The Ronan pioneer., 1917-06-01

The grey goose had summered
pleasantly on the quiet shores of the
Lesser Slave lake. 1t was a goose
paradise. No hunters had disturbed
the happy routine of the marshes of
been an abundance. Now the gos-
lings had grown to maturity and gone
their devious ways. In the late fall
came the greying OF the landscape,
the coloring Of the leaves, the cool
ing of the lake waters. These har-
bingers of Arctic winter told the grey
goose that the time had arrived for
the annual pilgrimage to the south
land
So the grey goose prepared herself
for the long flight. She filled her
craw with store of grain berries of
rich food, berries that she found no.
where else on her travels up and
down the backbone of the North
American continent. She swallowed
a store of food sufficient to nourish
and hearten her for several days, the
duration of the trip. Then, with the
flock of her belonging, to the hoarse
honks of the flock leader, she started
to wing her way to the place of no
winter.
South, as straight as the plummet
falls, flew the grey goose and her
fellows. Tirelessly, night and day,
she beat her powerful wings against
the resistent air. Silently the long
miles slipped away behind her. And
grew the fields and softer and more
velvety the atmosphere.
About the time of this goosetrek,
up in the Plentywood country, Fill
lipe, the Breed, decided that he
would go hunting. He took down his
Hudson's Bay fowling piece, cleaned
and loaded it, and went out into the
wild rice fields. 1t was not so much
a matter of sport with him, as sus-
tenance. He was pot hunting for his
dinner. If he bagger game he ate
If he did not find it hunger would
soon be gnawing at his midriff. Luck
and skill were to decide whether he
would take in or let out his belt a
couple of notches. He agreed with
himself, and his stomach, which was
beginning to growl out the song Of
hunger, that the latter was by far
the most pleasant process.
Over the horizon from the north
came the unmistakable honk of wild
geese. sweet music to the hungry
hunter. Felipe concealed himself in
the tall rushes and waited patiently.
Soon, the flock, travelling at express
speed, put in appearance on the horl-
zon. Straight towards Fillipe they
flew, unconscious of danger.
At the right distance Fillipe aimed
his fowling piece carefully and fired.
Hunger gave aid to the sureness of
his eye and the steadiness of his arm.
He had picked out what had seemed
to him the most lucious looking
goose within range. The shot went
true. The victim was the grey
goose who is the heroine Of this
goosetale. She received the shot in
a vital place and fell headlong at the
feet of Fillipe, the hunter, and but
for what followed would have passed
out of the scheme of things forever
when she went into the pot of the
hunter. But dead, and about to be
made into food, she was the greatest
goose in all history; greater even
than the tabled one which laid the
golden eggs, because she was about
to give to mankind a grain that
would feed a multitude.
F'illipe, delighted, gave all credit
of the achievement to his fowling
piece He patted the ancient stock
lovingly, Rugged the heavy barrel to
his cheek, muttering gutteral sounds
ne affection To him the gun was