
A day’s bag on the prairie. 
Occasionally a questing coyote gets into trouble, but 
not often, 
NE of the interesting phases of 
a hunting trip is the anticipa- 
tion and preparation. I some- 
times think that the mind of a real 
hunter is nearly always roaming the 
fields when not actively engaged with 
business, and he no sooner finishes one 
hunt than he begins to plan again 
where and when he will be able to leave 
his vocation, forget his worries, and 
roam the hills, woods and plains. 
My good friends, Jack Hamel, Chris 
Seger and myself have enjoyed many 
interesting and delightful hunts _ to- 
gether, and each September during the 
past two years we have traveled over 
the hills of Kansas in search of the 
now wild and elusive bird, the prairie 
chicken. We have never been able, in 
the course of one or two days’ hunt, 
to get over a dozen chickens, for the 
part of Kansas where we hunted is 
usually covered with hunters during 
the short season. The birds are wild, 
and one walks miles and miles in 
search of the game. Since our hunt in 
1923, we had planned a trip to West- 
ern Nebraska, where we had been told 
that the chickens were plentiful. In 
fact, we were of the opinion that chick- 
ens almost block auto traffic in the 
Bryan State. 
In order to get a definite locality to 
hunt in, the writer addressed letters 
to attorneys, Justices of the Peace, 
Chambers of Commerce and others in 
many different towns, and finally de- 
cided to hie ourselves to Wood Lake 
in the northwestern part of Nebraska, 
and near the South Dakota and Wy- 
oming State lines. Unfortunately, 
Chris Seger was unable to accompany 
us, due to a serious automobile acci- 
dent, in which his wife was injured. 
His continual good nature, good jokes 
and trigger finger were greatly missed 
and lamented. 
Jack and myself finally arrived at 
724 A 
Wood Lake, together with all hunting 
paraphernalia, on October 16th, the 
hunting equipment having first been 
sent by error to Wood River, Nebraska. 
We were met at the train at Wood 
Lake by Neal Provost, who acted as 
chauffeur and guide. He is also pro- 
prietor of the Wood Lake Hotel, and 
it is a good one. Neal has been living 
in that locality for thirty years or 
more, and knows every ranchman by 
his first name, and drives over the 
ranges and sand hills in search of 
chickens as if by instinct. We first 
went North of Wood Lake about ten 
miles, following a trail over many sand 
hills, most of which were scantily cov- 
ered with grass, and here and there a 
plum thicket. We soon saw a chicken 
standing in all of its glory on the top 
of a little ridge close by. We quickly 
loaded our guns, and having heard how 
tame the Nebraska chickens were, we 
confidently expected it to await us, but 
we had no sooner left the car than it 
cackled gaily and took a little jaunt 
into the air for several miles. We 
were advised by our guide to hunt the 
plum thickets, as the day was warm, 
and the birds lie there in the heat of 
the day. It was not long until we 
found them in small bunches, some- 
times as many as fifteen together—but 
wild—my, but I don’t believe there is 
anything more shy than a Nebraska 
prairie chicken near the close of the 
season, 
W/EEe they get up they seldom fly 
less than a mile and a half, and 
frequently out of sight, which, by the 
way is a long, long way in Western 
Nebraska. Jack Hamel, who is one of 
the best shots in the Southwest, would 
usually bring one down shortly after 
the clucking began. A _ grouse or 
chicken nearly always begins clucking 
as soon as it begins to fly, and when 
Chicken 
Hunting 
in Nebraska 
The ‘‘Flivver’’ Has 
Replaced the Horse, 
but the Game Holds 
the Same Old Thrills 
By CHAS. L. YANCEY 
a dozen get up at once, it sounds as 
if one is in a barnyard filled with chick- 
ens with a hawk circling in the neigh- 
borhood. 
HEN the sun began to sink in the 
West and we tried to get back to 
our car, carrying our game and guns 
over those sand hills, sinking ankle deep 
in sand with each step and wonder- 
ing just how many additional steps we 
could take before sinking to the ground 
from exhaustion, it was then that our 
mettle was thoroughly tested. Just as 
we had waded a small river and almost 
reached the car, a lone chicken gave a 
cluck in my rear and as I whirled to 
shoot I fell backward, and lying almost 
flat on my back I shot Mr. Chicken just 
before he disappeared across the river, 
and he fell near the top of one of the 
tallest sand hills with the softest sand 
I have even seen. By the time the 
river was waded and rewaded and the 
car reached it was more than time for 
some “water of life.” Thus ended our 
first day’s hunt, and due to the expert 
shooting of Jack we had the limit. 
On arriving at our hostelry, the pro- 
prietor of which was our guide, we sat 
down to a table laden with food when 
we started eating but sparsely covered 
at the end of the meal. To bed at 
eight P. M. and we enjoyed the best 
sleep we had ever experienced. a 
The next morning we made an early 
start for “L” lake about twenty-five 
miles from Wood Lake. Thousands of 
ducks and geese were flying and it was 
easy to “pick off” a red head, a mal- 
lard, then a spoon bill as we passed 
small lakes close to the trail. We en- 
joyed a wonderful noonday meal at 
“Adcock’s Ranch.” While many Ne- 
braska ranchers do not get to a town 
once in three months, and we met one 
a 
who does not go but once a year, a 
the same,time they are very hospitable 

