The Greeley tribune., 1905-11-02

. least drop Of sportsmau's S blood in hi.
veins these days goes out after wilc
ducks. 1t doesn't matter how
cold or raw the day, or how cloudy
he will find some feature of til,
weather that in his mind will worl
| to his advantage. +. e., help him tC
slaughter more water fowl. 1t doe:
does not matter that he may sit in d
blind from morning until night, anc
never get q shot, with nothing to eat
but a dry sandwich that has been
squeezed to pulp, because he forgot
that it was in his hip pocket when
he assumed the sguatting position OF
the American cowboy. Neither does
it matter that he may gather up a
cold that will last him a month, be-
cause the wind blowing over the cold
waves of the big reservoir penetrated
through his corduroy coat, his flannel
shirt and his underwear and finally
reached his ribs. He will 20 out
next day, just the same, if he can
get away.
And why all this hardship, for
the sake of possibly bringing to
earth two or three beautifully
feathered creatures that give but
little gastronomic pleasure, and that
never gave him the least ofTense; in
fact, that he never saw until a few
seconds before he points the small
end of his bIunderbuss at them and
lets loose the h-II inside?
What is this sporting blood any
way: The sportsman can seldom
tell that himself. All he knows
about it is that he has gone out so
often in response to an inner calling,
and he knows also that he will hear
the call again and heed it, as often
as duck season comes around and he
is still living,
Let me tell him where he got it
and why he will continue to look
forward to duck season. 1t began
when he was but a little shaver, and
he keeps it up always because he is
never satisfied with the pleasure he
derives, but is always hoping that he
will reach that degree Of satisfaction
at the next shoot that exists either
in his dreamland, his past or his
future, but that he can never fully
fathom or understand.
All this is because his own de-
mands have destroyed for him the
greatest pleasure there was in the
forest and wilderness. Everything
about him is too modern. There is
the smokeless powder, the hammer
less gun, the automatic shell ejecUor,
the long waders, reaching nearly to
his neck, the shooting cap, just so,
the regulation coat, the correct
trousers, and even the leather Gov
cred flask.
Those were not the tools he used
when he first learned to hunt ducks,
rabbits and partridges in the woods
and marshaled back home.
Come to think of it, be has never
had quite such sport either, as the
first two or three years that he car
ried a gun.
Does he remember how glorious
things looked when John, the neigh
boris hired boy, permitted him to go
along behind when he went cunning
for anything that might pop up?
And how proud he was when they
had nearly reached home and John
allowed him to carry the old musket.
Then there was the Hubbs family
on the other side of him. The fam
lily with the many big boys and
some little ones too, some of them
just his or your own age. Every one
Of them had a gun, and always
plenty of ammunition. They we're
not great on clothes, but what did
clothes matter to a boy, if he could
just have a gun? How gladly you
would have traded of your best Sun
day suit, for the poorest gun in the
Hubbs family collection.
But occasionally you were invited
to go along with the younger genera
tion, and when upon rare occasions
they succeeded in killing a porcupine
or rabbit, how generously they al
lowed you to carry it
Then that day when Carlo allowed
you to fire his big musket. He
didn't tell you before hand that it
had been loaded for six weeks. How
you fretted for about two weeks for
fear your father should learn that
you had not received that big lump
on the side Of your face by falling of
the rail fence when you were sent
after the COWS. But he never dis
covered, and your success made you
bOlder.