Christmas City

ACROSS THE countryside the bells ring out, breaking the crisp stillness of a winter's eve. Then, with a flick of switch, thousands of brilliantly colored lights defy the brightness of the stars and the rolling prairie glows with the spirit of the season. Christmas has come to "Christmas City".

Each night through the season, Minden, Nebraska glows with that special warmth of "Peace on earth, good will to men". The carillon bells in the courthouse tower proclaim it. Lights everywhere reflect it. An impressive pageant enacts it. And from towns and cities all over the land, people come to share in the special beauty and joy that is Minden at Christmas time.

The late J. H. "Jack" Haws can justifiably be called the "Father of Christmas City". He was city light commissioner when electric lights were crude at best. In the summer of 1915, Minden hosted the state convention of the Grand Army of the Republic. No one remembers who it was, but someone suggested that colored lights be strung along the streets as a greeting for the old soldiers. But the veterans DECEMBER, 1963 3   never saw the lights, for it rained and the feeble, uncovered electric wires could not be turned on in the storm.

Although the colored lights were never used for the GAR convention, Mr. Haws stored them away. The town forgot about them, but Haws did not. As Christmas approached, he remembered the strings of bulbs. Secretly he got the lights from their storage place and went about the task of stringing them on the courthouse dome. He told no one of his plan.

Haws wanted to surprise the townspeople, and he did just that. He pulled the switch Christmas Eve and those feeble globes flickered on for the first time, marking the beginning of Minden as the Christmas City.

Each year thereafter, when the yuletide approached, Mr. Haws would once again decorate the dome with lights. As the years passed, the Christmas lighting program became a tradition and more and more lights were added to the annual display.

The people of Minden had never seen anything like those first Christmas lights, weak and uncertain as they must have been. They gave Christmas added meaning and the idea took the town by storm. Soon, however, the program had outgrown one man. It 4 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   became a community endeavor. Committees were appointed. Civic pride entered in and each year there became a need to outdo the year before.

In 1946, something entirely different was added. Oscar Warp and his brother, Harold, arranged for the installation of a set of Schulmerich Carillonic Tower Bells and a tower music system in the Kearney County Courthouse dome. Now the joyous celebration could be heard as well as seen.

The installation of the bells and speaker system opened still another path for Christmas City. Everyone knows the story of Christmas, but why not recall it in still more tangible form with a religious pageant? Thus came into being "The Light of the World". The pageant was presented for the first time on the west side of the courthouse in 1946, a prelude to the lighting of the now giant display of Christmas lights.

The Light of the World has become more than just an ordinary Christmas play. That first year an estimated 10,000 persons jammed the town to see what has developed into a passion play in a great community venture of worship. Written by the Rev. A. W. Johnson and C. J. Morey, who still directs it, the pageant has won favorable comments from all parts of the nation.

So great was the response to this first pageant, Mindenites decided that giving it on only one side of the courthouse was not enough. They remedied this in 1947 by presenting the pageant on all four sides of the building simultaneously. Now the pageant is presented on two Sundays in December. This year it's scheduled for December 8 and December 15 at 7 p.m.

This year the lights will go on Monday, December 2, and will blaze forth each evening until after Christmas. The bells will begin their evening yule song with the first pageant and will play each evening until after Christmas.

Pioneer Village at Minden will be open so that visitors from afar may see the famed historic exhibits before taking in the pageant in the evening. More than 200 Mindenites will take part in the cast of the production this year, with many hundreds more doing their part behind the scenes.

The man who began the idea 48 years ago is no longer here but the idea Jack Haws fostered lives on. It will live again this year as his successor, Clayton Emal, presses the button that will transform Minden into America's Christmas City.

THE GROUSE bombshelled into the air to my left, picked up the wind, and went winging off across the prairie in front of Ted Williams. The same pair of eyes that for 20 years followed thousands of sizzling fast balls as they streaked toward his waiting bat, lined the fast departing grouse over the gun barrel. Ted squeezed the trigger and connected for his first base hit on sharptails.

Ted happily retrieved his bird, while motion picture cameras recorded the scene. The cameramen shooting the first footage on a hunting film for Sears, Roebuck and Company were as busy as we were, making sure not to miss a moment of the action.

Film Director Frank Cellier's staff included two assistants and four cameramen. Ted and Murray Crowder, another member of the Sears committee of Ted Williams Sports Advisory Staff of Sears, were doing the gunning for the picture. Though produced to show Sears' hunting products in action, the 16mm color film will do a dandy job of showing Nebraska's excellent grouse hunting. When finished, it will be distributed throughout the United States for showing to any organization wishing to see it.

We were hunting the Ed Rodewald ranch in Thomas County, 20 miles north of the little town of Ringgold. Rodewald's spread is located deep in the heart of some of the biggest hills in the Sand Hills. The Dismal River winds its way along the northern edge of the ranch.

Neither Murray nor Ted, or for that matter any of Cellier's crew, had ever shot the prairie grouse before. None had ever been in the Sand Hills, but 6 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   once they stepped into its vastness, they quickly discovered that this would be one of the toughest assignments they'd ever tackled.

Ted, two cameramen, Frank Cellier, and I formed one hunting-filming party. Murray, Sam Grasmick, North Platte conservation officer, two cameramen, and an assistant director made up the other. With two units going, there would be a much better opportunity of getting top hunting footage.

With the first bird in the bag, Ted and the rest of us moved cautiously along the small basin nestled between two high ridges. Two shots rang out from the east, putting us on the lookout for birds that Murray and Sam might have put up.

We scanned the surrounding hilltops for any sign of highballing grouse. The valley stretched out ahead for 200 yards, then swept up at least 100 feet to the very top of the range. Cameramen Len Sanderson was the first to see three birds on the eastern horizon, but they veered off to the north, so we continued along the basin. Just as we topped out over a ridge and moved into another small pocket, three grouse came straight at us from the east.

Cameras were ready. Ted and I stood still, waiting and hoping the birds would continue their course. I was carrying a duplicate of Ted's gun, a 20-gauge autoloader that handled either the 2% or 3-inch Magnum shells. Both of us were shooting a modified barrel and No. 6 Magnum load.

The birds held their course and Ted took a bird on the right while I zeroed in on one to the left. Swinging the gun barrel to catch up with the incoming bird, I triggered the auto. The shot caught him too far back and only staggered him. Pivoting to the left, I swung rapidly, picked up my lead, and hammered away a second round. This time there was no fooling, the bird nosing into the side of a hill 30 yards away.

Spinning back to pick up the second bird, I was just in time to see Ted connect on his second shot. His bird dropped in a shower of feathers. The third grouse had winged straight down the middle. With both of us missing, he had plenty of time to make good his escape.

A gallery of Ted's fans stalked along behind the first day or two. Youngsters and long-time fans of the Boston Red Sox star wanted to see their hero in action. Williams has much of the fire of his baseball days. His famous temperament has mellowed, but he's still ready to indulge in a debate or two. He's a man of strong convictions and strong legs. 11 At 45, he can outwalk and outhunt the toughest of gj^ nimrods. Ted's a man given to impulse, the same impulse that carried him to baseball fame. He worked long and hard to perfect his batting record; he now works to perfect his hunting and fishing techniques.

Williams is chairman of the sports advisory staff for Sears. In addition to making motion pictures, he suggests many sports equipment items for designers to work on and market. Ted is still connected with baseball, mostly from the training and   consultant standpoint. He also operates a boys camp during the summer.

We were up early the second day out, eagerly moving into the hills to repeat our first day's success. Though we hunted some excellent grouse cover, we couldn't raise birds. A much-needed break at noon found most of the crew sore and stiff from hiking the high choppies. Legs accustomed to walking the streets of the city protested to the demands made of the sandy hills. The temperature stood near 85.

Ed Rodewald loaded us in his four-wheel drive pickup and headed for a few shelter belts on the southeast corner of the ranch, hoping there might be a few birds using the shade. By mid-afternoon we were still blanked and it became more and more of an effort to trudge to the tops of the hills.

