DECEMBER Roundup

IF THE SPIRIT of Christmas Future had ever told old Mr. Scrooge about December in NEBRASKAland, chances are Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" would have ended on an even happier note. Scrooge would have dropped everything and headed for NEBRASKAland, where the Yuletide season brings a climax to the year's flurry of activity.

Along with several thousand other visitors, one of the major items on Scrooge's timetable would be Minden's famed "Light of the World" Christmas pageant, which re-enacts the birth of Christ. This year the spectacle will be presented December 5 and 12, with a cast of over 200 plus many more working behind stage.

This will be the 50th anniversary of the pageant, which started in 1915 when the Kearney County Courthouse was first decorated with colorful lights. Since then, from early December until after New Year, Minden's lights shine across the country, to the accompaniment of ringing carillons. The custom has earned the community the title of "The Christmas City".

And there's hunting, NEBRASKAland's biggest sport. The entire month is open for deer with a bow-and-arrow or gunning pheasant, quail, rabbits, and squirrels. Geese will be available to December 14, while rails and gallinules will be on target until December 10. Depending on the weather, the lakes and ponds are usually solid enough for late month ice fishing.

It's basketball time in NEBRASKAland, and our hostess of the month, Miss Jo Anne Renier, brings a renewed interest in the net-swishing contest as she invites you to watch top Husker cagers perform. The daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Renier of Omaha, Jo Anne is a 1963 graduate of Omaha West Side High School. An accounting major, Miss Renier is a junior at the University of Nebraska where she was 1964 Interfraternity Council Queen Candidate, 1965 Rose Queen Candidate, 1965 Miss University of Nebraska, and 1966 first runner up to Miss University of Nebraska.

Those who are night life minded will have a raft of activities to keep them occupied. In Lincoln, the University Theatre will present Edward Albee's "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" December 3 and 4, and Shakespeare's, "Macbeth" on December 10 and 11. The Lincoln Community Playhouse will feature William Archibald's "The Innocents" on December 3, 4, and 7 to 12.

All-star wrestling is slated for Lincoln's Pershing Auditorium on December 7 and 21, followed by the Elks annual Christmas party on December 24. The Holiday Grand Ole Opry spectacular will set feet stomping in Lincoln on December 30 and do it again in Omaha on the following night.

Theatre goers will have a chance to see the Musical, "Barefoot in the Park," at the Omaha Civic Auditorium December 4. Other activities there include Creighton University basketball action on December 1, 3, 6, and 9, and wrestling on the fourth and 11th. The St. Louis Hawks and San Francisco Warriors will take to the floor for play-for-pay basketball, December 5, while professional boxing will occupy the ring three days later. For the music lover, there's the Omaha Symphony family concert on December 19.

One of the social season's high points will be the Candlelight Ball for the Archbishop Bergan Mercy Hospital on December 11 at the Sheraton-Fontenelle Hotel in Omaha.

For the athletic crowd, there'll be high school and college basketball action all over the state. At Lincoln cage fans can watch the University of Nebraska hoopsters face Oregon State on December 7, the University of Texas on the 14th, South Dakota on the 18th, and Stanford on the 20th.

Nebraska Wesleyan's hoop stars host a three-day tournament in Lincoln December 2, 3, and 4, Sioux Falls on December 10, and a two-day, four-team go-around on December 29 and 30.

So for the youngest to the oldest, the season to be jolly all adds up to a slambang conclusion for 1965 in NEBRASKAland.THE END

SPEAK UP

A SPORTSMAN SPEAKS—"I agree with Erwin Molthan of Grafton, whose letter appeared in the May, 1965 issue of NEBRASKAland. Give us more stories on hunting, fishing, camping, and boating, and less on butterflies, city histories, and industries.

"As to that new color section, sure the photos are well taken and pretty, but pretty photos can be found in many magazines. I don't think they are worth the extra quarter.

"The one thing that Outdoor Nebraska could do for resident sportsmen that large circulation outdoor magazines couldn't was give us stories of our own state's hunting and fishing.

"This new NEBRASKAland can't do this because there isn't any hunting and fishing left in it!

"But you'll say, 'This is part of the magazine's continuing effort to cover all phases of the state scene'. But most of your readers only care about three or four of these 'phases' and these are probably hunting, fishing, camping, and boating, because most of your readers are men.

"Most of your subscribers that I have talked to feel the same way."—David Eckmann, Bloomfield.

We cannot consider NEBRASKAland exclusively a publication for resident sportsmen. Due to an enlarged circulation, many of our readers are not residents, and certainly are not all hunters, fishermen, campers, boaters, or even men, for that matter. By expanding our format and increasing the number of pages, we are striving to cover more "phases" of state interest, at the same time retaining a proportionate number of stories for sportsmen. There are more pages in NEBRASKAland. We believe as many are devoted to the sports scene as there were in Outdoor Nebraska.—Editor.

WORRIED—"At the time I sent my subscription for NEBRASKAland I sent an additional buck for two copies of the June '65 issue. I haven't received them. I had shown my copy to a couple of the fellows at a gun club meeting and they sure wanted one of them.

"Since I am an old Nebraskan and have just come back from Fremont, I have a kick to register. On this trip I covered parts of the pheasant counties. I just don't think you have the pheasants for the season you are allowing.

"Why should I kick? Well, I hope to be back in the near future. While I don't expect you kids to remember the first open season we had back in 1927, I do know while driving through some of these same counties, one would see hundreds of birds.

"I have land in Polk County and, while I did not have the time to visit with too many, those I did see told me they were posting because of the shortage of birds.

"As it happened I was doing most of my driving mornings and evenings and did not see enough birds in Hall, Loup, Howard, Platte, Butler, Keith, or Perkins counties to get excited about. The panhandle was about the same.

"I hope we don't do like they did in South Dakota and Wyoming several years back. This was in certain parts of these states. When I came to Park County in 1940, we had a five-cock limit and 20-day season and they just about shot them out.

"They are coming back but, with the increase in hunters and not much duck shooting, I wonder what is going to happen."—A. B. Kinnan,Cody, Wyoming.

You overlook one basic fact, Mr. Kinnan. Hunting has no bearing on the increase or decline of pheasants in Nebraska. Consequently there is no valid reason for short season or low limits.

We never take enough roosters to affect egg fertility and chick production. We always have a surplus of roosters, no matter what seasons and limits we set. Mr. Pheasant Rooster takes care of that. In fact, we leave almost as many excess, surplus roosters in the field each year as we harvest. These surplus roosters are sheer waste; they do no one any good.

Changing habitat makes pheasant populations rise or fall; hunting under the regulations we set in Nebraska does not. We would like to have more pheasants, too, but we can't control habitat except by persuasion. —M. O. Steen, Director.

LIKES MAGAZINE—"I received my first two copies of Outdoor NEBRASKAland, June and July. What a pleasant surprise! This is a wonderful magazine; good stories, good photography, and it's nicely edited. Congratulations.

"In the buffalo-drive story on page 14, in reference to the man from Friend, name omitted: his name was John Gilbert. I remember him donating these elk and buffalo. What a time they had loading these animals.

In the Gilbert Library is a picture of the original herd of elk that was sent to Fort Niobrara."—GeorgeHaberman,Hastings. RINGNECK HISTORY—"In your May issue you talk of pheasant hunting. I wonder if you know when and how the first pheasants came to Nebraska?

"A Dr. Cone of Oxford was discharged from the army in May of 1920 and brought home 60 pheasant eggs from New York. The Jack Coadys were farming his land south of Oxford on the Republican River. Acie Coady set four hens, each with 15 eggs. Fifty four hatched and Acie raised 48 of them. The first winter the pheasants roosted with her chickens, but in the spring 30 made nests in a five-acre alfalfa field. After the Coadys found 20 nests, they didn't mow it that season.

"That autumn, Jack moved an old feed bunk out in the field, made a cover for it, and kept wheat and corn there for the pheasants.

"The first pheasants came back to the chicken house as long as they lived.

"The people Dr. Cone brought the eggs from stopped to visit him in 1924. He took them out to his farm to see his pheasants.

"I don't know when the state began stocking pheasants, but I do know how and when the first one got here."—Mr. Roy Harthy Hariby, Otis, Colorado.

HUNTING FAN—"I read the September issue of NEBRASKAland and enjoyed every article. "How could a hunter, after reading about Nebraska, remain home and not partake in a hunt for those nut-glutton squirrels, those riled-up bunnies, or the fuzzy legs with their bug-out messages?

"I would love to live in NEBRASKAland, with its good fishing lakes—Erwin Knapp, Villa Ridge, Missouri.

MORE HOW TO—"I am writing to praise a little, and to criticize a little, the articles in NEBRASKAland Magazine.

"I am impressed with your beautiful color pictures and some of the stories. However, I would like to see fewer of the story type articles and more of useful information such as different methods of cleaning birds. I believe a practice of immediate field dressing all birds means a better meal. But just how many ways are there of dressing different species?

"I would also be interested in ways to take care of guns and equipment. Safety practices can never be over expressed.

"And what better place than your magazine do we have for the conservation officer, the farmer, and the sportsman to express their gripes, complaints and recommendations?

