Oct. 5, 1907.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
537 


ittle bay toward the deeper water of the open 
tream. 
“Missed him clean!’ said Uncle Sam. 
“Too fur!’ was Corneil’s verdict, as he gazed 
ong and earnestly through his three-foot spy- 
‘lass in the direction of the fading smoke. 
“Putty slick dive!’’ summarized the laconic 
{. P. as he resumed a most energetic mastica- 
ion of his ‘chaw,’ suspended temporarily during 
he interesting progress of the stalk. 
“Did any of you gentlemen ever kill a loon?” 
yointedly queried Daddie. 
“Hain’t never had no chanst to,’ was the 
traightforward Corneil’s acknowledgment in full 
iatisfaction. 
“Crippled one, onst,”’ ventured Uncle Sam, 
‘an’ I'd a got him, too, if old Danger hadn't a 
vent back on me an’ missed fire, for the first 
ime.” 
“If that lad ever gets close enough to kill that 
loon, I’ll say he’s a real daisy; but, anyway, 
lrive the kid a show. I bet even money,” said 
\he knowing one, “he don’t let up till he gets 
lim.” 
3ut where did the loon go was the anxious 
juestion on every lip, soon to be answered in 
lerson. “Wha——ar loon!” from the open 
iwater outside and above the point, a good half 
Inile from the boy, who, without a moment’s 
jesitation, regained his boat and began to row 
|'apidly up stream toward the exultant loon. 
jzetting gradually closer it was noticeable that he 
owed more slowly, and the watching crowd won- 
llered as he crept closer and closer why he 
Hlidn’t shoot; until at last even the hunted bird’s 
latience was worn out, and as before only a 
few circling wavelets showed where he went 
lander. 
| A bantering shout went up from the auditors 
jon the bank, but Johnnie gave no sign, and 
lalmly resumed his rowing. Then it was seen 
‘hat the second dive was much shorter than the 
irst, and some of the older and more experi- 
lenced watchers began to see a light. The same 
yerformance was repeated four or five times in 
|he course of the next hour or so, and the dives 
izrew shorter and shorter, but still no shot came 
from the silent pursuer. The loon was making 
very short under-water trips now, sometimes 
joming to the surface not more than fifty yards 
|'rom the boat, but still the boy held his patience 
lind his fire, till the deeply interested crowd 
looking on grew impatient, indeed. 
“Gittin’ putty close. Believe he mought git 
lim, after all,” said H. P. with increasing ner- 
|rousness. 
| “That boy knows what he’s about,” said Cor- 
jieil sententiously; “you just watch him in about 
vminute from now.” 
| The last short pull brought the boat within fair 
‘ange of the bird before it dived and, as it went 
tinder, the boy, who had been closely watching 
t over his shoulder, suddenly threw his whole 
routhful skill and strength into a dozen or more 
juick, powerful strokes of the oars, driving the 
skiff along directly in line with the bird’s last 
iubmarine flight, and then instantly jerking the 
vars inboard, he leaped to his feet and, gun in 
iand, stood at a ready, just as the deluded 
‘reature broke the surface thirty yards away. 
Che gun whipped to the shoulder and an instan- 
aneous aim, there was a blast of white smoke, 
| roar, and the long, slender neck and head 
vilted down among the waves and little eddies 
ormed by the churning shot. The long chase 
vas over. 
Next minute the overwrought youngster let 
uit a triumphant yell that rivaled at least in 
itrength the call of his fallen prey. Then he 
rently lifted the great blue-black diver into the 
voat and rowed slowly ashore, while the crowd 
voth old and young rushed pell mell down the 
rank to meet him. 
“That boy of yours is a wonder, Captain,” said 
he delighted Corneil. ‘I reckon I know who 
jaught him, though.” 
“My stars! He’s bigger ’an a goose, ain’t he,” 
aid the wondering Uncle Sam. 
“Well done, Jack,’ said Daddie. 
jhe only way to get him.” 
“By gum! I knowed he’d git him all the time,” 
jaid H. P. enthusiastically, and then grudgingly, 
‘but he had orter done it quicker.” 
| 
“You took 


“He would—if he’d a had old Danger along,” 
said Uncle Sam confidently. 
“Wal, sir,” said old Corneil with formal final- 
ity, “I lived here nigh on to sixty year, an’ that’s 
the fust loon I ever seed right in my hand.” 
“Same here,” said Uncle Sam. 
“Me too,” chorused H. P. 
“What you goin’ to do with him 
said Corneil. 
“Well,” began the little fellow, as he care- 
fully handled the long dark body of the dead 
bird, and gently stroked its rich and beautiful 
plumage, fondly smoothing out its glorious pur- 
ple, black, slate and green feathers with their 
brilliant interspersion of white spots, the strik- 
ing appearance of the collar about its neck, its 
length of body and neck, close to three feet, and 
its wonderful wing spread reaching nearly forty- 
eight inches, all in all a picture for a painter, 
one to last a lifetime, “I’m going to have him 
stuffed !”’ JoHN S. RoEBuck, Jr. 
Johnnie?” 