We had just finished a drive through a shelter belt when Murray's crew broke the silence in the range of hills to the north. After a quick confab, we decided to cut in a mile to the west of them. The pickup took us into the rough range, then four very beat men began hunting toward the top. A gun boomed again and two birds sailed into the hills ahead of us. Somehow the sight of birds quickened our step, and we eagerly worked toward our hoped-for rendezvous with some sharptails.

Thinking only of the two birds we'd spotted, Ted and I were unprepared when another sharptail OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   thundered into the air only 20 yards away. The grouse sideslipped over a hill and was gone without either of us firing a shot. Williams had just lowered his gun when two more took wing from the same area, then another, and another, until 10 were on the wing.

Ted picked his bird quickly, ignoring others that lifted from the ground. The auto cracked once, up-ending a bird. The barrel of the little 20 swung quickly to the left, picked up its second target, and boomed again just as the grouse flared for the hilltop, escaping the charge of shot. Williams stayed with the bird, never slacking his swing. He touched off his third round, grounding the bird.

My limit came in the form of two singles within the next 300 yards. It seemed as though there were sharptails everywhere. As Murray and Sam worked toward us, birds flushed out ahead, flying toward us. We spooked other grouse in their direction, and watched as many as three or four groups of birds flying at the same time.

In six years of hunting grouse, I had never seen more birds in such a short time. It was well worth all the effort and fruitless hunting of the morning. Murray and Sam were filled shortly after we saw them and all agreed it was quite a show.

In the ensuing days, the two groups hunted the ranch from one end to the other. On the fourth day, we moved to the Harlan Miller ranch north of Brady for prairie chickens. With each day, hunters and camera crews seemed to gain strength, their muscles becoming toned to the demanding hunt. The shooting became sharper and the cameramen's reflexes faster.

How did one of baseball's greatest hitters react to grouse hunting? To Williams, the bird is like a scared pitcher. He throws outside curves and walks you more often than not. But then he makes a mistake and you've got him. Judging by the banquet, a lot of grouse had made the fatal mistake. But a lot more had kept us walking. And walking. Ask Ted which is America's most elusive game bird. After a week in the Sand Hills, he's quick to reply "Nebraska's prairie grouse."

MIGHTY MANFRED

MIGHTY MANFRED the Wonder Dog is a canine of many talents. He can jump through a hoop, carry logs from the back yard for the fireplace, and even pull a sled. He's also adept at tracking in mud, sleeping, chewing children's toys, digging up rose bushes, knocking over lamps, and getting in the way. As an added attraction, he's a hunter of sorts, the kind one would often like to forget. Truthfully, Manfred resembles other golden retrievers in appearance only.

But I wouldn't take $1,000 for Mighty Manfred. It would only mean getting another dog, and he might be worse. At least Manfred is quiet. About the 10 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   only noise you hear out of him is the clattering he makes falling downstairs. He snores, too.

It was just over a year ago that Manfred came into our life. The children screamed with delight as I wheeled into the drive. They opened the door but Manfred refused to budge. The four of them managed to pull him out and drag him into the back yard.

My wife, Sue, watched from the porch, shaking her head. "He looks like a real prize—the booby prize."

The kids first called him Goldie, but after seeing Manfred in action, they decided to name him after a cartoon character on the Captain Kangaroo show. His other aliases include El Stupido, Old Buddy, and Super Clod, depending on what he has done. Regardless of what you call him, Manfred isn't exactly a bolt of lightning in answering.

If you're beginning to get the idea Manfred is useless and that I don't like him, forget it. I'm the first to admit he wouldn't do very well in a field trial. If I trained him, he might be better, but it's questionable. I have few talents as a dog trainer, so I can't really blame Manfred if he doesn't mind the way he should.

By nature, Manfred is brimming over with kindness. Our oldest daughter, Callie, is interested in animals and Manfred patiently allows her to bandage him by the hour. He looks like an ill-wrapped mummy after she's done but he never complains.

This same benign nature carries over when Manfred is hunting. When I knock down a pheasant, Manfred is off like a bullet. Instead of retrieving it, however, he stands over the bird licking it, probably under the misguided impression that Callie will show up to bandage it. Last season Manfred retrieved only one bird, a hen pheasant. Fortunately, the local conservation officer wasn't around at the time and the bird was frozen stiff as a board, so I escaped that bum rap.

When I took Manfred hunting for the first time last fall my wife laughed. "You don't really expect him to hunt, do you? How are you going to keep him awake?"

My son, Scot, and I got up early the next morning, dressed, and started loading our gear. Manfred opened one eye when we tromped past, but otherwise paid us no heed. Between Scot and me we managed to get him up and into the car. He quickly settled down in the back end of the station wagon and fell asleep. In the four hours it took us to get to our destination, Manfred woke up only once and then only to yawn.

The temperature was in the upper 70's when we started up the first of the rolling Sand Hills. Manfred obediently followed Scot and me through the rough choppies. He didn't see any grouse, but then we didn't either. After stepping on a prickly pear and backing into a yucca plant, Manfred decided this wasn't for him and started limping back to the car. That ended the first day. On the second we ran into a flock of about 20 grouse. Scot was quite excited when I started shooting. Manfred yawned.

He wasn't any better when the pheasant season opened. The weather was cool so he kept moving around, slowly, perhaps, but at least he kept up a steady plod. By December Manfred began to figure out the game and started tracking pheasants. He has the advantage over a fast-moving dog in that he doesn't flush birds a mile away. He ambles along, stopping every few feet to sniff at cornstalks, confusing the birds into thinking he is harmless. Finally when the ringneck is only a few feet away Manfred lurches boldly toward them, (continued on page 34)

104 MILES OF LEWIS AND CLARK

YOU'RE ON the road to adventure when you climb aboard an outboard for the round-trip route of Lewis and Clark Lake. The sprawling giant boasts 104 miles of shore line exploring, its twisting borders offering an ever-changing scene to the outboarder.

Actually, the circle tour by boat is the only way you can get a close look at the big impoundment. Much of the rugged shore line is virtually inaccessible to the landlubber.

The lake fingers up the Missouri from the rugged bluffs at Gavins Point to just below the Niobrara River. The Niobrara Ferry landing is a good place to begin your jaunt. Once underway, cross over to the South Dakota side, heading east. You'll thread through sand bars and marshy areas where waterfowl gabble in the water. The dead trunks of drowned-out trees stand stark and white in the widening shallows of the lake's upper end. Blue herons flap away into the dark of connecting side canyons, and in the fall, floating hunters' blinds dot the water.

Turn into the sheltered Springfield Recreation Area. Here, besides fuel for your motor, are dockage facilities and the chance to stretch your muscles. Then heading eastward, you'll see the flocks of cliff swallows whose mud nests cluster thickly on the face of the bluffs. Soon the group of buildings and stock pens of the Mennonite colony, an Old World island in the fast-moving world of today, will command your attention. Just beyond, in a rugged spot in the Gavin's Point area, you'll pass a boy scout camp, and adjacent are picnic tables and wooded slopes, inviting you to stop for lunch.

Beyond the Yankton Recreation Area, you'll cross the deep water near the face of the great impoundment that is the bulwark of the lake. Dock at the South Shore Recreation Area and climb the bluff for a view across the length of the big fill. The powerhouse and stilling basin lie at your feet. Follow the sheltered cove of the South Shore Area back into its canyon. If you're careful, you can nose the boat among the floating logs and deadheads in the DECEMBER, 1963 15   water that lies pinched between the narrow walls. You may startle a deer or flush ducks from the shallows. Water skiing is good if you have extra time.

Farther west, refuel at Wiegand Basin. This development lies in a smooth lagoon. During the summer it is crowded with all manner of rigs from rowboats to inboards, colorful houseboats to sailing craft.

You'll discover a fine place to camp and hike the hills when you travel east to Miller's Creek. Just beyond, you'll pick your way through the largest drowned area of still-standing timber in the lake. The dead trunks have developed huge cracks in which the wind whistles weirdly.

The legendary Devils Nest is a wild region whose very name bespeaks excitement and adventure. Like most of the lake's shore lines, sheer bluffs shoot up from the water's edge, and blend into tumbled, rugged hills blanketed in gnarled oak timber.

