Page:Bird-lore Vol 04.djvu/132

 Concerning the Bad Repute of Whiskey John in

half a dozen such thistle-down birds as he to weigh a pound, and he says: "Look at me, do you imagine that a fellow as old and grai‘elieaded and respectable as I am would steal."7 You do look at him—a little. stout, white-headed old gentleman with a clear hazel eye, like a super, annuated clergyman who had gone into business too late in life to learn the ways of a wicked world, and you apologize profoundly—that is, if you are a novice in the woods; if you have already paid for your intror duction to NIr. \Vhiskey John, you remark, " Pecksnif‘f, get our! ’7 and resort to the argument of the paddle.

He Hits away forgiving you; Whiskey Jack is never above such mean revenges. When he comes back, as he is pretty sure to do, it is with the nonchalent impudence of a private detective, “If you don‘t mind,” says he, “I think I'll just take a look at this outfit; I’m a sort of game? warden and have a right to overhaul your baggage." The next minute you hear the guides paddle hang the middle bar of the canoe. "That there blame Meat-bird avstealin' our saddle of deer.'Y he explains briefly.

This time Whiskey John is irritated and he ﬂies off talking jay-talk, a most profane language, threatening to follow you to your camping ground and bring with him'every last relative that he has.

He does it, too. When you put your stuff ashore and begin to pitch your tent you know that you have a part of a saddle of deer, a big trout cleaned and split, a Partridge in the leg of one wading boot and a Wood-duck in the other. thrust there hunter‘fashion to safe-guard them from accidental loss, You turn your back for a few moments, hear nothing unusual, suspect no mischief; but when you turn again you ﬁnd the trout is a drabbled rag, rolled in dirt, the roast of venison which was to be the best part of your feast, is riddled above the kidneys (which are the favorite morsel of most Ineateeating birds), and both the Duck and the Partridge have been dragged from their concealment and chiseled down the breast till there is nothing left, This is lesson number one. It teaches that the Meat—bird will destroy an incredible amount of meat in a very brief time.

You are now prepared to proceed to lesson number two, which is that if his appetite is limitless yet nothing comes amiss to it. The tent is up: the guide is off to get water from the spring; the ﬁre crackles and the potatoes, boiling in their kettle, are knocking at the cover of it; the bread is baking in the open baker and the nice little collops of venison are lying in a tin plate before the fire all ready for the pan; you lie back on your blanket and dream dreams. Nothing happens till the guide returns, and then you hear a muttered growl about leaving a “sport ” to keep a camp. There is the guide, looking at an empty plate, and there on a bush sits a Meatebird with a very bloody breast. The connection is unmistakable,