"I feel that NEBRASKAland Magazine has a very good future, but that there should be personal information going out."—Richard G. Anderson, North Platte.

Certainly there will be a continuing flow of "how to" stories in NEBRASKAland. "Speak Up" is designed for interested persons to express their views, and we welcome any and all comments—Editor.

Before approval for manufacture, every lot of Hornady Bullets is test fired in our 200-yard laboratory range. Below, you see typical testtargets, showing the match accuracy we demand of our hunting bullets before production. Our bullets are continually tested for accuracy, uniformity, and dependable expansion. For success on the hunt, load Hornadys.

Dawn of century brings changes to Christmas scene, but desire to give children the best remains the same

added surprise he got some treats for the children. With 50 pounds of supplies on his back, Block set out for home.

On the second day, he became worried about making it home. Only 30 miles out, he quickened the pace but the heavy pack pulled and drained his energy. Suddenly, as if a gift from above, he sighted a team and wagon idly standing by the road. As he cautiously approached, a woman appeared.

Too worn out to be excited, she wearily told her story. Her husband had been seriously hurt in a farm accident. She had done her best to drag him to the wagon and hitch up the horses to take him to help. But he was in such agonizing pain, she did not know what to do and was too exhausted to go any further.

Block did what he could to make the man comfortable. With the woman caring for her husband, he drove them to his farm. When they arrived at midday, Block and his wife bandaged the man's wounds. Then,' in the true spirit of Christmas, they shared their gifts, precious flour and food with the two strangers. Block shared his home and his few supplies with the two until spring when the couple returned to their farm.

Nebraska's history is full of incidents that typify the magic fellowship of Christmas but none are more typical than the efforts and sacrifices that parents made to bring a bit of holiday gaiety to their children.

Traditionally Christmas is a child's day. But toys were hard to come by in early Nebraska so father, after a day in the fields, spent long hours whittling horses or cannons from bits and scraps of wood for his sons Mother, too, worked and sacrificed so daughter would NEBRASKAland be thrilled on Christmas morning. Into the cold, late hours, after the children were asleep, parents worked on the homemade gifts.

Doll dresses were pieced together from remnants or from clothes too worn to be revamped into another garment. Wooden rattles and dolls with wooden bodies and papier-mache heads were patiently and expertly carved and molded. Such handmade gifts, crude by today's standards, meant Christmas to the frontier youngsters.

On the prairies, scarcity of evergreens halted the old European custom of decorated Christmas trees for the early immigrants. But frontier ingenuity, ever keen when little ones were involved, solved the problem. The family dragged in a skinny, skeleton oak, or some other hardwood and wrapped the bare branches with cotton for a counterpart of today's canned snow and aluminum creations.

Chattering children helped trim their tree by threading popcorn and cranberries in long strands. They performed this tedious task and tried experimental patterns with gay enthusiasm. Their favorites were strings of red cranberries and white popcorn. For an added touch, the small ones cut and pasted paper chains to dress up the anemic little tree.

Parents gambled with candles, lighting their trees to give an added brightness to their children's scanty Christmas. Candle holders with trays to catch dripping wax were balanced by a colored ball. Still, a bucket of water was kept nearby for fire in a lonely homestead was a deadly catastrophe. Stockings were hung, too, from bedposts, walls, or any convenient place. Filled with apples or sticks of cinnamon and peppermint, they were a welcome sight to the children who were often sockless because their one pair was hanging for Santa.

The occasional gift from relatives back east cheered the barest holiday, but its Christmas arrival hinged on the unreliable mails and it was not unusual for the holiday to come and go without the arrival of a long anticipated package.

Gifts might be meager and food scanty in a sod house but at least the early settler was surrounded by his family and friends. With frontier ingenuity he could usually come up with something to pleasure his youngsters and cheer his wife but for the lonely men who roamed the trackless prairie, Christmas was often cheerless.

In 1834, one missionary spent the day in a Pawnee chief's lodge with a dinner of buffalo sausage meat, fried fritters, and coffee. And an old trapper described his holiday Indian meal as washena, a dried meat pulverized and mixed with marrow, cherries, preserved by pounding and sun-drying, and mixed with bouillie, made from the liquor of fresh-boiled meat, marrow-fat, and flour from white apples.

Others were not even that fortunate. Alone on the great plains, men seldom had time, money, or place to celebrate, but their thoughts were with past holidays. One traveler, a Dr. Bigelow, camping in Otoe County around 1850, spent his Christmas gazing at the starry heavens through a hole in his tent.

"I inhaled the fragrant smoke produced by mingling some tea with the dry willow leaves in my pipe, the only Christmas indulgence I could afford, and fancied the stars looked kindly down upon me, as they used to do at home, though they seemed like myself, to be trembling with cold," he wrote later.

As the country filled with whites, Christmas dinner became less and less of a problem. Nebraska's plentiful game practically insured a bountiful feast even though other Christmas trappings might be scanty. There were lots of birds and animals and most of the settlers were good with a gun. If they weren't, there was always a friend who liked to hunt and made sure that a brace of ducks, prairie chickens, or a wild goose found their way to a neighboring soddy. Buffalo meat or venison made tasty Christmas roasts. Neighborhood butchering bees supplied beef and pork.

In later years, plum pudding, with brandy, burning and topped with holly, was ceremoniously served to a gleeful family. Strictly a Christmas special, preparations for this holiday spectacular started with the mincemeat for Thanksgiving pies. The pudding's ingredients, dished into a sack, were boiled for seven hours and then served with great ceremony.

Toiling over the fireplace or hay-burning stove was no picnic for the homesteader's wife as long hours were required to prepare the holiday feast. Heavy iron kettles, skillets, and griddles served as cooking gear. Occasionally stone and earthenware were used. Stuffing of mashed potatoes and onions, homemade bread, and jellies made from wild plums and other fruits supplied the trimmings of the holiday feast.

As settlers tamed the land and established towns, Christmas customs began to change with a trend toward church and community celebrations instead of individual observances. Books were always scarce on the frontier so the practical townspeople combined need with the tradition of giving and raised money to buy books for the benefit of all. Such favorites as "Homespun Yarns", and Charles (continued on page 47)

POOR MAN'S DUCK CLUB

SKEPTICAL WATERFOWLERS who are wondering what their "duck" stamp dollars are doing to improve their sport can find the answer in the Rainwater Basin Area of south central Nebraska. Small letters on little signs scattered around 20 marshes and sloughs of this unique region tell the story in seven words: "WATERFOWL PRODUCTION AREA and OPEN TO PUBLIC HUNTING." These words should be blazoned in letters four feet high so sportsmen can readily understand what their three-buck stamp is doing to preserve and improve their favorite sport right here in Nebraska.

In the basin country about $1 million of duck stamp money is at work and more is at the barrier waiting to enter the wetlands acquisition program. Funds for the purchase, improvement, and management of the 20 sloughs and ponds are coming from duck stamp money. These areas are located in Kearney, Phelps, Clay, York, Fillmore, and Gosper counties. Clay County leads the acquisition program with 1,360 acres but other counties are not far behind.

More purchases are on the way as the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service continues the program from its office in Hastings. To date, about 4,300 acres have been acquired, with 54 per cent of them classed as wetlands. The remaining land is necessary to provide suitable cover for ground nesting waterfowl, brood protection, and prevention of siltation. To get the 20 separate areas, the Service made 43 purchases.

Preservation of suitable nesting and rearing cover for waterfowl is the basic purpose of these acquisitions but public hunting is an important side benefit. The program has a far-reaching influence in Nebraska for it is proof that the Department of the Interior recognizes the state as a duck producer. In the future, the program could be expanded, for much of the organizational work is already completed. Although the Rainwater Basin purchase program is the first of its kind in Nebraska, it is part of an overall plan to preserve waterfowl production areas in the United States.

Ducks and geese need all the help they can get or they may vanish from the American skies. Thousands of one-time duck-producing wetlands have already disappeared and more are going every day. Urban sprawl, irrigation, and power producing impoundments, super highways, agricultural drainage, and a hundred other factors are gobbling up the homes of waterfowl, making it increasingly difficult for the webfeet to find proper habitat if populations are to increase.

Federal and state authorities are well aware of the problem. Duck hunters sometimes find it difficult to accept short seasons and small bag limits when thousands of ducks and geese fill the skies over their state, but overall the picture is dim and growing dimmer, for the wild duck and the honker find the going tougher every year. Even in the Rainwater Basin Area where the acquisition program is well underway, about 85 per cent of the original wetlands are gone for good. In the old days before intensive agriculture with

its drainage activities took over, the area rivaled the Sand Hills as a duck factory.

In 1958, the Nebraska Game Commission conducted surveys and inventories in the Rainwater Basin Area with a long-range view to purchase and preservation of some of the existing wetlands. Thanks to this early survey which eliminated many of the tedious preliminaries, the Fish and Wildlife Service was able to start its program with a minimum of delay in 1962.