Northwest of Devils Nest, near the center of the lake, are a pair of fingers called Sand Island. These 16 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   strips rise but a few feet above the water and form the lake's only island. Trees, thick grass, and weeds grow here, but the banks are wearing away from wave action, and in a few short years no island will remain to be explored.

If your boat is 16 feet or less in length, you can cover most of the lake without much trouble. However, near the west end of Lewis and Clark, you may find yourself aground in the middle of what appeared to be a navigable expanse of water. Heavy siltation, a problem in Lewis and Clark, is responsible for this condition.

Larger boats, particularly cabin cruisers, will need a Corps of Engineer's chart in order to stay in the old Missouri River channel. In spots you will have only a 20-foot width of navigable water. Sailboats should not venture much farther west than Wiegand Boat Basin.

You're in water exposed to a long sweep of wind, too, and heavy seas are not uncommon. Small craft under 16 feet in length should get off the water if the wind starts to rise. For safety's sake, listen to the weather reports before you start your journey.

The trip can be made in a single day, but for full enjoyment, spread it over a weekend or more. You'll return home with added knowledge of the recreational opportunity and scenic beauty in this corner of NEBRASKAland.

BOW-BENDING BASICS

SO OLD, it's beginnings are lost in the mists of time, archery is the fastest-growing "new" sport in America. Easy to learn, inexpensive to get into, and a heck of a lot of fun, bow bending is great for young and old alike. The sport is deep in the American tradition. Hand a child a bow and with little instruction and the help of his natural instincts, he's hitting the target in no time.

Archery is known for its flexibility. It can be as competitive as table-stakes poker or as relaxing as an evening with old friends. If pinpoint accuracy or competition are your fortes, target archery or the NFAA field round is made to order. If you like to roam in the woods in simulated hunting conditions but lack the time or inclination to try live game, then field archery is your dish. The field archery round, hunter's round, and animal round are made to order for the hunter.

To start, a potential bow bender needs a bow of his choice and a quiver full of arrows. Bows fall into three main types. They include the straight bow, whose limbs extend in straight lines from handle to tips, the reflex bow with the limbs curved back of the handle at a gentle angle, and the very 18 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   popular recurved bow, whose tips extend away from the natural curve of the bow.

The recurved style eliminates "stacking", the build-up of resistance as the bow is brought to full draw. Its curved tips improve the thrust of the arrow since they impart added power to the spring of the bow itself. Generally, weight for weight, this model is a faster, smoother-shooting outfit.

Modern bows are usually laminated in layers of wood and Fiberglas to give them strength, durability, and power. Tolerant of climatic changes, this composite rig is a modern, effective, and powerful instrument.

A bow is no better than its arrows. A poor one can do a fair job with a good arrow but the best bow in the world can't do a good job with a poor arrow. Wood, aluminum, and Fiberglas arrows are the current favorites. Serious target archers select aluminum arrows for their uniformity in weight and straightness. Arrows should be kept clean and in good repair for accuracy and safety.

Designed for specific uses, arrows are equipped with different type points and are classed in target, field, blunt, and broadhead categories. Target shafts are usually made of lightweight aluminum alloy or Fiberglas with small pointed tips. Field arrows have a point matched in weight to the broadhead. The field point is designed to minimize "skipping" when the shaft hits the ground. A flu-flu is used for wing shooting and is usually equipped with a blunt point. Its massive fletching slows the shaft and shortens its range.

The heavy hunting arrow is the lethal customer of the group. Tipped with a razor-sharp blade of various designs, the hunting point is made for complete penetration and to cut open large wound channels for quick bleeding. They are usually fletched for medium-range shooting.

Bows are selected by weight of pull to bring them to full 28-inch draw. Weights range from a workable minimum of 15 pounds to bull rigs of 100 pounds or more for specialized hunting or flight-shooting competition. The novice shouldn't select a bow that is too heavy to draw comfortably.

Lacking the help of a competent archer, the novice won't go too far wrong by selecting a bow that he can hold at full draw for 10 seconds without strain. An outfit that makes the bow arm shake or can't be pulled to a full 28-inch draw is too heavy. As muscles tone up and the archer becomes more skilled, he can move up to a stronger bow. Remember, archery is for relaxation.

Nebraska law requires a minimum weight of 40 pounds for deer hunting. The average person can handle this weight without trouble after a little practice. A 50-pound rig is a good compromise between weight and comfort for the sportsman who wants to do a lot of deer hunting.

Accurate shooting is largely a matter of form. Seven steps should be followed in the proper sequence to develop good shooting habits, including stance, drawing, anchoring, aiming, holding, loosing, and follow-through.

For proper stance, place the feet comfortably apart with the weight equally balanced on the balls of both feet. Keep the body erect, relaxed, and at right angles to the target. Turn your head to face the target over the left shoulder if you're right-handed.

Rest the bow handle lightly in the left hand with the flare of the handle over the base of the thumb. The holding hand merely keeps the bow from falling away when the arrow is released. Strain or tension of the bow hand can cause a miss. Bend the bow arm slightly at the elbow to give the bow string clearance as it moves forward. The three fingers of the drawing hand should be hooked over the string at the first joint, with the arrow resting between the first and second fingers.

Remember the drawing hand and forearm are merely connecting links (continued on page 40)

DAYS OF DOBYTOWN

NOTHING ANYWHERE quite matched Dobytown, and you can bet your last drop of tangle-foot that nothing ever will. Heaped up along-side the Overland Trail and nudged in as close as legal to old Fort Kearny, Dobytown was more than willing to oblige anyone who cared—or dared—to stay a spell.

The truth is there wasn't anything Dobytowners wouldn't do to take their guests' minds off the dreariness of the trail. With this kind of benevolent attitude, it's no wonder the town fast gained the reputation as "the wickedest city between St. Louis and the Coast," and according to more respectable emigrants, "a place to be avoided at all possible costs."

Unfortunately, no one much cottoned to such sage advice. After 317 dust-eating miles from Independence, Missouri, anything looked good to dudes from the East. To those returning from the Colorado and California gold fields, the strange collection of soddies was a veritable paradise. As a matter of fact, Dobytown was about the closest thing to civilization available on the trial in the 1860's.

Dobytown on occasion went by the more respectable moniker of Kearney City, but somehow the name never seemed to fit. Claiming 14 saloons but only 6 permanent families, Dobytowners made sure that the Sabbath Day never interfered with the doings. As far as they were concerned, no church or schoolhouse would ever cast forbidding shadows on the revelry.

It was no accident that the town was so close to Fort Kearny. John Talbot planned it that way. Though he might insist publicly that it crowded up against the fort's border for protection from marauding Sioux, John was a smart enough businessman to know that the troops would be the best customers for the goods he and his associates had to sell. He himself was stationed at the fort and knew what a powerful thirst a man could develop for the kind of recreation only Dobytown offered. To his way of thinking, army regulations which severely restricted and even prohibited the sale of spirits at the sutler's store encouraged his kind of town.

John founded Kearney City after his wife, Mary, bought his discharge from the army in 1859. A laundress at the old fort, she was making more money than John was as an enlisted man. Once freed, John and Mary began work on their home and store.

With timber a rarity, John put his talents as a stone mason to use and soon completed a home made of sun-baked brick. Others followed John's lead and by the next season were ready to begin their lucrative business with Overlanders. Troops recently returned from New Mexico saw the settlement of brick and sod and immediately pegged it Dobytown, a name that would last the life of the town.

Business boomed almost before the last brick was laid. It seemed like the whole nation had pulled up stakes and headed West. Thousands of wagons ground up the trail from Independence. Long lines of giant freighters creaked in on the military road from Nebraska City. And there, squatted in the cat-bird seat at the forks of the great roads, was Dobytown, the undisputed emissary of the Wild West.

Talbot and the rest were ready to make the most of the invasion. Though he was prepared to meet the DECEMBER, 1963 21   travelers' more everyday needs in his blacksmith shop, bakery, and billiard parlor, he, like the rest, saw to it that every one of his enterprises boasted a well-stocked saloon.

With this kind of setup, it's no wonder that things got a little out of hand. No one was much concerned about law and order. It was a lot easier and quicker to settle such disputes on the basis of who could shoot the fastest or ambush the slickest. Mary's daughter recalled seeing a horse thief strung up on Easter Sunday and left there for a couple of days till someone got enough gumption to cut him down. But the victim didn't enjoy anything fancy like a trial by judge and jury before traveling on.

