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IN. THE OPEN 
MARBLES 
Outing Equipment 
For absolute 
dependence in 
any emergency 
you can rely 
upon anything 
bearing the 
name Marble’s. 
It’s a safe guide 
when selecting 
Axes, Knives, Gun 
Sights and Cleaning 
Implements, etc. 
( Safety Pocket Axe 
Indispensable toevery oute 
f doorman. Small enough 
to carry in pocket or 
belt, yet large enough 








































tofellatree. Tool steel 
blade, carefully tem- 
F pered and sharpened; 
f drop-forged metal han- 
dle, hard rubber side 
plates. Nickel-plated 
guard is spring-hinged 
and lead-lined. No. 2, 
11-in. handle, 234 x 4. 
in blade, $3.25. No. 3, 
11%4-in handle, 23 5x43 
in. blade, $3.50. 
Marble’s Ideal Knife 
Forged razor steel, hand 
tempered and tested. « 
Blade is adapted to 
sticking and skinning. 
Oval ground at back of 
point for chopping bones, 
etc. Keen, heavy and beautifully 
made. No. 41, leather handle, 
*No. 42, staghorn handle. 
No. 41 No. 42 
| §-in. blade, with sheath, $2.75 $3.50 
6-in, blade, with sheath, 3.00 3.75 
7-in. blade, with sheath, Seay 4.00 
8-in, blade, with sheath, 3.50 4.25 
Waterproof Matchbox 
# Don't take a chance on carrying wet 
matches. The waterproof matchbox 
keeps matches perfectly dry under 
all conditions—evyen under water. 
Opened and closed in- 
scantly in the dark, 
@ Heavilynickeled,seam- 
#2 less-drawn brass, di- 
ameter about 34 inch 
inside: 60 cents. 
Handy 
Compass 
You can’t afford to take a trip with- 
out a Marble’s Compass. Waterproof 
screw Case. Absolutely accurate, 
Can't demagnetize. Safety Coat Com- 
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Pass fastens to coat or belt, station- 
ary dial, $1.25; revolving dial, $1.50. 
Pocket Compass, stationary dial, 
$1.00; revolving dial, $1.25. 
If you can’t get Marble’s Outing 
Equipment from your dealer’s, 
we will fill your order direct. 
Send for our 1925 catalog. 
Marble Arms & Mfg. Co. 
526 Delta Ave., Gladstone, Mich. 
681 
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300 

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In writing to Advertisers mention Forest and Stream. 
the same situation in my circle of ac- 
quaintance that you speak of on one of 
the pages where, of those who made 
one of the trips with you, out of nine 
but three remain. It certainly is sad- 
dening to look back over the past and 
realize how many fine fellows have fired 
their last shot and cast their last fly. 
It seems to make one realize that it 
appears to be a law of nature that she 
regards old age as a crime and death 
as its penalty.” 
He” truly he speaks of the passing 
away of old friends. I think I 
have missed my old shooting compan- 
ions more during the past year than I 
have ever realized before. It didn’t 
use to be difficult to find someone to 
start on a moment’s notice for a trout 
stream in midsummer, a duck shooting 
trip in the fall or a few days for par- 
tridge or woodcock I never cared to 
hunt or fish alone. I like companion- 
ship, of course of the right kind, but I 
had so many friends of rod and gun 
that always when the whim struck me 
it was easy to find a companion, and I 
had among those friends those who 
were whim-struck themselves. They 
would come and hunt me up. Charlie 
Davis was one of that kind. His busi- 
ness associate, the late A. W. Wright, 
of Alma, Michigan, used to say jokingly 
of Charlie “that if he was not off on 
some fishing or hunting trip, he was 
busy planning one.”’ Well, many is the 
time that I have been summoned to the 
telephone or received a personal visit 
with a suggestion from Charlie that 
“we had better go after woodcock.” 
This would be along in October. That 
“Herman said he had been up on the 
Kawkawlin and found the birds were 
there.” That was enough, or it may 
have been an invitation to a partridge 
shooting trip for the day only or some- 
times for several days, equally alluring 
in its prospects. There is no need of 
ruminating. Those days are past and 
gone, as are most of my old companions, 
and those who are left somehow or 
other have lost the knack or the kink. 
They don’t have the ambition to go. 
HERE are two or three who are a 
few years younger than I and yet 
they always have excuses of some kind. 
Golf seems to have taken the place of 
the old time hunting and fishing trips, 
but I started to give you quotations 
from letters of friends or strangers 
and here is one that comes refreshingly 
laden with the breath of the great 
prairie and the days that have gone: 
“As for hunting small game, I can 
look back on some very pleasant experi- 
ences, and some that were not so pleas- 
ant. Kansas was a paradise for small 
game and we moved there in the late 
eighties and settled in McPherson coun- 
ty, in about the center of the state. In 
1879, as I recall the account in the 
county atlas, a buffalo passed through 
the townsite and was killed. The old 
atlas also related that in 1868 a herd of 
buffalo 30 miles long spent three days 
passing through the northwestern cor- 
ner of McPherson county and drank the 
Smoky River dry—which wasn’t so 
much of a feat perhaps, for the same 
authority stated that the season was a 
very dry one. I’ve heard men say that 
the very best buffaloes known to exist in 
their wild state in Kansas were routed 
out of the. southwestern corner of the 
quadrangle I think in 1883, and several 
calves were captured. The best I ever 
could do was to pick up a couple of 
buffalo skulls on the prairie with the 
horns pretty well gone. 
UT to get back to the small game, 
I don’t know where there could 
have been better hunting and a greater 
variety of feathered game than in Mar- 
ion and McPherson counties, and far- 
ther west, in the Cheyenne Bottoms, 
around Ellinwood and Great Bend. 
Marion, in the edge of the rough graz- 
ing country, was the naturai habitat of 
prairie chickens seemingly without 
number, when I was still too small to 
hunt. McPherson had both chickens 
and quail, and west and south of town, 
where lowlands overflowed about every 
other year and formed two or three 
thousand acres of swampland, goose 
and duck shooting was all that any one 
could desire, while there was no end to 
the number of jacksnipe, plover and 
curlew (dough or doe birds, we called 
them) that could be found. Market 
hunters slaughtered and slaughtered, 
and as I became old enough to carry a 
shotgun I slaughtered too, when I did 
not miss. Prairie chickens became 
harder to find, then quail, and finally 
ducks and geese, as pump guns and 
later motor cars increased. Old Joni 
Schragg bought what we called the Big 
Basin (the swampland) and spent thou- 
sands of dollars draining it. He raised 
some big wheat crops on the land there- 
after, but secretly I always enjoyed the 
seasons of heavy rainfall when Joni’s 
two sections overflowed and destroyed 
the wheat. 
T wasn’t entirely the hunters and 
the motor car transportation that 
thinned out the quail. I lived in Wich- 
ita five years, and the surrounding 
farmland was largely devoted to al- 
falfa. The quail seemed possessed to 
built their nests in the alfalfa fields, 
which were cut three or four times dur- 
ing the summer, and of course a major- 
ity of the nests were destroyed. 
“In the Cheyenne Bottoms ducks and 
geese were the principal attraction, but 
there was another one—jackrabbits, 
It will identify you. 