Webfeet are the big gainers in the program but other game fares well, too. Fringe areas which protect nesting ducks and their broods supply excellent habitat for pheasants, quail, and cottontails. Bird watchers and outdoor photographers find plenty of opportunities to pursue their hobbies in the teeming marshes and sloughs.

Thanks to the permanent aspects of the acquisition program, some of Nebraska's heritage of the unspoiled and unchanged prairie will be left for future generations to appreciate.

Francis "Tub" Ralfis, a Sutton businessman, is typical of the sportsmen who "discovered" the Rainwater Basin Area during the September teal season. Tub is an ardent duck hunter, but like many other Nebraskans he was pinched for a place to hunt. For him and thousands of others like him, the federal (continued on page 50)

Bird COLONELS

THE ESCAPING ROOSTER came boiling out of the canyon, heading for the snow-covered brome of the tableland. He had already outwitted two hunters and was only a few wingbeats from safety when he saw the waiting gunner. Desperately, the ringneck swerved and plunged, begging gravity for extra speed but the relentless shotgun followed his every move. The bird never heard the shot that tumbled him.

Lt. Col. Jerry Miller, commanding officer of the 818th., Engineering Squadron at Lincoln Air Force Base, had scored on the only rooster of the afternoon and he was proud of his accomplishment. Grinning, the veteran Air Force officer lost no time plunging verbal needles into sweating hides of his almost bushed companions.

"If you guys had sense enough to apply a little military strategy to pheasant hunting, you, too, could get birds. All it takes is a little planning and superior marksmanship," he teased.

T/Sgt. Ed Gentry and Deputy Squadron Commander Lt.Col.JerryMartinweren't impressedwiththeir

C. O.'s advice. Tired, frustrated, and birdless, they had bucked a half mile of brush and weeds to no avail. Miller's lone rooster had flushed far ahead of them and just by luck had sailed toward the waiting officer. Right then, they were in no mood for any lectures on military science or pheasant hunting. All they wanted was a breather.

The three Air Force men were on a late-season pheasant hunt in the Bloomfield area of northeastern Nebraska. It was their last chance at the big, gaudy birds for all were slated for retirement or new assignments. Colonel Miller was retiring. Colonel Martin had orders for Japan, and Sergeant Gentry was headed for New Hampshire and a final tour of duty before he called it a career. During their tours at LAFB, the three had often enjoyed Nebraska's great pheasant hunting but they wanted to make this last one a finale to remember.

They had picked an almost perfect spot and day for the hunt. The Bloomfield-Crofton locality is one of the best ringneck producing areas in the state.A mixture

of cropland, soil banks, and weedy draws, this region offers ideal habitat for the canny longtails. The day was a beaut. A brilliant sun rode through a deep blue sky, throwing thousands of glittering reflections at the four-inch cover of new snow. There was just enough nip in the air to make it invigorating.

Everything looked right but the hunters found the going tougher than they expected. First, they hit a shelter belt and spooked half a hundred hens without jarring out a rooster. Next, they tried the time-tested walk and block tactic on a weed-filled canyon and came up with just one legal target.

"I never got hen happy in Nebraska before but I swear I'm going to blast the next one out of pure frustration," growled Sergeant Gentry after he spooked the umpteenth drabbie from a clump of plum brush.

The others knew it was only talk for the ex-tail gunner was a good sportsman and would rather break an arm than the law, no matter how frustrating the hunting. After Colonel Miller ran down, the trio hunted until sunset but the lone rooster was their total for the long afternoon.

That night, Colonel Miller poured it on his luckless companions with a rough and ready tongue. He made frequent references to his "superior" marksmanship, his outstanding strategy, and his wealth of hunting wisdom. His buddies were used to the rawhiding. They had hunted together in Korea where the daily kill of pheasants often exceeded 150 birds, and had spent a lot of time in duck hunting blinds along the Japanese coast. They gave the hard-bitten C. O. as good as they got in the verbal exchanges. The razzing was part of the fun and companionship of the hunt and all of them knew it.

At supper, Sergeant Gentry reminisced about pheasant hunting in Korea. "We used to hire Koreans to drive the covers for us. We would wait in shooting butts like they have in Scotland and let the birds come over. It wasn't unusual to see a hundred or more in the air at one time. My shoulder used to be black and blue for two weeks after one of those hunts."

"Well, we don't have Korean drivers in Nebraska. All we have is one noisy colonel and so far a lot of hens 16 NEBRASKAland so maybe we had better come up with some ideas for tomorrow or we'll go home with big fat zeroes instead of a limit of birds. Why don't we call John Schuckman, the conservation officer in Crofton, and see if he has any ideas?" Martin answered.

John recommended the Hartington area, a few miles to the east, as a likely spot. The genial conservation officer offered them the use of his black Lab, Duke, and contacted Paul Moode, a Hartington-area businessman, who agreed to act as guide and hunting companion. He had a bird-wise German shorthair with the impossible name of Gasket and he promised to bring her along. He also volunteered his pickup so the hunters could "leapfrog" the sections and save themselves a lot of legwork.

Their spirits restored by the prospects of a good day, the military men sacked out early, confident that Paul and the two dogs would help them limit out in record time.

Sometime during the night, a cold front blew in to cover the December sky with low, leaden clouds, heavy with the threat of snow. A north wind, zipping along at 15 to 20 knots, promised plenty of tricky shooting but the hunters weren't worrying about the weather as they made their predawn rendezvous with Paul and the dogs.

For the first try, Paul selected a section of soil bank. The unused ground was a tangle of brome grass, winter-killed sunflowers, and patchy plum brush. Since it was too big for driving and blocking by four men, Paul suggested halving it and making two sweeps to comb out the hidden ringnecks.

"We'll take half of it at a time and move against the wind. I'll take the dogs and one man and hit the center of the line while the other two guard the flanks. You flankers get a little behind us and pinch in a bit to keep the birds from sideling out," he explained.

His plan worked pretty well. A rooster exploded in front of Duke and caught the wind before the gunners made 20 yards. For just a split second the bird hung in the air summoning momentum for the climb into the wind. Colonel Jerry Martin's(continued on page 54)

FOLLOWING THE RIVER

LITTLE NEEDLES OF MIST pricked Pat Knutson's face as the 33-horsepower motor pushed his 16-foot joe boat against the Missouri River current. The weather was rough but it would take a much worse day to keep Pat shore-bound in his chartreuse cabin at Decatur, for crappies were on their September biting binge.

Today, Pat was in a hurry. "I'm going up for some crappies," he told the help at his restaurant in Omaha. The stocky Norwegian grins broadly when one of his customers asks why he spends so much time on the river. "I like to get away from city life once in a while," is his stock answer, given in his customary rapid-fire delivery. "I'd rather go there than anywhere. Almost every Wednesday afternoon and weekend I take off for the cabin to do a little fishing."

Pat watched the garish green cabin growing smaller as he pushed up river. Already the trammel nets, draped over racks around the structure, were lost in the distance. He headed for a few hours of crappie fishing with the assurance of a man who knows where he's going. His eyes went back to the current, but the cabin lingered in his mind.

He is proud of the little dwelling, built on land he leased six years ago in partnership with a friend. Pat has many friends. So many, in fact, that an addition was needed soon after the shelter was constructed. An old school bus filled the bill. Rigged with bunks and attached permanently to the main building, it forms the long leg of an "L". The furnishings are no more elaborate than needed. A table, chairs, three refrigerators, two cookstoves, and a couple of gas heaters provide all the comforts fishermen could want. A small shed stores motors, oars, and life jackets. Pat's 17-foot catamaran is moored below the high river bank. Its dual hull gives a smoother ride than the joe boat but its smaller motor cuts down on speed.

Many hot spots have resulted from channel-straightening jobs on the Missouri River by the U. S. Corps of Engineers. The Corps threw up a series of rock jetties and pilings, leaving the rest of the chore to be accomplished by the river's powerful current. As a result, the river has formed innumerable cutbacks. These snagclogged backwaters are a mecca for slab-sided crappies, bass, catfish, and sauger. Pat considers the water above Decatur his favorite fishing stretch.

"It's much cleaner now than when I first started fishing it, just after the war," he explains. "The dams keep back a lot of silt."

The veteran river traveler is always looking for new places to try his luck.

When he hits pay water, he remembers the spot. "I get all the fish I want," he tells the curious. "I can go one time for sauger, the next for crappies. Last year I caught an eight-pound northern pike. Minnows are my mainstays for bait. I don't think you can beat a minnow and a good cane pole for crappie or a ditty pole for catfish."

The weekend before his crappie junket, Pat nailed a 10-pound blue catfish with a ditty pole. These whippy willow switches are nailed to a piling with a huge minnow floundering at the end of the line. The poles are set to keep the bait just under the surface of the water.

The veteran angler has a commercial fishing license, and has netted his share of cats and rough fish. "I remember one day I made about a $100 with a trammel net. I worked from dawn to dark, steadily pulling in fish. I was so worn out from standing in the prow of my boat and bending to pull in the net that it took me three days to get over it."

Pat's itinerary for a trip upriver brings back some of the fascinating history of the Missouri. Such names as Big Bear Hollow, Blackbird, Winnebago, and Mission Bends all denote well-known river areas that played significant roles in Nebraska's early days.