Such incidents created no end of trouble for townsfolk. John and the rest had never given much thought on what to do with these most permanent residents. The cemeteries were laid out in haphazard fashion, depending on where the digging was easiest. Since wood was scarce, the deceased seldom enjoyed the luxury of a coffin and were put away only after survivors were careful to preserve every-thing of value from burial. There was no pomp or ceremony, no inquests, no chaplains, no prayers, no tears, and when the grisly task was over, the party went on.

One emigrant wrote in his diary that three of his friends rode into Dobytown for a fling. When they didn't return to the wagons, he searched the town. "Nary a soul had seen hide nor hair of them," and after a day of fruitless searching, he moved on, never to see them again.

In this no-holds-barred type of community it took a pretty rugged pioneer to withstand the gaff. Such was Mary Talbot. Once when Dobytown was a little more quiet than the normal din, John Holland figured he would liven things up by shooting up the town. Brave with a whopping dose of redeye, he rolled through the streets blasting away at anything that moved.

None of the better guns were quite up to stepping out into the hailstorm, contenting themselves with sipping sarsaparilla under the nearest bar. That's when Mary came on the scene. Walking straight up to Holland bold as could be, she demanded his guns. Taken aback at the sight of a female, Holland blurted out that no petticoat was going to disarm him. But Mary was persistent and Holland wasn't ready for any long-winded debates. He finally gave up, passing out on the spot as soon as he surrendered his guns.

Actually shooting up the town was one of the milder pleasures. Troopers from Fort Kearny seemed to get a special boot out of riding into John Talbot's establishment and shooting all the goods off the shelves. Both officers and enlisted men made Dobytown their home away from home. On payday when their pockets were heavy with coin, the officers drank nothing but the best champagne. But come the end of the month they were content with redeye like the rest of the boys.

By the mid-60's, Dobytown had mushroomed from six sagging dobes to between 40 and 50 buildings, not counting the batch of road ranches that rimmed the suburbs. It was a real city in those days, one of the largest between the Missouri and the Coast. The boom was on, with as many as 500 wagons rolling in every day. In 1865, 6,000 freighters alone passed its doors. John Talbot was doing so well that he tore down his dobe structure and built himself a fine log establishment, hauling cedars all the way from the Republican for floors, woodwork, and shingles.

But John Talbot wasn't the only one rolling in loot. Old Doc Henry had a real deal going for him, busy night and day patching up those that were worth saving. Those that were too far gone were handed over to the local barber for final disposition. It got so bad that there were more people in the improvised cemeteries than there were in town. One month alone 17 hombres took up residence down below.

Dobytown was getting so wild that freight bosses wished that it would somehow blow away. Getting their drivers by this wide open city without incident   was about as impossible as driving a Conestoga up the middle of the Platte.

Nor were the stage drivers any more eager to head their Concords Dobytown way. Dirty Woman's Ranch, one of the more notorious road ranches nearby, was a special nemesis. Most passengers wanted to take a look-see at Pete Peterson's gals. Those that did, according to stage guard Frank Root, got way more than they bargained for. He claimed that if the big cottonwoods surrounding the ranch could talk, they could tell stories that would make your hair stand on end.

When word got around that Fort Kearny no longer served any useful purpose, Dobytowners went in a rage. It wasn't the loss of protection they worried about, though they claimed it so; it was the loss of trade. When the base commander led General Sherman on an inspection tour with officers and ladies of the post, he made the mistake of leading the group through Dobytown. As the party passed by, locals hissed and heehawed till Sherman was infuriated. The story goes that he was so riled up that he wrote the order recommending the abandonment of the post the same day.

Sherman's recommendation kicked off a real howl among settlers, and they were finally able to convince the brass to keep men at the fast-rotting fort till 1871. Actually, the end was in sight when the Union Pacific pushed its tracks by on the north side of the river. Gone were the seemingly endless lines of emigrant and freighter wagons, the Pony Express, and Overland Stage. Gone, too, was Dobytown, its citizens fleeing to more western ports like rats from a sinking ship. Civilization had moved in, a plague that Dobytowners could not long suffer.

Like the sod buildings of Fort Kearny, Dobytown was doomed to melt away. Each heavy rain saw another building go, and finally only mounds of dirt remained where once horrah reigned. Today cornfields blanket the site. Sometimes a plow turns over a tin can or champagne bottle to remind you of lustier days. A few of the old cottonwoods still hang on, and according to some, when the wind blows you can hear those hair-raising stories Frank Root told about. Why not bend an ear and give a listen?

KEEPING WARM

THERE'S A popular Broadway musical that tells of a kingdom where the weather is always perfect by royal decree. NEBRASKAland hunters haven't found such a simple method of controlling the elements and probably wouldn't want to even if they could. Half the enjoyment of going afield is the weather and how it affects hunting tactics.

Waterfowl move more readily on cold windy days. Ninety-degree temperatures are fine for swimming, but hunters who opened the 1963 duck season weren't too happy with the bluebird day. Pheasant hunting gets progressively better as temperatures drop and wily roosters congregate in heavy cover.

Successful midwinter hunting is no excuse for either suffering from the icy blasts or being so bundled up you resemble an overstuffed sausage. Fortunately, modern synthetic fabrics have taken the weight out of warmth. The purpose of winter hunting clothing is twofold—keeping the wearer warm and doing it without restricting movement. It doesn't help much if you are warm in a duck blind if the clothing is so bulky it's next to impossible to get the gun to your shoulder.

Certain parts of the body, particularly nose, ears, fingers, and toes, are most susceptible to cold. Discomfort can be alleviated by protecting these extremities. This doesn't mean, of course, that a nose cozy, mittens, and warm boots are a cure-all for cold-weather hunting.

Basically, the problem is one of trapping and retaining body heat. In doing this, several layers of thin clothing are better than one heavy garment. Inner clothing should be loose to trap warmth. Outer clothing should be able to contain this heat and ward off the wind. In theory, then, a simple outfit consisting of a loose-fitting sweat suit topped with a hard-surfaced outer garment is the ideal combination. From these two, a complete outfit for each type of hunting and weather can be assembled.

Starting from the skin out, one or two-piece underwear is necessary and comfortable any time 24 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   the temperature drops below 50°. Most everyone once turned to Long Johns, which are usually a cotton-wool material combination. Unfortunately, cotton absorbs moisture, cooling you off in a hurry when you stop moving. Wool does the same plus having the added disadvantage of being itchy.

Two recent innovations have solved the underwear problem. One features cotton made in a thermoknit design. The material has millions of air cells which retain body heat. This type of underwear is also made with other materials, either singly or in combination. The other undergear is made of quilted fabric containing a synthetic material and covered with a thick outer shell. This is the warmest of the two and is excellent for sub-zero hunting. Both types have the advantage of combining their warmth with light weight. When using either, it is seldom necessary to wear any other clothing than a heavy shirt and pants to break the wind.

The hands, feet, and face come in for a different answer. Keeping the feet warm is rather simple with the hunter wearing quilted socks over a pair of thin lightweight cotton socks. This duo teams up with thermopac or insulated leather boots to ward off the cold.

By having more than one pair of boots, the hunter can vary footgear according to the temperature. Boots should be allowed to dry out overnight. Rather than placing them near a stove, it is better to stuff them with crushed paper to absorb the moisture. Place them in a warm, but not hot, location.

Keeping the hands warm wouldn't be too much of a problem if they weren't of such importance in shooting. Mittens, of course, are warmest but have the disadvantage of having to be removed before the hunter can effectively operate his rifle or shotgun. This has been simplified by making mittens with a finger for the index finger. Leather mittens with a wool or cotton lining are the most popular.

It's tough enough suffering from red ears caused by taunts from your companions when you miss an easy shot without having the cold bother them as well. According to medical authorities, the ears are the most sensitive extremities.

Old-fashioned earmuffs are one answer. Hunting caps with ear flaps are another. A World War II item does the job as well as anything. It is a knitted wool toque, covering all of the head and face except for an opening for the eyes. A toque has the added advantage of not blocking your hearing because it is knitted.

