A.T. White. August 9, 1908. Omaha Sunday World-Herald 43(45): 2-M. Reprinted: An Old Nebraskan. February 1, 1914. Omaha Sunday World-Herald 49(18): 2-S. Forest Field and Stream column.

One Day Chicken Shoot Told a Pleasant Way.

Recalling the Blessed Memories of a Trio of Omaha's Earliest Sportsmen.

Memory of the happiest kind is revived by the following story by A.T. White of Rawhide, Wyo., in the Outer's Book for the current month, of a chicken hunt he had, together with Judge B.E.B. Kennedy and the late Dr. Peabody and W.H.S. Hughes, up on the broad prairie lands near Tekamah, twenty-seven years ago.

"That old corduroy hunting suit that Sandy Griswold referred to in his communication in the Outer's Book of February 1908, takes me back twenty-seven years in delightful memories to a trip in old Burt county, Nebraska. On August 14, 1881. C.E. Bardwell, and I got a line, from Dr. Peabody of Omaha, saying that he and Judge Kennedy would be up that afternoon to go out for a day or so among the prairie chickens. On the 15th, opening day, we met them at the train and put their hunting traps in a dray wagon to be taken to my house on the hill in the western portion of Tekamah, where the two were to stay for the evening in order to get an early start next morning. Doctor, with his fine little liver-colored pointer, Fannie, and the Judge, with his famous Irish setter, Queen, started to walk up to my house. Just outside of the yard in the long grass there was a water ditch, which the Judge, "being quite busily talking," stepped into spraining his ankle and making him quite lame for a time. Judge told Dr. Peabody next day he believed White had some "design."

"We got an early start next morning and two or three miles out from Tekamah, the old liver-colored pointer, Sport, which Bardwell had tied to the rear axle, stopped the team short. On investigation we found he was standing a fine covey of birds about fifteen feet off the roadside. The Judge forgot his lame ankle and all animosity toward White in his childlike anxiety to get a shot at the first chicken to get up. When the smoke cleared-we all shot black powder in the good, old days-we picked up eleven fine, young, juicy prairie chickens. Going back to the wagon we watered the dogs out of a jug. The Doctor's prescription for the rest of us-carried in another jug-was Rhine wine, which we enjoyed as well as the dogs did the water.

We had just got seated nicely and started up when the Doctor's Fannie stopped short in a half bent position as steady as a slab of Wyoming granite. We all tried to beat the Judge to them but he was one hand when the first chicken got up. This time we carried nine fine birds to the wagon, and thus it was. First Sport, then Fannie, and then [n.l.] or sometimes all three, on a [n.l.], hardly giving us time to see [n.l.] the condition of the Doctor's remedy.

"We nooned at a fine cottonwood grove on Mr. Slaughter's farm, some eighteen miles northwest of Tekamah. While getting ready for dinner, Queen, Judge's fine Irish setter, got bit on the nose by a rattlesnake, but as luck would have it there was a spring-house near and plenty of good, sweet milk. By the prompt and lavish use of the milk we succeeded in getting enough down the dog's throat to vomit her and she was saved.

"About 3 o'clock we started out again and had fine shooting until sundown or later. That afternoon we happened across Billy Hughes, as fine a sportsman as ever blew smoke from a gun, and his party from Omaha. Dr. Peabody had on his corduroy hunting suit with the telescope drinking cup and Kennedy had on his high-top lace shoes, Bardwell his old Methodist hunting hat. White had that dog whistle he got of Hank hathaway in Omaha. The writer would like to see all the old faces once more and show them some fine antelope herds up here in Wyoming."