His destination on that rainy Wednesday was a cut-off on the upper reach of Winnebago Bend. As he neared the place, he scanned the Nebraska shore. The sumac was rusting the high hills and the chilly air reminded the Omahan that autumn was not far off.

Deftly he worked the boat into deeper water to bypass a bar. His usual response to admiration for his seamanship is a modest "I know the river pretty well".

Long experience has taught Pat that a boil here indicates a sandbar, or that deep water is found where the current slices against a row of pilings. He doesn't need the U. S. Engineers' channel buoys to show him the main channel. His joe boat with its shallow draft can go places that larger craft must avoid. But Pat doesn't take any unnecessary chances.

Nosing into the chosen crappie hole, Pat's boat jarred to a halt on the sandy bottom of its narrow neck. "It was deep enough to enter last week," he mused, taking off his shoes and stockings. Passers-by would have stopped for a second look if they could have seen this rain gear-clad figure standing barefoot in the water. He strained at the boat, urging it through to deeper water.

The craft slid free, and Pat resumed his post at the outboard. He started the motor and eased cautiously toward an old tree that lay partially submerged about midway down the 50-yard-wide chute. From previous visits Pat knew the water (continued on page 53)

CLOUD SMITH His Own Man

NOISE AND BACKSTAGE confusion made the 14-year-old dreadfully nervous. His fingers tightened around his trumpet as his name was announced by the buckskin-clad man with the goatee— William F. "Buffalo Bill" Cody, himself. White Cloud Smith felt hot blood hammering in his ears as he moved to center arena. Starring as a featured performer with Bill's famed Wild West Show at the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 was heady stuff. His lips quivered as he brought his trumpet up and began to play. Suddenly, he was carried away with his music. When the selection was over, Cloud bowed to the applause and retreated, jubilant. He had found a way of life that he would never leave, although his father and part-Pawnee mother had other plans for him and none of them included a career on the stage.

The theatrical career which began in Chicago with Buffalo Bill was to span the better part of a century. Now 86, the old showman is full of memories which cover a continent and a sizeable slice of its history. He has three fat folios of publicity, all of it good press, to spark his recollections of such great show people as the noted actor Otis Skinner and Nebraska statesman William Jennings Bryan.

Now living in Lincoln, the silver-haired actor retains his gift for talk, and can spin yarns which leave his listener yearning for more. "I've had enough publicity and don't need any more," he claims, patting a bulging briefcase of clippings. "If anyone ever wants to write another word about me, and plans to make it sound as though I'm a big shot, I'd just as soon he'd forget it. Besides, a man's career can only be understood by others who share similar experiences. Such stories should be about the times, and not the individual."

In Cloud's case, his experiences are the times. His father, Capt. John T. Smith, jumped at the chance to go to the Great Exposition as Buffalo Bill's head harness maker but his wife and two sons had to go along. The Captain sold Bill on the idea by pointing out that Mrs. Smith could turn a deft needle to help with the Indian parade costumes, and that the boys were willing workers and quite gifted musically. Cody was not hard to convince. Besides, the elder Smith had quite a reputation for harness work around the family home at Fullerton, Nebraska, where some of the finest horses in the

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Long before radio, T.V., or movie treatment of Davy Crockett, Cloud's one-man portrayal packed them in

DECEMBER,1965 21   world were raised and trained to race in the grand circuit.

Young Cloud, who'd played a trumpet since he could remember, was thrilled at the prospect. Brother Redwood, also an accomplished trumpeter, lacked the younger Smith's love for the stage. He would work toward a career as a teacher.

The showman-to-be had not traveled much since he was very small. He could recall one wonderful trip with his father to Lexington, Kentucky, and back. But he was so tiny then, that he slept most of the way and couldn't remember the details of the long trip in a jolting wagon. The boys were practically raised in the saddle, and were well-muscled and eager for adventure.

Buffalo Bill immediately took to the two Smith boys. His kindly, gentle nature always came on strong when youngsters were around.

"He was good to us, and told us we had real talent. I knew right then there would never be anything for me but the stage," Cloud recalls.

For the youngster, Cody was the perfect man to bridge the gap between Smith's frontier beginnings and his ultimate love — the theater. Born in 1879, Cloud made his first grand entrance in a sod house, north of North Platte. His mother took one look at her baby's pale skin and named him "White Cloud". Soon after, the Smith family moved to the Genoa area to be near his grandmother's tribal home.

Cloud's father earned his title of Captain as leader of the First Nebraska Regimental Band. He was of the rugged and honest breed of men who first sank roots into the tough NEBRASKAland sod. Good education for his children was the ruling passion of his life. In an era when school was a hit or miss proposition for many the Smith boys had to go. Old-time teachers often had to be tough enough to lick the biggest boy in class and some were pretty big. Cloud remembers well the day he was on the receiving end of a switch for some infraction of the rules. But he came prepared for the ordeal by wearing three pairs of pants. More switches were coming.

Captain Smith sought to steer his son into the teaching profession. But the call of the theater and the boyhood resolution to be an actor were irresistible. Recognizing the boy's gift of gab, the harness maker sent him to Nebraska Wesleyan University in Lincoln to study for the ministry. When that didn't work out, Cloud was enrolled in the University of Nebraska Law School. The stage-struck youngster found the studies dull.

"If they'd only used mock trials and things like that, I might have stuck it out. I had access to the law library of William Jennings Bryan, where I studied quite a bit," Cloud says. The aspiring actor and the golden-tongued orator were destined to meet again in a very unusual way.

Summer found the budding attorney hitting the Chautauqua circuit and loving every minute of it, but come fall it was back to the books. Cloud finally took the reins into his own hands because of Otis Skinner.

"Mr. Skinner was one of the biggest influences in my career," Cloud maintains. "I was playing the trumpet in a Lincoln theater one night, and Mr. Skinner was there to read a one-act play. As he spoke, I knew I had found my ido1. Soon after that I changed my course of study to dramatics. I memorized the play Mr. Skinner did, and another called 'Davy Crockett'."

A pilgrimage to the Alamo turned up an unfinished autobiography of the famed frontiersman. Curators at the shrine would not loan the book, so Cloud logged some long days taking copious notes. From this, he hammered out his longer version of the original play.

Cloud stuck with "Davy" for about 30 years, and it was such a smash that White Cloud Smith became "Dr. White Cloud Smith", thanks to an honorary degree from the University of Tennessee for his portrayal of a favorite native son. The stage "Davy", like the real Buffalo Bill, forged another link between the theater and the Nebraskan. At Chicago in 1933 the show ran for a solid year. The performer began injecting his own homespun philosophy and poetry into the show. Parts of the one-man drama became quite complex, with Cloud playing as many as six characters in several acts. Because of his philosophical (continued on page 47)

CATTLE COUNTRY

The years change men and mounts, but dappled sky is same. Sons ride the range where fathers once rode

The GOOD LORD had something special in mind when He strung the Missouri down Nebraska's eastern border and made holding fences out of the Niobrara and Platte. He had corralled Himself the finest piece of grazing land in the Great Plains, and after He had nurtured its belly deep grasses for a couple of eons, set about rounding up cows and cowboys to enjoy the bounty.

One look at the big spread and you can see why it was set aside for the sole purpose of raising beeves. Sod busters and city dudes hold their own on the fringes, hut once the Sand Hills come into view, cattle rule the roost for

the rolling hills defy anyone to gouge them with a plow. Those like the Kinkaiders who took the green valleys as an invitation to set up housekeeping were sent packing in quick order. The tableland country beyond is a little more relenting, but even in the shadow of the Pine Ridge, cow is king.

A special breed of man claims range country. He's as independent and unaffected as the land that weaned him. He's a true individualist in a day of conformity, and his pride in his spread would put a Texan to shame. Though a gambler by nature, he would just as soon hold a pat hand against the weather and markets. To do so, he has armed himself with a college degree and the most modern equipment. Still he retains much of what was the stockman of old, and would as soon break a bronc as fly a plane.

Though bold by nature and primed to take on anyone who crosses him, the cowboy is humbled by the bigness around him. He respects the land for what it is, firmly believing that it is part of "God's own pastureland." He may cut a wide swath down Main Street on Saturday night, but you can count on him being on hand to get the good word the next morning.

Cowpoke gets four feet wet instead of two where tires don't tread on Bob James Ranch

Beeves dot the rolling hills that once sent settlersrik ricocheting, afraid of being swallowed by unknown DECEMBER,1965 29  

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James Ranch sweeps across a valley in Pine Ridge. In this fringe country, agiculture retinas a foe hold

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  Generations of hooves pound trails deep into he sandy soil. Ruts converge at water hole

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A serene yet unrelenting land etches its nature into face of men like John Bennett of Hay Valley

of those who first claimed the land as their own. Only a hundred years ago, few dared enter this wilderness grassland, afraid of being swallowed up by its eternity of rolling hills. Those that finally took a look discovered countless unbranded strays fattening on the deep grasses that once supported thousands of buffalo. The vast sea of grass that had been passed by in the big push West was now worth its weight in gold and men fought to get their share of the bounty.