A couple of other items are also popular with sub-zero hunters. There are electrical socks that operate off a small battery. Hand warmers are used both in pockets to keep hands warm and in a belt which warms up the small of your back. Stoves also come in for attention, particularly with waterfowl hunters.

Cold weather is no excuse to stay home close to the fireplace. There's plenty of hunting to be enjoyed when the temperature drops around zero for the man with know-how to keep warm.

HIGHWAYS IN THE SKY

ALL FLYING in a common direction, the southbound travelers cleave the autumn skies in precise formation. Others move in formless groups, undisciplined as a prairie dust cloud. Heeding a command as old as time itself, North America's waterfowl leave the nesting grounds of the northland before a merciless winter traps them in pothole and marsh.

Some will tarry on the way. Others will wing across the country at a good clip, anxious to reach their winter quarters without delay. Many loaf out the season just beyond the Arctic's frigid grasp. Others head for the Gulf Coast, and some really hardy travelers wing over Central America to spend the season below the equator.

As the migrants move south, they converge into one of the four great flyways. These highways in the sky are the sky roads ducks and geese have followed for countless centuries. Routes fan out from the great flight systems, funneling the birds into the flyways just as feeder roads bring motorists to the big four-lane interstates. When the migration is at its peak, the winged traffic is tremendous. Waterfowl hurtle along the invisible avenues from August to November, bringing prime sport to the nation's hunters. Technicians study their migrations, trying to pry a little more information from nature's storehouse of mysteries.

Across the United States, the migrants wing along the Atlantic, Mississippi, Central, and Pacific flyways. Nebraska is smack-dab in the middle of the Central Flyway, which extends from the Missouri River to the east slopes of the Rockies. As the birds leave the great "duck factories" of the north, they are joined by thousands of others that have been raised farther south.

State and federally-owned refuges along the route hold the migrants for varying periods. Besides giving the birds a respite from the hunters, the refuges contribute more ducks and geese to the build-up.

Waterfowl from the northeastern portion of the continent travel the Atlantic Flyway. This comparatively narrow sky road is bounded by the Atlantic Ocean and the eastern shoulders of the Allegheny Mountains. Migration routes from Greenland, the Maritimes, the Hudson Bay Plain, and the Great Lakes converge on the flyway. Some birds spend their winter on the coastal marshes while others continue on to Cuba and other islands in the Caribbean. Favorite target for the hunters along the Eastern Flyway is the wary black duck of the Great Lakes country.

A westerner gets mixed up on the Atlantic Flyway. The green-winged teal, a puddler of the central and western states, travels to the Atlantic Flyway before turning south.

Migration routes for the Mississippi Flyway resemble a giant funnel, located a little east of center on the North American continent. One lip of the funnel rests on Baffin Island, the other on the corner of Alaska. The flyway pulls birds toward the center of the continent, channeling them into the Mississippi River below the Ohio and Missouri rivers to winter quarters in the delta country.

The Central Flyway is the most concentrated of the four major aerial arteries. It's a relatively narrow channel for ducks and geese from central Canada and the eastern portions of Alaska, and is a major pathway of the great Canada goose.

You can't beat the Central Flyway for variety of waterfowl. Goodly numbers of teal, mallards, widgeons, pintails, and many other species use the route for their semiannual migrations. When weather and water conditions are suitable, Nebraska hunters can expect to bring in a mixed bag anywhere in the state. Good local populations from the river courses and the Sand Hills potholes add to the fun of waterfowl hunting here. Although some birds winter in the state, the majority of the visitors wing on to Texas and Mexico for their sojourn in the sun.

Ducks and geese with tickets for the Pacific Flyway should wear Stetsons and spurs. They are westerners all the way, coming from western Alaska and Canada. As they sweep across the United States they are joined by thousands of homesteaders from Utah, Washington, Oregon, and California.

The West Coast hunter keeps his 12-gauge warm with a variety of ducks, including several sea species. He also gets a bonus in some excellent goose shooting. Birds of this flyway spend the off season in California and Mexico.

Bird banding has definitely established the flyways, so definite that the U. S. Department of Interior uses findings as a basis for setting seasons and administrative control. But the mysterious force that directs the birds into certain flight avenues each spring and fall is largely unknown.

Since the major flyway systems follow the natural geographical divisions of the continent, technicians surmise there may be a link up between the bird's inherent instinct and major geological upheavals of the past. Eons ago, the birds may have been channeled through certain areas because of natural barriers. As each generation made the flights, the environmental factor may have become a dominate instinct which is still transmitted to each fledgling, although the ancient barriers have disappeared.

Birds trapped and banded in one flyway and later released in another usually (continued on page 35)

A NEBRASKAland Masterpiece

ACCLAIMED BY artists and architects alike as one of the finest small galleries in the nation, the University of Nebraska's $3-million Sheldon Memorial Art Gallery is the newest addition to NEBRASKAland's cultural scene.

Designed by Philip Johnson of New York, one of America's leading museum architects, this masterpiece covers the better part of half a city block and is sheathed in Italian travertine marble, quarried and cut to specifications in Italy. Ringed by tapered, curving piers, Sheldon is an everchanging pattern of light and shadow.

The gallery was dedicated this summer, a gift to the University from A. Bromley Sheldon of Lexington, and his sister. Miss Frances Sheldon of Lincoln. Both are deceased but Mr. Sheldon's widow assisted in making decisions on the general plans and has contributed a Brancusi sculpture, one of three major   pieces located permanently in the Sheldon's Great Hall. Art works housed in the gallery include the University's collection and that of the Nebraska Art Association, which features the impressive collection of an association patron, F. M. Hall.

Nebraskans are proud that Sheldon has joined such other architectural masterpieces as the world-acclaimed state capitol and Joslyh Art Museum. All are a part of their rich heritage.

FAIR AND SQUARE BUCK

MY DAUGHTERS were the first to spot the handsome old gent as we drove back to Royal from Grove Lake last September. When I saw the mule deer with his head held high and his heavy, well balanced antlers towering above him my heart skipped a beat. I counted five points per side, by far the finest head I had ever seen. It would be six weeks before the rifle season opened, but man, how I would have liked to have that head hanging on my wall.

How had a guy whose gun sport for years had consisted mostly of plinking squirrels and rabbits been transformed into a dyed-in-the-wool deer hunter after only one hunt the season before? The fact that I enjoy guns and the outdoors helped but for the most part I've been just plain lucky.

The heaviest deer population around Royal is along the headwaters of Verdigre Creek and around Grove Lake. Since this is in the Missouri Unit, I had no trouble choosing the management area to hunt.

Selecting a rifle, however, was not that simple. I had loved plinking with .22's, but deer rifles were all "Greek" to me. A good friend, Wayne Mattison from Marion, South Dakota, offered to give me any assistance I needed. On his advice, I bought a .243. It had more than proved its merits for Wayne on both varments and deer. The gun combined light 32 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   recoil with the high performance I wanted. Mounted in with a variable power scope, it promised to be a real all-around game getter.

Wayne also reloads so he put together some ammunition for me. He cooked up some special brush loads in addition to regulars. These would be less likely to deflect off a twig or branch when shooting in heavy cover.

Because of my limited experience, Wayne felt I shouldn't try shots over 200 yards and we sighted the rifle in at that range. With the flat-shooting .243 the trajectory arc would not be enough to be concerned about and I could use a dead-on hold out to and a little over the 200-yard mark. Any shots I would be taking in heavy cover would be at 50 yards or less. With the same scope setting, the brush load would hit within tolerable limits of any target I got in my sights.

Wayne charged me only for the reloading components, cutting the cost of my "ammo" down to about one fourth that of factory fodder. This really stretched my shooting dollar and made it possible for me to practice without a great deal of expense. After several sessions, I was able to handle the little rifle well enough to place my shots into the "10-ring" drawn on the chest area of the deer silhouette targets.

Sleep didn't come easy the night before my first hunt two years ago, but I managed a little shut-eye and getting up early was not difficult. Long before daybreak I'd finished breakfast and was on my way to my stand a half mile from town. Not all my spare time before the deer season had been spent practicing. On evenings and weekends I scouted around for deer sign and came up with five choice spots.

