim grabbed up his 
quarry and stretched it out at arm’s 
length in admiration. 
“They’re a pretty bird,” he declared 
speculatively. “Every color known is 
found there. Pretty as a peacock—and 
that long tail—that helps out a lot. 
The Mrs. wants a hat soon. I know 
what it’ll be like.” 
The machine stood directly in front 
of us at the side of the road. Autos 
streamed down the paved highway, 
thundering at varying speeds from 
twenty-five to fifty miles an hour. The 
conveyances were filled with so-called 
“tired business men” who found time 
for recreation when office cares no 
longer demanded their attention. 
Jim was trudging behind. Weariness 
was written in every line of his plump 
face. He told me often on the last lap 
of the homeward trip that if there was 
any part of his feet which did not har- 
bor a blister he did not know where it 
was. And the labored puffing told me 
that tobacco plays havoc with wind and 
endurance. But then, too, fat people, 
much as we like them, are not especially 
noted for their athletic feats. 
As we threw the game in the car 
Jim sat down on the running board, 
took off his cap and wiped the sweat 
from his brow with a red handkerchief. 
“Hot work when you’re not used to 
it,’ he observed as he cautiously felt 
of his injured shoulder. 
Page 634 