Though the days of the range war and necktie party are now only another chapter in the NEBRASKAland history book, the fighting spirit remains. The stockman will take on anyone or anything that threatens his heritage. Many of yesterday's traditions live on today where folks are always on hand to help their neighbor, no matter what the need.

Spreads come big in Nebraska's cattle country. A man can look out as far as he can see and say this is mine. Though the day of the open range is gone and barbed wire strands fence off each man's holdings, many outfits can count their acres in the thousands. While beef is more than plentiful, people are scarce. Towns are small by anyone's measure. Brewster, for example, has only 44 residents, yet it is the Blaine County seat. Hyannis, another county seat, boasts only 373 natives, but it enjoys the reputation of having more millionaires per capita than any other community, large or small, in the nation.

Paved roads are a luxury in the Sand Hills and many a spread is accessible by no more than a two-rut trail. That's why a good horse is still just as important as it was in open range days.

A world filled with change has had little effect on cattle country. The land will continue to defy both plow and urbanization, the countenance of the rolling hills ever destined to be spotted with beeves. "God's own pastureland" is NEBRASKAland's heritage, a heritage and a tradition that will be handed down for many years to come. THE END

PASS THE JELLY PLEASE

THE BOYS STOPPED dead in their tracks. The low growl from the rustling plum thicket meant only one thing to them, an unexpected guest on our berrypicking trip. Just as they were about to take off, the growler stepped out for a face-to-face meeting.

He was a farmer friend who had given us permission to search for berries and fruits in his fields. His imitation of a bruin had convinced 9-year-old Paul and 10-year-old Lee that this was bear country.

Nonexistent bears and other "dangers" fill our trips when we search out wild berries and fruits for our homemade jellies. Our expeditions around Ord prove that NEBRASKAland is loaded with an abundance of materials to make some of the world's finest jellies.

Searching for these outdoor tasties, with our boys and daughter Lynn, 12, sustain our pioneer instincts to provide for ourselves.When I look at store-shelf containers of brambleberry jam with their fancy labels, I know that it is the very same blackberry jam that we enjoy in Nebraska. Our children enjoy garnering the fruit that goes into it. In the fall, they can hardly wait to pick plums for the tangy jelly that is such a favorite in our house.

Our well-stocked shelves of preserves make all the work worthwhile. "Bears", mosquitoes, chiggers, and poison ivy are only occasional and minor perils on our hunts. Hazards like ripped pants and strained muscles add an even sweeter taste to the finished products.

We are not alone in our enthusiasm for berry hunts. At a recent Danish abbleskiver dinner at a quaint little church in Ord, we discovered fellow advocates of Nebraska's wild bounties. For their old-world delicacies, the members of the congregation make a fabulous chokecherry syrup. They put up the juice and convert it into a syrup that is a perfect counterpart for their sausage and abbleskiver pastries.

Biggest joy of these jellies is not in the eating, but in sharing them with folks who never before tasted such rare commodities. We send a gourmet box to relatives as a tangible form of our work as a family. Warm thank-you's from friends are an added reward. Their exclamations of "the most treasured gift of all" and "guests could talk of nothing else" are pleasures to receive.

We are not above giving our visiting friends a workout when they come to stay. As we slowly amble along the countryside, we all delight in seeing who can spot a patch of wild grapes. Excitement mounts as the sacks of berries pile up. But the next morning brings the real reward, the thrill of plumping a big spoonful of quivering jelly on a slice of toast.

Around Ord, wild grapes are the hardest to find but plums are abundant. Chokecherries are another widespread favorite. Berries and other fruit ripen at different times, with chokeberries first. They ripen about the middle of July and are followed by elderberries, plums, and grapes. Wild raspberries, blackberries, and gooseberries rival the chokecherries as early birds.

Three years of checking vines and trees provided us with a timetable of ripening. Favorite spots are treasured secrets, and some people are wary of revealing the locations of the wild taste treats. We always ask the landowner and have no trouble getting permission to hunt on private property.

Wild fruits and berries have their own distinctive tastes. The chokeberry's sweet but tart taste differs from any other we have tried. Some like chokecherries in jam or pies, but we prefer the jelly. Elderberries are particularly delicious, although we can detect a weed-like taste after a few months storage.

The wild crab apple is second only to the wild grape for hidden flavor. A delightful sharpness sets the wild grape apart from its tame relatives. Some people add equal parts of tame and wild grape juice in making preserves, but we like them straight.

Many of the fruits, such as the crab apples, wild green grapes, and wild plums, have large amounts of natural pectin. One year we tried making some wild plum butter with the residue left from the jelly. After adding pectin to the mixture, we had a butter so solid it would have taken a hatchet to cut it. But experimenting and dreaming up different concoctions are half the fun.

Our projects put the entire family to work and lets everyone enjoy the rewards. When we say, "Pass the jelly, please," we are anticipating a Nebraska delicacy from the bountiful wild.THE END

TREASURE TRAIL

USING ALL OF the caution of a battlewise soldier sweeping a mine field, Fred Crouter of Omaha ran his metal detector over a sod-covered street in Melia, Nebraska, a long-abandoned settlement, about four miles southwest of Gretna. He moved slowly, sweeping the instrument before him in broad arcs, confident that relics of this once wide-open town were there for the finding.

His detector, equipped with earphones, buzzes buried metal, and a meter determines whether the find is magnetic or non-magnetic. Composed of an electronic transmitter-receiver on one end of a rod and a flat, round plate on the other, the detector is sensitive enough to locate metal objects buried three feet under the prairie sod. Fred's rig is about three feet long and weighs approximately three pounds.

"About 90 per cent of the stuff you find will be within 20 inches of the surface, but without a detector you wouldn't have any idea where to dig," Fred explains.

The young, wiry hunter uses three locators in all. His other two are larger than the primary unit, but all work on the same principle. The larger ones are more powerful, however, with the granddaddy of the trio able to detect metal objects the size of a coffee can from 30 feet below the surface. Some of Fred's findings have paid off in cold cash but most of his "treasures" are actually junk.

Crouter is a guidance counselor in the Omaha school system and he finds his profession every bit as challenging as his hobby. But, his off-hours find him poring over old maps, newspapers, and books, researching for treasure leads. One such lead took him to Melia, a ghost town of considerable repute.

"Melia was never incorporated and the saloons stayed open on Sunday," he points out."They held horse races every Sunday and a lot of money changed hands. Some of that loot must still be there."

Fred's first encounter with Melia's tantilizing potentials came early one Saturday afternoon. He was giving the area a routine check when his earphones started squacking. Checking the meter, the tyro treasure hunter confirmed the find as the needle danced across the dial.

Narrowing the arc of the detector, Fred soon located the source of the activity. Laying his machine aside, he knelt in the damp sod and began to probe with a long hunting knife. The blade struck something solid and he began to dig. About six inches below the surface was a crushed tin can, rusted nearly beyond recognition.

Mumbling to himself, Crouter tossed the worthless hunk of metal over his shoulder, filled the hole, and began to scour the town site again. Finds became more frequentnowas hesearchedalong thestreetsand nearby foundations. His earphones set up an almost constant staccato as the needle jittered across the dial. Horse shoes, tin cans, nails, and even parts from an ancient stove yielded to his probes.

Finally, tired and somewhat disappointed, Crouter abandoned his search. The afternoon was unfruitful, but Melia's reputation and promise of sudden riches kept his spirits high. Vowing to return, Fred headed for another spot in hope of making a strike. Hunting treasure is a lot like hunting game. You may draw a blank one day and score the next.

Crouter took up treasure hunting about two years ago. A ham radio enthusiast, he and a friend built a pair of walkie-talkies. From the radios they branched out to other projects and finally to a metal detector. After completing the detector, the duo took off across the hills expecting great things of their prize. They got a lot of exercise, but the hike was unprofitable. "After that we decided to research places where treasure was supposed to be buried," Fred recalls. "I claim those walkie-talkies launched my treasure hunting career."

Since becoming interested in the fast-growing hobby, Crouter has worked to spread the word in Omaha. About five months ago he started the Pioneer Treasure Hunting Club, and the organization has grown by leaps and bounds. Today it boasts approximately 12 members from firemen to professional treasure hunters, this unusual sport is spreading like wildfire through the country, but it involves more time and patience than most beginners realize.

"Most of the time involved is taken up with researching a lead," Fred explains. "I've done quite a bit of work at the State Historical Society in Lincoln, public libraries, and even newspaper morgues."

Several months ago Crouter spent an afternoon going through depression era newspapers, and came up with 25 good treasure leads for his effort.

"I still don't have all of them checked out. It takes time to do it right. Leads may come from libraries, or aging townfolk, but no matter what the source, there are a lot of leads to be followed up in Nebraska. And though research is important, field work is the thing that brings home the bacon," he says.

"After you've researched and pinpointed the treasure, you just go out and pick it up." Fred grins. "But it isn't that simple most of the time. Vegetation makes it hard to get close enough to the ground for readings on a metal detector. Because of the undergrowth, early spring and late fall are the best times to look."