It was still dark with a raw northwest wind blowing when I sat down under a cottonwood tree to wait for a buck. The wind was in my face and from my vantage point I had a clear view of alfalfa and cornfields for a quarter mile. Bordering this was a heavy thicket of plum brush and trees backed by a quarter section of Soil Bank land.

I had seen deer coming into the fields to feed early in the morning on my earlier scouting expeditions but nothing appeared on opening day and I was soon to realize why. About sunrise a car came rattling up to a tree some 100 yards away and two hunters stepped out from behind it. The noise had probably spooked any deer in the area.

At any rate I decided to move on. Loading the rifle with the brush loads and setting the scope at 2%X, I began walking slowly through a shelter belt where I'd seen tracks and droppings. It took me 3V2 hours to walk the near two-mile stretch, but the effort produced nothing. When I reached the country road my wife was waiting, either to pick up my deer if I'd been successful or drive me to my next hunting area.

I had a place in mind along a little brush-lined creek bottom where I'd noticed deer often bedded down and was hoping they would be there now. Reaching the crest of the hill, I scanned the brush through the rifle scope and spotted what looked like antlers protruding out of a plum thicket.

It was a deer all right. He broke cover and started off at a bounding run as soon as he saw me. Before crossing the creek he paused to have another look. That was all I needed. The deer was about 100 yards away and standing broadside to me. Fighting back buck fever, I placed the cross hairs just behind the shoulder and somehow managed to squeeze the trigger.

At my shot the buck took a few steps and collapsed. He was just breathing his last when I got to him. I was one proud hunter as I drove into town with the fat four-point buck tied on the hood.

The success of my first hunt increased my enthusiasm and I was already making plans for next year as we put the venison in our freezer. Now sold on the .243 for deer and anxious to try my hand at reloading, I traded my .22 and .243 in on some reloading equipment and a new .243 featherweight.

With the fine new rifle and the convenience of being able to reload for myself, I practiced even more. In addition* to shooting at targets, I spent much of my spare time varment hunting.

Hunting prairie dogs requires accurate long-range shooting and gives a fellow a lot of experience estimating range and wind drift. Each dog shot gave me greater confidence in myself and my rifle and by the end of the summer I was connecting with a fair number of these "prairie poodles".

After seeing the old granddaddy mule deer, I began scouting that area every (continued on page 40)

MANFRED

putting the nervous birds in flight well within the range of my gun.

I put off Manfred's water training until this spring. By this time he had learned to retrieve a stick so I started off by throwing one to the water's edge. Gradually tossing it out farther, I actually got Manfred into the water. Finally I threw the stick out about 20 feet and Manfred bravely plunged in. Only then did I discover he didn't know how to swim.

Manfred managed to stay afloat, but he wasn't making much headway. He panicked and began thrashing around. When he finally reached shore he would have nothing to do with water for about two months. One day Scot was sailing a boat in a pond. Manfred spotted it and bravely leaped in and retrieved it.

This should have been a clue to his performance this fall. I was hunting near Lincoln with a friend and knocked down a green-winged teal about 30 yards away. It landed just beyond a sandbar and surprisingly enough, Manfred leaped into the water at my command and started toward the downed duck. However, one of the decoys was closer so he started bringing it back.

My friend, who was on the other side of the pond, waded out, retrieved the duck, and threw it half way across the pothole in my direction. Manfred brought it back with a proud look on his face, almost as if saying, "Why didn't you tell me this is what you wanted?"

In spite of his lack of hunting ability, Manfred has his good points. This summer the neighborhood children had a circus and drafted Manfred for one of the acts. He took to jumping through a hoop like he was born to it.

Six-year-old Abigail likes to use Manfred when she is playing house. She lines him up with her dolls alongside the TV set. He seems to enjoy the game 34 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   most when it's time for all of them to take a nap.

Margaret also uses Manfred as a playmate and he follows her around like a lovesick calf, particularly if she has any cookies with her. He listens patiently while she reads books to him. The fact Margaret is only three and can't read yet doesn't seem to bother either one of them.

Manfred has other talents as well. He was entered in a pet show and behaved like a perfect gentleman. Instead of barking and fighting like many of the other dogs, Manfred sat quietly through the judging. For his efforts he was awarded a plaque as "The Proudest Dog in the Show". He was the only winner who was asleep when given his prize.

From all this, you might get the notion that I figure Manfred is worse than worthless. Not by a long shot. Manfred allows himself to be pulled and mauled without so much as an unkind glance. In appearance, Manfred resembles the cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz. I can't attest to his bravery, but I'm sure he isn't a coward. It's easy to confuse meanness with bravery or wildness with being aggressive. By the same token, a dog that is kind and willing to please can't be labeled lazy. When you speak kindly of his exploits, Manfred thumps his tail on the floor. Treat him with kindness and he gives you all his love and affection. That's good enough for me any time.

HIGHWAYS

return to their homes via their original pathway in the sky. There are exceptions, the most notable occurring in the case of winter-mating ducks. The drake will follow the route of his bride during the spring migration instead of his own.

Habits of waterfowl change sharply during migrations. Though active during the daytime through most of the year, ducks and geese switch and do much of their traveling at night. Researchers have found that birds use the moon and stars for orientation and navigation.

Technicians rigged the birds with small lights and released them at night to prove their point. Birds released on clear, starry nights were able to quickly orient themselves with their surroundings. They generally circled once before flying in a direct line. On partially overcast nights, the birds made several turns before lining out. Under heavy cloud cover the migrants seemed helplessly confused.

Night flights are not entirely without visual guidance. Darkness is seldom so intense that major topographical features such as rivers, bays, and mountains are invisible. Ducks and geese undoubtedly use these landmarks in their after-dark travels. By flying at night, the migrant birds also have the opportunity to forage and rest during the day.

That waterfowl and other birds have a built-in dead reckoning device seems evident when you consider species that have separate migrations for young and old. The homing instinct of ducks and geese is another characteristic that is not fully understood. It's well established that geese transferred and kept at long intervals from their birthplace will return to their home after release.

Banding records cite the example of a mallard hen that nested for at least eight consecutive seasons atop a barn in central Nebraska. She returned each nesting season to the same place. Her history is mentioned in several references on migratory waterfowl. Although a number of her offspring were banded, there is no evidence that any of them ever returned to their home or even to Nebraska.

Careful research and exhaustive studies are gradually penetrating some of the mysteries surrounding migration, but it's slow going. Until humans learn duck dialect or goose gabble it's likely to remain so.

COUNTERFEIT GEESE

CROUCHING LOW in his blind, Art Jackson suddenly saw an eagle diving for his spread. Zeroing in on one goose decoy, the giant bird tore into the counterfeit before discovering it was a fake. The bird's talons caught in the heavy rubber decoy and it flew off screaming its protest with the decoy still hanging on.

Jackson was screaming at this point, too. In all his years of goose hunting around his home in Morrill he had never had this happen to him. Later back in town, Jackson headed for the Rex Manufacturing Company to voice his complaint.

"I want a decoy as lifelike as possible, but this is carrying things just too far."

Avery Scott and Paul Covington, who manufacture and sell these inflatable decoys, still laugh over that incident.

"That's a common complaint," remarked Scott. "Over there," he said, pointing to three boxes in the corner, "are 18 decoys that were torn up by eagles. The owners send them back for repairs, and, happily for us, usually order some more decoys while they're at it."

Although the company does a large business, the plant is hardly impressive. A rented store just off the highway in town serves as the factory. Referred to as the "Goosery" by local inhabitants, the front room is filled with several hundred goose decoys ready for shipment. They almost fill one wall that is partly covered with a large painting of geese in flight, giving visitors the eerie sensation that some of the fakes have made good their escape.

Covington, who is plant engineer, is usually found in the back room pouring liquid latex into molds to add to the front room collection.

Plans call for moving into a larger and more modern plant in the near future, but the present site makes up in atmosphere what it lacks in space. The 36 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   firm's shipping department is a desk in the corner of the front room where Scott answers correspondence and,fills orders.

"We get boxes for packaging from the hardware store next door and department store across the street," says Scott with typical Scottish thriftiness. "Local newspapers are used for packing. That way we save on overhead and, at the same time, give people all over the country the opportunity of reading Nebraska newspapers."