A Turkey Hunt. 
Pontotoc, Miss., Sept. 20.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: John and I left home early one Novem- 
ber morning, our destination a river bottom 
twenty-five miles away, our intention being to 
hunt turkey, with squirrels as a side line. After 
making camp we started hunting with a setter 
trained to flush the turkeys and make them fly 
up into the timber. We tried to roost them, but 
failed. However, we got plenty of squirrels. 
The next morning about 10 o’clock we were 
rewarded by hearing a great flapping on our 
left. The dog had flushed a bunch; one 
flew in sight, but not in range. We 
heard several as they lighted in the timber, 
some two or three hundred yards away. Mark- 
ing the place as near as possible, we started 
after them. One flew before we were close 
enough to shoot. Another went off behind the 
heavy top of a tree. A third flew from the top 
of a tall hickory about fifty yards away and 
crossed an open place about twenty feet wide. 
John and I fired together and got him. 
After an hour’s walking without finding any 
more we decided to go back close to where we 
first found them. We were perfectly quiet for 
half an hour, then commenced calling, just a few 
yelps and clucks, then wait and listen. I was 
sitting with my back against a large oak in an 
open place surrounded by cane. After a while 
a young hen answered me. I called and she 
approached, but she came up at one side and 
into the opening about ninety yards from me. 
I could not call any more for fear she would 
see me. She turned and started to pass by me. 
I waited till she was as close as she would be. 
It was a long shot, but No. 3 chilled shot did 
the work. Then John came up. We went to 
camp, ate dinner and got back as quickly as 
possible. We sat around and called all even- 
ing, but not a turkey answered. 
Next morning we broke camp and came home 
that evening well satisfied, having killed two 
turkey and some forty or fifty squirrels. 
E. N. BicHAM. 

An Epic of the Chase. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Once in a blue moon the daily press crystalizes 
some gem that it cribs from the fields of litera- 
ture, much as we find a trilobite perchance in 
the carboniferous deposits of the household base- 
ment. And when it is found it behooves the 
lover of his fellowmen to share it round with 
them. I have found one. 
It was credited to “Fry’s Magazine.” As to 
who Fry may be I am lamentably ignorant, but 
then one can’t know everything—at least, I can’t. 
Why he should need a magazine is more explain- 
able if he picks up many of such treasures. 
Here it is; an epic in twelve words, and short 
ones at that. But think of the wealth of imagi- 
nation of that gifted writer, who condensed so 
much of strenuous life in such short space! 
Algy met a bear. 
The bear is bulgy. 
The bulge is Algy. 
Jeet. 

Game Prospects. 
_ Mituurst, N. J., Sept. 28.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: While on my vacation at the brush hut at 
Oakledge, in northeastern Connecticut, between 
June 16 and Aug. 20, I took note of the game 
prospects in that section also, and I saw four 
broods of partridges near the hut. Each brood 
numbered from a dozen to fifteen or eighteen 
chicks; the four broods over fifty. |] 
of them nearly every day. The little chicks were 
pretty, with their yellow and black longitudinal 
stripes and looking like wee chickens. They 
are all past grand masters in the art of hiding. 
Of the young of all the gallinaceous birds that | 
have seen, the partridge chicks are the prettiest 
and the most interesting. When the chicks got 
to be about as large as quail they scattered and 
I saw them and the older ones only occasionally. 
I saw no quail and heard only one while there. 
The cold, snowy winters seem to have about 
exterminated them. Farmers and others spoke 
of their scarcity and laid it to the rigorous win- 
ters of late years and heavy snows during the 
spring. Rabbits were “thicker than hemp.” 
One big fellow made his home all the time while 
I was there under the piazza of the hut, and I 
could scarcely go out without seeing three or 
more. It is a splendid section there for them, 
since there are so many stone fences, heaps of 
stone, rocks and ledges for them to breed and 
hide under. 
Squirrels were abundant. They seemed to be 
everywhere, in all the woods, among the trees 
around the hut, and running and racing over 
the roof, often so I could scarcely get a wink 
of sleep after daylight; in fact, the little cusses 
would often come in through the door and win- 
dows when I was absent and help themselves 
to the stores, nuts, oatflakes, hominy and other 
things, so much so that before I left they had 
become quite a nuisance. But after all I could 
not help being amused at the pranks and doings 
of the furry little critters. 
As here in Jersey squirrel food, in that part 
of Connecticut, is nearly a failure. But a few, 
if any, butternuts, scarcely a chestnut burr to 
be seen, and but a very few hickory nuts. It 
must certainly be hard on the little fellows dur- 
ing the coming winter. Nee el by 
Saw some 


Boston Sportsmen. 
Boston, Sept. 28.—Editor Forest and Stream: 
M. L. Felkin and John Eaton have gone to Big 
Lake, Maine, on a hunting trip which is to last 
six or eight weeks. Three years ago Mr. Felkin 
established a camp there, fitting it up with all 
appliances for comfort. Big Lake, a large and 
shallow body of water, is a grand feeding place 
for ducks. Deer are always abundant. 
Mr. J. R. Parker leaves early next week for 
a month’s deer and partridge shooting in Maine. 
Half of this time will be spent at Ed. Gay’s 
camps or Clearwater Pond, and the remainder 
at Indian Pond, just below Moosehead. 
Messrs. Gorham Brooks and H. H. Whitman 
leave next week for a month’s trip in New 
Brunswick after moose. They will enter the 
woods from Boiestown and will hunt over some 
of the best moose country in the province. 
HACKLE 
Ohio’s New Warden. 
AKRON, Ohio, Sept. 27.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: General Speaks, of Columbus, Ohio, 
lately appointed chief game warden of Ohio, is 
doing excellent work, making many and im- 
portant reforms, principal of which is the ap- 
pointment of more efficient deputy wardens. It 
is the general’s intention to bring the work up 
to the dignity of the State. He is a successful 
military man, and when he gives an order (as 
in military) the same must be obeyed and no 
foolishness will be allowed. The lakes, streams 
and fields have suffered greatly from the poach- 
ers; in fact, they have nearly depleted our waters 
and fields. The general is making a tour of the 
State, getting in close touch with the work of 
his department and is determined to see that 
the fish and game laws are rigidly but fairly 
enforced. Already the effect is noticeable. 
Ae DES oe 