A constantly changing land also poses problems for the treasure hunter. A landmark mentioned in old accounts of the area may be changed or obliterated.

"Occasionally, you'll head for a ghost town and not be able to find any trace of it," the Omahan explains. "When this happens, we use a plane to fly over the area and take photos. On the aerials you can see the depressions where buildings, streets, and old landmarkers were located. The plane belongs to one of the members so the cost isn't too high."

Early morning or late evening are the best times for aerial photography because of the angle of the sun. When the rays are at an angle with the ground the outlines of the depressions show up as shadows on the pictures. Fred does his own photography and it is an invaluable aid to his unusual hobby.

It takes experience to interpret the aerials and match them up with early maps and drawings of a particular spot. The Omahan gets a lot of satisfaction out of identifying the locations of long-gone structures when he tours the actual ground after studying the photos. Another problem of the treasure hunter is private land.

Much of Nebraska's land is private, making it difficult to get at the treasure which has been researched for so long. Crouter likes to keep everything legal and both parties sign a contract before the hunting begins. Though there are several ways to get around the obstacles, Fred feels that he has found an ideal one.

"I simply walk up to the farmer's house and ask him if I can hunt for treasure on his land. Of course we keep it on a contract basis, and he is entitled to half of everything I find. Most landowners simply look at me for a minute like I'm some sort of nut and then give the go ahead with a sly look in their eye."

"You would be surprised to see the look on most of their faces when I ask them if they want half of the money I've just found in their pasture. There is a rude awakening in store for treasure (continued on page 51)

Atreerootrevealsforgottenlode of jar packedwithmudandcoins

TIME OUT FOR TROPHIES

THERE'S A growing army of big-game hunters in Nebraska who are shooting less, but enjoying it more. It's not because there are not enough targets. These men are purposely pick-and-choose hunting from the state's bountiful herds in the hopes of coming up with an entry for the Boone and Crockett Club's famed listings. And those who don't quite make the national mark can try for state big-game trophy citations. This latter award is presented on the basis of Boone and Crockett Club scoring methods, but the qualifying scores are not as high.

Over 100 state citations were awarded in 1964. A few top scores were: typical mule deer, Paul Pritts, Superior, 185%; nontypical mule deer, Bill Glenn, Powell, 237%; typical whitetail deer, Truman Lauterbach, Sprague, 170; nontypical whitetail deer, Ray D. Liles, Hershey, 212%; antelope, Joseph Nelson, Alliance, 84%. All of these hunters except Glenn placed in the 1964 listings of the records committee of the Boone and Crockett Club.

Nine other Nebraskans are listed in the 1964 edition of the Boone and Crockett record book. In the typical whitetail deer listings Leonard Bowman placed with a total score of 173%. Richard Davis of Scotia downed a 162% whitetail while David Strimple of Fremont racked up 163% points in this category. Darrel Peters scored a 162% points on a buck taken in the Clearwater area while Richard Wolkow, Waterloo, brought down an animal totaling 161 % points.

Del Austin offers proof of the pudding that really big deer range here. The Hastings archer stands second in the national nontypical whitetail listings. Austin's buck brought in 1857/8 points plus 91% for a total of 277 %.

Ivan Masher's nontypical whitetail made the fabled list with 176% and 21% totaling 198. Doran Jessee, Benkelman, also was cited in the typical mule deer category with 185% points. Harold Rusk downed his prize buck in the Angora area, carving his niche in the pronghorn category with a score of 82%.

Eligibility for both Boone and Crockett Club listings and state citations comes after an involved set of measurements. Official scorers for the Game Commission measure for both awards at their offices in North Platte, Alliance, Bassett, Norfolk, and Lincoln. Hunters who believe they have a trophy animal should contact their nearest Commission office for arrangements to get the head measured. Big game taken in past as well as present seasons are eligible.

Minimum scores for Boone and Crockett listings are: typical whitetail deer, 160; nontypical whitetail, 160 plus 20 for 180; typical mule deer, 185; nontypical mule deer 185 plus 40 totaling 225; and pronghorn 80.

Listing in the Boone and Crockett records does not carry membership in the club. This elite organization, which started 75 years ago, is restricted to 100 members. One of the requirements is taking at least three North American big-game species in fair chase.

Even though deer and antelope grow big in the sprawling plains and tree-lined valleys of NEBRASKAland, it usually takes some hunting savvy to bring back the beamy racks. Big bucks don't make many mistakes. Logistics play a part in getting an elusive trophy.

That'swhyparticularhunterslineuptheirquarry and territory long before the season opens. Blue-printing the whole trip isn't necessary, but the leg work and homework ahead of time usually pays off. Putting together the right gear and ammo is important. But the main point is to know the hangouts of the big bucks.

Emery Shaw of Lincoln, whose mule deer scored 217 points, had his buck pretty well pin-pointed ahead of time. Although he is quick to note that it wasn't his scouting talents, Shaw says that it was "ahead-of-time knowledge" that put him in the charmed circle. This state citation holder, whose trophy head is on display at the Game Commission's office in the State Capitol, was fortunate enough to have a relative in Crawford who knew where the big buck roamed.

Joseph Nelson also had a lot going for him in pre-hunt planning. The Alliance rancher, whose antelope replaced Harold Rusk's as the state's record pronghorn, bagged the trophy on his own spread. After spotting the mighty pronghorn, Nelson kept track of the animal's movements and habits throughout the year. Come antelope season, Nelson lowered the boom.

Restraint is the byword for the big-buck sportsman. He isn't the meat hunter or the man with buck fever. The dry-fly fisherman of the big-game set, he relies more on skill than luck. In keeping with Boone and Crockett principles of conservation, trophy hunters are seldom guilty of haphazard shooting that results in crippled game. By the time he sizes up his quarry and aims, the hunter is pretty certain of a clean kill. Many trophy hunters are so choosey they pass up dozens of easy shots at average animals just to get a crack at a big-antlered beauty. Even so, a many-tined trophy is no guarantee of a Boone and Crockett listing for standards are often revised upward.

David Strimple of Fremont held off until the day before the season closed to take his big whitetail. The Fremont archer believes in getting out as early as 4:30 in the morning and staying in a tree blind for four or five hours. He scouts his territory weeks ahead of time and has several blinds to adjust for changes in the wind. Archers have wholesale opportunities for big game trophies in Nebraska. Blessed with a long season, they have plenty of time to get out, scout, and then wait for the big ones.

Although high hunter success, expanded herds, and this year's record number of permits have put emphasis on deer, antelope hunters have excellent chances for state citations and listings in Boone and Crockett. Because of the cross-listing system, archers can make Boone and Crockett in addition to Pope and Young.

Trophy hunting has a lot to offer. Even if you don't get that prize animal or your name in the record books, you will have the thrill of the chase, the satisfaction of aiming a little higher than the average hunter, and, more than likely, the know-how to enable you to score next season. THE END

THAT SOMETHING DIFFERENT

RAPIDLY APPROACHING Christmas has most shoppers in a dilemma. They stare bewildered at store windows trying to decide what it will be this year. As a NEBRASKAland gift guide here are 6 ideas for the avid hunter or angler.

PIONEER CHRISTMAS

Dickens' "A Christmas Carol", "King Christmas", and "Holly and Mistletoe" made the rounds from one holiday to the next and brought many hours of enjoyment to young and old.

R. E. Dale of Lincoln reminisced that, in the 1880's, Holdrege's three churches put on programs, each on a different night so everyone could attend and prolong the festive season. Small sacks of candy from the Christmas trees highlighted the evenings for the children.

"Schools had Christmas programs, too. Most of the adults were in their 30's so everyone had a flock of children but the enrollment at school was only around 20. Older children went during the winter months when they weren't needed on the farms. Town and city schools had a little program in the afternoon, but the country schools had the big evening. programs," Mr. Dale commented.

However, most community activities centered around the church. Gifts were brought to the church the day before and were placed on a Christmas tree by a committee. On Christmas Day, music, programs, speeches, and the handing out of presents rounded out the celebration.

Santa Claus usually made an appearance during a church program no matter how small his bag of gifts. One Plattsmouth Christmas, though, was a little hot for the old fellow. During the gift distribution, Santa backed into the tree's candles, setting his suit ablaze. A pail of water doused the fire and St. Nick proceeded with his task, singed but otherwise unhurt.

Garfield County residents held their 1873 celebration in the home of M. B. Goodenow, the oldest settler. Men took to the woods in search of red cedar for a floor for the house. Unexpectedly, one of the men met eight Sioux stealthily sneaking along the bank of a nearby river. Daubed in war paint and armed with guns, the Indians were walking in single file, apparently planning a raid. The settler raced back to the others, and they returned to the Goodenow home in the quiet valley, keeping the incident to themselves so not to upset the women and children. The Indians, however, were not sighted again.

With what cedar they had, the men built the floor. A Christmas tree was set in the corner and the room was emptied of furniture for the dancing. More neighbors arrived, and the men sat down on the woodpile to swap stories as the women pulled out iron kettles to prepare dinner.