It isn't often you get a double-barrel bargain like that. But if the operation looks small-time and inefficient, it's anything but. Scott ships decoys throughout the country and Canada, with most of the advertising coming by word of mouth. Many people buy decoys after hunting with a set belonging to a friend.

Some orders are like correspondence between two old friends. Most begin by telling of the success they've had with Rex decoys they've already purchased, go on to speak of hunting conditions, and wind up, almost as an afterthought, with an order for a dozen more. Under Scott's direction, large shipments are now sent to specialty stores as well.

Secret of the decoys wide acceptance is their life-like appearance. There are 16 different styles, each with a different head position. In this way a hunter can mix up his spread in relaxed, feeding, and alert positions. This plus the feet that can be attached gives the decoys a look of realism.

Each counterfeit weighs about two pounds with feet attached and slightly more if fitted with the lead keel for use on water. Walls of the decoys are 1/16-inch thick and are about 10 per cent oversize. The latex is similar to that used in rubber dolls, balloons, and girdles.

Liquid latex is poured into the plaster of Paris mold and allowed to harden for about five minutes. Since latex only hardens when in contact with a substance that absorbs moisture, the thickness of the decoy can be regulated. The remainder of the latex is poured off to be used later, and the part adhering to the mold has the consistency of butter. The mold is then set aside to cure or harden for 24 hours. Each mold is made from a balsa-wood model that Covington carved from field observations.

"It would be a lot simpler, I suppose, to make just one mold," says Covington. "But who ever heard of all the geese in a flock sitting in the exact same position?"

Scott, like any other businessman, likes the sight of black ink on the ledger book, but profit runs a close race with the sight of majestic geese slowly circling over his decoys. There are ways he could cut corners, but he wouldn't fool either customers or geese.

CRESCENT LAKE

DESPERATELY TIRED, the old gander scanned the checkerboard of lake and land, reluctant to accept its promised rest. Underneath his straining wings stretched a complex of lakes, the largest, a rough crescent of steel-gray water. Between the big lake and its smaller companions, hay meadows and marshland laced through the Sand Hills, offering food to the famished geese.

It looked good but the old gander was cautious. He led his flock over the hills in a wide sweep, sharp eyes looking for the ominous snout of an up-raised shotgun. Satisfied at last, he led his followers to their haven, the Crescent Lake National Wildlife Refuge in Garden County, Nebraska.

Crescent, located 35 miles north of Oshkosh, is almost in the middle of the great Central Flyway which extends from the Missouri River to the Rocky Mountains. Here the birds find a safe resting place as they wing down from Canada to the Gulf of Mexico.

Administered by the Bureau of Sport Fisheries and Wildlife, the refuge covers 46,087 acres including 1,727 acres of water in the Sand Hills country. Established in 1931, the federal haven is one of several hundred in the United States.

The policy of establishing waterfowl refuges was worked out in the 1920's when populations were diving. Since the Sand Hills area was traditionally a great nesting and resting area for waterfowl, it was a natural for the program. Now Crescent is geared to protect migrants and other wildlife and preserve and develop suitable habitat.

Operation of the refuge is a year-round activity. Major projects, including water development, meadow improvement, tree planting, grazing management, and lake management, keep the staff busy in developing the resident Canada Goose flock.

Lands surrounding Crescent have come almost full cycle from grassland to grassland. In the days of the Sioux and Pawnee, the Sand Hills was primarily high grass with numerous potholes and small lakes. Later, it became cattle land and was used extensively for grazing. When the homesteaders flocked in, the ground was broken for cropland. Due to its sandy texture, the area proved unfit for farming and after repeated failures, reverted to ranching and the high grass returned.

Methods of increasing waterfowl production were augmented as soon as Crescent was acquired. Studies in proper haying and grazing procedures of greatest value to waterfowl and other wildlife resulted in an effective land-use program. Both activities are permitted on the refuge under a set   fee program and are closely controlled. A quarter of the grazing fees are returned to the county for school and road funds. Grazing fees plus duck stamp revenues pay for the operation of Crescent.

Canada geese have been maintained at the refuge for the past 28 years it was not until lake nesting platf were built that a sizable natura production occurred. Prior to this, they were reluctant to establish nests along the shore or in the marsh grasses. Now second and third generation birds of the original homesteading geese are prime producers.

According to Richard Rodgers, manager of the refuge, the Canada's establish definite flight and feeding periods. The geese usually spend the night at Goose Lake, find their breakfast at Roundup Lake, take their exercise at Crescent Lake, and return to Goose Lake about dusk. Migrants become part of the routine when they arrive. Many stay for some time while others leave within a few days.

Thousands of ducks wing into Crescent during the migrations. Among the fall and spring visitors are mallards, gadwalls, widgeons, pintails, green and blue-winged teal, redheads, canvasbacks, lesser scaup, buffleheads, shovelers, and ruddies. A great variety of marsh and water birds are also attracted.

When migrations are in full swing, the area hosts up to 30,000 birds. They start arriving about mid-October and reach a peak about the second week in November. Weather and water conditions influence the fall and spring moves to some extent. The first visitors of the spring migration usually arrive in February.

Besides Serving as a haven for migrants, Crescent also attracts good populations of Nebraska birds and animals. White-tailed and mule deer, pronghorn antelope, coyotes, mink, raccoons, striped and spotted skunks, badgers, and other game and fur-bearing animals roam refuge lands. While in the boundaries, they are protected from hunting' or molestation.

Fishing is permitted in two of the refuge lakes and in a portion of the third from January 1 until September 30, with good numbers of northern pike and black bass taken. Anglers should stop at the headquarters building to obtain a copy of the regulations governing Crescent fishing. Nebraska fishing regulations apply.

Visitors are welcome during the daylight hours. They should register at the headquarters building where they'll receive a guide to the refuge and its bird and animal life. Wildlife photographers find the refuge an excellent spot for their cameras since the birds and animals are not as shy as they are in the wild.

Concentrated in a relatively small area, the variety of birds and animals offers a fascinating menu to the nature lover. Those that visit agree that Crescent Lake is one spot in Nebraska that is literally for the birds.

BOW-BENDING

between the bow string and the heavy shoulder muscles. The fingers and the hand must be relaxed to allow proper release of the arrow.

Novice archers are often confused by the terms "high-anchor" and "low-anchor points." An example of the high anchor is when the drawing hand is brought back to the same spot on the face. The forefinger comes to the corner of the mouth at the exact spot each time that the bow is drawn. This brings the arrow directly under the eye and gives the shooter a line of sight over the arrow to the target. Consistent placement of the drawing hand to the same spot develops accuracy. The high anchor is used by hunters and instinctive archers.

The low-anchor point puts the drawing hand against the jaw and neck with the forefinger resting under and against the chin. The bow string is at or near the middle of the chin, and the arrow is brought into alignment with the right eye. Again, consistent placement of the drawing hand is the key to accuracy.

To shoot accurately, the bowman must aim, and to aim he must hold. Holding is merely the time lapse between the full draw and the alignment on the target. The time varies among individuals, but the archer should not hold so long he starts to shake or tense up.

To release the arrow, relax the three fingers on the bow string, allowing the arrow to slip away. The release should be crisp to avoid "creeping," which allows the arrow to slide forward by relaxing the pull on the bow string. The arrow must be held back until the release.

Once the arrow is loosed, hold the stance and the position of the bow arm until the arrow strikes the target for proper follow-through. It is probably more important in archery than in any other sport.

A good starting range for beginners is 10 yards. Such variables as wind, drop, arrow fall-off, and other uncontrolled influences do not affect the arrow at that range and hits come often enough to encourage the novice. As the archer improves he can move back. Once adept at fundamentals, the hunting bowman should practice shooting from different positions and at unknown ranges.

The best training school for the beginner is the archery club. Experienced members are always willing to take the novice in tow. Excellent how-to books are available and instruction material can also be obtained from the manufacturers upon request.

Heed instructions and correct the errors as they occur. In a matter of weeks, you'll be almost as good as that fellow in Sherwood Forest without all his sheriff trouble.