Putting the presents on the trees kept the women busy in the afternoon. Later, they danced and broke for lunch around midnight. After the snack, the party-goers resumed their pleasure until the sun came up. After breakfast, the neighbors scattered to their homes.

Young adults often spent the early hours of Christmas, caroling at the homes of friends. Caroling for the sick and visits to their homes were Christmas customs that are still popular with present-day Nebraskans.

At church programs, refreshments were harmless. But at some rivertown parties and in an occasional home, the bottle was pulled from its dusty storage place and passed around. With redeye to spark the festivities, some felt a one-day celebration was not enough.

In 1862, the members of the Nebraska legislature adjourned from December 23rd to the 26th to celebrate the holiday "in the bosom of their constituents against which none but the selfish can urge an objection." But three days were not enough for the lawmakers so their return on the 26th was brief. Brownville's paper tells the story. "Council, spending a few minutes in session, concluded that Christmas was not over, and on motion adjourned until Monday the 30th."

Today, Nebraska's holiday celebrations have changed in detail but not in purpose. The "Merry Christmas" that rings in the frosty air of 1965 is just as sincere and just as meaningful as it was 100 years ago. THE END

CLOUD SMITH

performer took what was purported to be Crockett's motto, "Be sure you're right, then go ahead", and made it his own credo. The poems which he worked in to his repertoire were designed to inspire, or just to express his own good wishes toward the audience. Some of them are still credited "Anonymous" in the anthologies. One of them reads in part:

"From out of life's dusty old corral when failures press, May every bronco that you rope be named success" For several years, the indefatigable speakerandpoethadhisowntent show. He playedtogoodaudiences and to tough ones.

"I remember in Dodge City, Kansas, three men heckled me when I tried to introduce the show. I laid $10 on a table and dared them to take it. I was still a pretty strong man then." The show went on.

The showman treasures a performance in Central City, Nebraska. He set up a roofless tent when the S.R.O. sign went out. Many people bought tickets and watched the show from trees and the tops of nearby buildings. Cloud considered all spectators as his personal friends, and the reception was to him a show of friendship.

Besides his one-man, many-character plays, the performer kept up the musical part of his shows. It was through his music that he again encountered William Jennings Bryan.

"It was 1900 and I was playing with Roland Bond's Concert Band in Louisville, Kentucky, at the World Conclave of the Knights of Pythias. Bryan, then a candidate for the presidency, spoke at a big ball on the last night. He asked the band to play his favorite piece, 'La Paloma'. Mr. Bond, himself a better trumpet player than I, told Mr. Bryan it might be more fitting if a native Nebraskan did it. He gave me the floor and I played it.

"Sixty-two years later, I was at a celebration of the centennial year of Bryan's birth. Again I was asked to play 'La Paloma' with the same trumpet. I still had the very same instrument. I received a standing ovation, and it was one of the greatest moments of my life."

Most men would be ready to call it a career by this time, but not Cloud Smith. He taught five years at the Nebraska State Penitentiary, doing what he(continued on page 50)

WHERE-TO-GO

VISITORS TO THE Ralph Mueller Planetarium in Morrill Hall on the University of Nebraska's campus are awed by the display of a derelict of the sky that flamed through the earth's atmosphere on February 18, 1948, and plunged into a wheat field near Wilsonville, Nebraska. The recovery of the 2,360-pound "invader" from outer space put the state in the all-time record books as host to the largest aerolite or stony meteorite ever found after a witnessed fall.

It now rests in part in the planetarium, an impressive representative of the unknown marvels that race through the heavens. As awe inspiring as it is, the meteorite is only one of the wonders on display in this unique house of the sky at Lincoln.

The fascination that surrounds the Furnas County fireball is typical of the interest in this planetarium which was donated to the University by Ralph Mueller in 1958. Interplanetary space tales, 3-D dioramas, and captivating sky shows are among the varied attractions offered to visitors throughout the year.

Center-stage productions at the planetarium are the 40-minute sky shows in the "Theatre of the Stars". These are flashed every Wednesday at 8 p.m., and on Saturdays at 2:45 p.m. Sunday shows are held at 2:30 and 3:45 p.m. Home football games knock out the Saturday showings during the fall.

When the house lights darken and the sky shows flash from the Spitz projector to the domed ceiling, an unparalleled lesson in the mysteries of astronomy is in store for the audience. Re-creations of the night skies over Nebraska during the four seasons are always popular displays. The current production features "The Guiding Star", a study of the Christmas Star. Adults pay 50 cents, students a quarter for these armchair journeys into space.

A gallery, adjacent to the theatre, houses the 3-D dioramas and other displays pertaining to man's ever-lasting curiosity about the heavens. The dioramas, gifts of Mr. and Mrs. Walt Behlen of Columbus, portray great moments in astronomy. They include such star-gazing greats as Nicolaus Copernicius, the Polish astronomer who developed the theory of the inner relationships of heavenly bodies, and Giordano Bruno, an Italian philosopher who was burned at the stake for daring to differ with the Seventeenth Century theory of the universe.

Just a step away, another diorama shows Galileo Galilei squinting through the refracting lens of the telescope he invented. A neighbor of Galileo is William Herschel, an Englishman who discovered great new vistas in the night skies with his reflecting telescope. Still another shows desert nomads peering at the starry heavens. For many, this is the most intriguing diorama of all.

While the pioneers of astronomy are venerated at the planetarium, another NEBRASKAland museum honors a pioneer of different accomplishments. The Willa Cather Museum at Red Cloud is a tribute to the author of "Lost Lady", "Song of the Lark", and "O Pioneers!" An art, literary, and historical collection relating to the life, times, and work of this Nebraska novelist is on permanent display at the Red Cloud show place. The museum is open from 1 to 5 p.m. during the summer months and can be toured by appointment during the winter. Mrs. Mildred Bennett at Red Cloud will set up off-season tours.

From mementos of Willa Cather and her novels of pioneer life to recordbusting meteorites from outer space, NEBRASKAland boasts a fascinating array of places to go and things to see. THE END

UNDEN INVITES YOU TO VISIT THE CHRISTMAS CITY

Plan to be in Minden for the 51st 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 —Sundays, December 5 and 12, 7 P.M.

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could to bring inspiration into the lives of the prisoners. Later, he tried his hand at an assessor's job. Finally, he put in seven more years as a tour guide at the State Capitol in Lincoln. He re- tired in 1962.

As a guide, the veteran performer was an instant success. His vivid descriptions of the features of the imposing structure were put on souvenir records. His informative talks were interspersed with banter and bits of wisdom in real show business style. On his desk in the lobby was always a "Thought for the Day". As always, he strived to help others through words of encouragement.

Even today, this elder emissary of good will keeps in touch with the theatrical arts. He's an avid radio and television fan and enjoys watching today's great actors perform. Their lives are his life and the lure of the stage knows no age. THE END

DUCK CLUB

wetlandsarejustwhatthedoctor ordered.

"This should be called the Poor Man's Duck Club. It is one of the relatively few places in Nebraska where the average guy can hunt ducks and sometimes geese without paying through the nose for the privilege. The way things were going you either belonged to a duck club or had to have an 'in' with someone who had a hunting lease to get much shooting. Here, I can give the ponds and sloughs a go or two each season, see a lot of birds, and have a chance of bringing some down. When the big flights are in, the shooting is often fantastically good," he claims.

Dotted with sloughs and marshes, portions of the six counties are natural magnets for waterfowl of all kinds. Besides their wealth of nesting and rearing cover for local ducks like mallards, pintails, and teal, the wetlands are prime stopovers for the migrants during their spring and fall flights. Ducks of practically every kind found on the Central Flyway rest in the ponds and sloughs during the great migrations. Wild geese also find the area to their liking during their long north and south treks.

Other than the usual state and federal regulations on waterfowl hunting, the government-owned sloughs and ponds are open to every hunter. The areas are accessible from improved county roads or in easy walking distance. Some of the ponds are ideal for jump hunting while others will accommodate shallow draft boats. Signs mark the boundaries of the public lands.

Tub likes the policy on blinds. "It's first come, first served. That's good. You can build a blind and leave it in the marsh, but, if another man gets there first, it is his until he decides toleave.That'sa pretty goodidea

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in my book. Suppose I have a blind located on the flight path of some mallards but I'm not there. There isn't any reason why another hunter shouldn't have the chance for good shooting just because my blind happens to be spotted in that particular area," he says.

The basins got some play during the 1964 season, but it wasn't until the 1965 special teal season that sportsmen realized what a bonanza of hunting was available. Hunters hit the scattered sloughs and ponds hard on the opening weekend with blue-winged teal the main targets. Greenwings added variety to the hunt and contributed to the fun, but they were in the minority. What was even more important than the pint-size teal were the numbers of bigger, more prized ducks that were seen. It was evident that these were natives and had staked out homestead rights on the sloughs and marshes. They, along with the anticipated migrant birds, contributed significantly to the overall prospects for good hunting during the regular 40-day season.

Even though hunters were out in force for teal, the scattered marshes and ponds absorbed the pressure without a shoulder to shoulder build up of gunners.

"It worked out real well", said Tub.