FAIR AND SQUARE

chance I got. He and another nice eight pointer were running with a herd of does. They were following a definite route out to feed each evening. A couple of weeks before the season opened, the herd stopped using the trail I'd been watching and my efforts to get another line on them proved fruitless.

In return for his many favors, I invited Wayne down to hunt with me in 1962. He pulled in Friday evening and Saturday morning found us afield giving the sport our best.

The two of us concentrated on getting Wayne a deer the first two days as he had only the one weekend. We hunted hard Saturday and most of Sunday without catching sight of a buck. Just when it seemed Wayne would go home blanked, we jumped a nice forkhorn mule deer. He was running straight away at about 50 yards and at the crack of my partner's rifle he piled up sliding on his nose.

With Wayne filled and on his way home and my vacation ahead of me, I was ready to go all-out for my deer. Unexpected business prevented me from doing much hunting Monday but I was able to go out for a couple of hours around sunrise and again at sunset to watch a certain alafalfa field where deer visited.

Long before sunrise Tuesday I was watching the same alfalfa field. It was covered with fresh tracks and I was sure there were deer around somewhere. When nothing stirred, I moved on across the field and followed a well-worn game trail back into the heavy cover along Verdigre Creek. Here two trails joined with one crossing over to the north side of the creek. Since I was only wearing leather boots and the water runs about two feet deep, I followed the south bank.

Moving slowly toward the east, I soon ran out of cover. There are quite a few oak trees on the north side and as I walked along I kept looking them over carefully. Then I noticed a shadowy shape on the side of a little draw.

It was a deer, all right, and I could detect antlers when he raised his head every little while as he fed on the fallen acorns. Using the range-finding device in the dual reticle, I estimated he was around 300 yards out.

My prize was facing straight away from me and wouldn't offer much of a target, but I'd done quite a little shooting at this range and thought there was a good chance of making the shot if I could conquer the buck fever.

A brisk wind was blowing from the west and I was shooting from southwest to northeast so I knew I'd have to allow for some wind drift. Putting the small cross hairs right on the point where the tail and spine join, I moved what would be about five inches left.

As the little rifle nudged me in the shoulder, the buck folded up and disappeared into the draw. This time I wasn't so fussy about getting my feet wet and went charging through the creek. There he was at the bottom of the draw, a four-point buck.

Once I'd got my prize dressed and hung, I headed for the car and town to get help to haul the buck up the steep climb of the creek bottom. My wife was anxious to help. We drove as close as we could and rigged a shoulder harness of rope for each of us. After tying the ropes to the antlers, we began the long haul. Half an hour later, puffing like steam engines, we reached the car.

Once again I had a deer and a nice buck to boot. I felt genuine pride because I'd taken a fine trophy with a clean shot under challenging circumstances. It wasn't the old mule with the big rack but I'd earned this fellow fair and square. I'd gone out and met him on his own terms. When lady luck placed him in my sights, all the practice of the past two years had paid off.

MINDEN INVITES YOU TO VISIT CHRISTMAS CITY and "The Light Of The World" Pageant

Plan to be in Minden for the 48th anniversary of this magnificent lighting spectacle, and the pageant that has won Minden the title of "Christmas City".

The pageant is presented simultaneously on four sides of the courthouse square. Two hundred Kearney County citizens form the cast for this grand production. Bring along the family for an experience all will long remember.

CHIPMUNK

NEBRASKA IS home for two varieties of chipmunks. The eastern, Tamias siriaius, is found only in the extreme southeastern corner of the state. The least chipmunk, Euiamlas minimus, occurs in the extreme northwest part of Nebraska. The busy rodent gets his popular name from the Algonquian Indians. They called him chit munk because of his unusual chipping call.

Averaging 10 inches in length, the chipmunk sports alternating dark to blackish brown stripes from his shoulders to his rump with a buff to whitish band between the markings on the sides. His cheeks have a slight reddish-brown stripe. Both sexes have similar color markings.

The tail is somewhat shorter than the body and hairy instead of bushy. It's blackish above and rusty below with a white or yellowish fringe. This interesting critter boasts large internal cheek pouches which he uses for transporting food and to haul excavated dirt from the den.

Breeding occurs in the spring following hibernation, with the first litter born in April or May. Second litters may occur in either July or August. Females usually breed for the first time when they are a year old, but they're capable of reproducing at 3 to 7 months. A litter of 1 to 8 but generally 4 or 5 is born after a 31-day gestation period.

The young are blind, hairless, and helpless at birth. Their striped coats appear at eight days and the eyes open when they're 30 to 31 days old. The first trip above ground comes when the young are about 5 to 6 weeks old. Those in the wild will live 42 OUTDOOR NEBRASKA   from 2 to 5 years. They have reached eight years in captivity.

Food consists primarily of nuts, seeds, and berries. Hickory nuts, acorns, beechnuts, hazelnuts, and walnuts are relished as are corn and wheat grains. Berries are eaten but seldom stored and some animal foods are eaten, including insects, earthworms, snails, young mice, small frogs, small snakes, young birds, and bird eggs.

A chipmunk has the curious habit of holding his food in his front paws. An accumulation of shelled seeds, fruit pits, or nutshell fragments usually means a favorite feeding site. Streams, ponds, and other standing water serves his thirst needs.

On occasion the chipmunk uses a favorite resting area from which he "sings". He has several calls but a loud chip is the most common. This is often sung continuously for many minutes at the rate of 130 chips per minute. The little animal can call with his mouth shut and cheek pouches loaded. When suddenly alarmed, a trilling chipp-r-r-r is emitted while he's scampering to safety.

In general, the chipmunk prefers timber borderland rather than deep forests. His tunnels and nest chambers are usually located near wooded banks, log heaps, stone piles, broken rocky ridges, or rubbish heaps.

What appears to be the front door to the tunnel seldom turns out to be. Usually this entry is well concealed by a log, rubbish pile, or rocks. Conspicuous openings are seldom used and in many cases are blocked by debris. The main tunnel is two inches in diameter and runs vertically for about 10 inches before angling off. Tunnels may extend for 30 feet.

Within the tunnel network are enlarged chambers and occasionally other small compartments used for secondary food storage. Large units are about 12 inches wide, 6 to 8 inches high, and are found about 2Vz feet below ground surface. These are used for food storage and as a nest for adult or young. The nest is built on top of the food supply. As the winter progresses and food consumed, the nest level drops to the floor.

The female may live in the same chambers for several years, but males and young move about. There is seldom more than one chipmunk per tunnel system, though as many as four have lived in the same unit. In areas where food is abundant, the chipmunk will remain within a half-acre area. But if food is sparse, he'll roam over a two or three-acre range.

Hibernation habits vary among chipmunks, with most retiring underground in late fall or early winter. Very little fat is accumulated. Some become completely dormant with low body temperatures and reduced body activity. Others are active during mild periods but become dormant during severe cold weather. Still others remain active all winter. This variation is attributed to differences in endocrine gland stability. All reappear in early spring with the males emerging first, usually in March.

Early morning and late afternoons are the periods of greatest activity, with the chipmunk usually retiring to his nest during the heat of the day. Late summer and early fall are spent in a frenzy of collecting nuts and seeds in his cheek pouches to be hauled to the main tunnel chamber for consumption during the winter months. The little rodent takes special care to chew off sharp points before the seeds are placed in the pouches.

Though primarily a ground-dwelling animal, the chipmunk will climb trees to obtain nuts or escape enemies. He swims, too, holding his tail high above the surface.

Although normally quiet and shy, the chipmunk becomes accustomed to humans and will accept food from the hand. Even though appearing tame, any sudden movement will send him scampering for shelter.

The chipmunk is of little or no economic importance. Active during the daylight hours, the colorful mammal has a high aesthetic value. His tunneling helps aerate the soil and check rain and snow runoff. He furnishes food for many carnivorous animals and thus plays an important link in the wildlife food chain. Only in areas where the species becomes very abundant is there damage to sprouting corn, garden bulbs, or stored grain.

Although the chipmunk is infrequently seen in Nebraska, he's a very interesting member of the state's wildlife world. His bustling activity adds a cheery note to the autumn landscape wherever he is found.

This Christmas SEAL THEM WITH STAMPS