"When one spot got a little too hot, the ducks took off for another. Not all of the 20 areas were occupied by hunters, so the birds could escape the guns from time to time. As far as I know there weren't any 'burn outs' of one particular spot."

Perpetuation of waterfowl is the primary purpose of the wetlands acquisition program. Technicians are positive that wild ducks and geese will take care of themselves and increase if they have suitable habitat. Preservation of wetlands is a vital requirement in stabilizing that habitat.

The ducks and geese themselves hold the key to public hunting in the Rainwater Basin Area, but the U. S. Fish and Wildlife Service sees no reason why it should be closed in the future. Hunter behavior, climatic conditions, and a lot of other factors can affect the waterfowl hunting potential of the basins but right now everything looks rosy.

Tub hit the nail on the head when he said, "This is the first time I've over felt that my duck stamp purchase was really doing something for me. This is tangible, this is real. This I can understand a lot better than I can a batch of statistics which tell me that so many thousands of acres of wetland were purchased in North Dakota or that so many refuges were established in California or Minnesota.

"This is a close-to-home benefit. The hunting is here where I can enjoy it and whether I get one duck or my limit in a day, I know I'm getting something for my money."

There are a lot of Nebraska water fowlers who will feel the same way, thanks to a little piece of gummed paper with the words, U. S. Migratory Bird Stamp, on it. It is their membership card in the Poor Man's Duck Club which is doing tolerably well in the Rainwater Basin Area. THE END

TREASURE TRAIL (continued from page 43) seekers who fail to obtain permission or legalize the hunt with a contract," Fred claims.

Lawsuits frequently plague serious hunters who don't bother with these formalities. It is only human nature for anyone hearing about a complete stranger taking a sizable amount of hard cash off his land to want a cut if he can't get it all. More than one hunter has been hauled into court by the descendants of the people believed to have hidden money or the present property owners. Even though the finders-keepers rule usually holds up in a law court, it is a rare treasure hunter who can afford to have his funds tied up during the proceedings, not to mention the time involved.

For this reason, all treasure hunters try to keep a find quiet. After all, why invite trouble? Even so, the prospects of free money are luring more and more people into the field each year in spite of the legal red tape.

With the influx of prospective hunters, the problem of equipment always arises. "A beginner should start with

just the essentials," Fred advises. "A metal locator is a must in the sport, but a newcomer shouldn't try to get the biggest or the best. A big machine is an ideal supplementary item, but for the beginner a smaller one is fine. "I always carry a garden trowel or large hunting knife with me when I go into the field," Crouter explains. "It makes for much lighter packing, and I can dig right on the spot with either one of them. If the find turns out to be more than the small tools can handle, I can always walk back to the car for a shovel."

Clothing plays an important part in the hobby, too, and the byword seems to be the baggier the better. Though most treasure hunters couldn't be considered to be the fashion plates of the outdoor set, their rugged, loose-fitting clothing gives them a definite edge on comfort. Any first-timer traipsing over the hills and across the river bottoms will soon learn to follow the seasoned veteran's choice of clothes after he spends a week picking sand burrs out of his arms and legs. Fred finds his will of iron another invaluable asset. After weeks of junk hunting he still wasn't ready to give up. Finally, his effort paid off.

"I researched one treasure until I had it pinpointed and then went to the farmer who owned the land for permission to hunt. He told me that the field where the treasure was supposedly buried was planted in soybeans, but that I was welcome to try when the crop was in. Just for kicks we walked out to the field and right away I picked up a reading on the locator. Just below the surface lay an 1886 S silver dollar. On today's market it's worth about $18.75, and when you figure the workpay ratio, that's not bad money for a few minutes work," Fred said.

There are treasures to be uncovered in Nebraska but finding them is a problem. Although Fred and his cohorts have tapped some of the finds, there are more to lure them on. One of the biggest is the Mormon gold.

In 1946, one Gust Anderson uncovered $100,000 worth of Mormon gold. Either Anderson didn't trust banks or didn't want to share his treasure and he buried it on an island located in the Platte River near Wood River, Nebraska. Gust made it back for some of his loot, but in 1950 he died and left at least some of it where it lay. No one has ever found a trace of the Wood River treasure and it may still be there for the taking.

Possibly, instant wealth awaits the treasure hunter that uncovers the Nebraska City treasure. For several years Jesse James and his gang made a way station about three miles southeast of Nebraska City their home. In later years, several small caches of money were found, but there may still be a lot more where, that came from. Thousands of dollars are under NEBRASKAland's prairie sod waiting to be discovered. But, the hunting for themrequiresaspecialbreed.Only NEBRASKAland those with the courage of their convictions, the patience of Job, and the stamina to cope with the outdoors can be heirs to some of the largest fortunes in the world. If they find the big bonanza, it will be theirs because they have what it takes. THE END

FOLLOWING

was 12 to 20 feet deep.

He scooped a wriggling minnow from his bait bucket and hooked the small fish through the back. A flip of the cane pole and bait, bobber, and line went over the side. A second bobber was soon riding beside the first, and Pat leaned back to survey the cutoff and wait for developments.

Fish were working all around him, and an occasional lunker slapped water. "They can't all be carp," he chuckled aloud, forgetting the damp grayness of the day.

With no preliminary skittering a bobber dipped beneath the surface. Pat could see it suspended, unmoving, beneath the water and for a second or two he thought the hook was fouled on a submerged branch. He heaved on the pole and a six-inch crappie sailed up. Pat unhooked the little fellow, released him, and put a fresh minnow on the No. 8 hook. During the next hour, he brought in six fish. Only two of them were large enough to keep. Pat dropped them in the mesh live bag on the side of his boat. The crappies were fun, but Pat wanted bigger prizes.

Deeper water at the end of the snag looked promising.He worked the boat down and tried again. Both bobbers immediately disappeared so Pat madea quickchoice and liftedthe nearest pole. It bowed sharply as an unwilling heavyweight spiraled downward. From past experience he knew the fish was dangerously close to a hidden criss-cross of underwater branches, and he strained to stop the battler's rush. The line suddenly stopped against a limb, but Pat could feel it sawing along the wood. There was a flash as the fish came up on the other side of the snag, and broke off.

"It must have been a bass," he reasoned, laying aside the pole and lifting inthe now-still secondbobber.One line would be enough.

A fresh minnow barely descended into the water when the float disappeared. Grinning in triumph, Pat raised the pole and boated a huge, struggling crappie. That set the pace for the next half hour. As soon as a fresh minnow hit the water Pat was fast to a kingsized crappie. Each time the angler raised the live bag, he noted with pleasure that it was heavier. His fish ranged from 3/4 to 1 1/2 pounds. Keeper crappies in any man's book.

The action stopped as suddenly as it began. "They've moved out," Pat thought, too grateful for the 24 fish he'd caught to feel any sharp disappointment. He eyed another snag speculatively, then moved to it in search of

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the school. But the water was barren.

His allotted three hours of fishing passed too quickly. Reluctantly, the restaurant owner started the motor and headed back to the shallow neck, where another climb out and push eased the boat in the river. Already Pat was framing words to tell his fishing friends that the crappies were starting to hit again, and that they'd keep it up until the ice came. His next weekend was already planned as the roaring motor sent the boat into the main channel. He raced homeward at an additional five miles per hour thanks to the current's helping hand.

The boat slid into its berth with a jolt. The helmsman secured his gear and made his way up the wooden steps to his beloved cabin. A head popped into view.

"Hello, Pat. I was out with a net and saw your boat was gone. I waited around to see if you needed any help cleaning fish. You usually do," called the friendly voice of a nearby cabin owner.

"I could use some help," Pat returned. It was already 8:30 p.m. and he had to be at work in Omaha at 5:15 the next morning.

The neighbor carried Pat's catch over to a sink and turned on a faucet. The two made quick work of the fish, their practiced hands wasting no motions as they scaled and gutted. Pat thanked the man as each fish got a final scrub with a stiff brush.

Residents of the cabins and trailers on the Decatur site, along with regular visitors are a close-knit group, bonded by a common interest in the river. When the crowd gets together, much of the talk centers around the brushy creeks, backwaters, mud flats, and the bounties of the river itself.

"I went out one fall morning with a friend from Omaha", Pat recalls. "We got into some crappies and caught plenty. On our way back, we spotted some geese on a sandbar. We cut into shore and did some shooting. We were back at the cabin by 1 p.m. with 100 crappies and 2 geese. Not bad for a few hours out."

The Omahan concedes that many of the backwaters are silting in, and that some fine fishing spots will be gone in a few years. "But," he adds, "a fellow keeps exploring and he'll always find some places worth hitting. A set of topographical maps put out by the Corps of Engineers helps a lot. They also publish a book of navigation charts with up-to-date information."

Men like Pat who follow the river keep alert to its changes, for the Missouri's angling opportunities are as varied as the river itself. Its rewards for those who take time to understand this great waterway are as big as the grin on Pat Knutson's face when he hits lunker crappies.THE END

BIRD COLONELS

autoloader boomed once and the bird came sprawling down. The Lab was retrieving the first kill when another cock flailed up in front of Paul and went down in mid-squawk.

A big rooster played it cool. He waited until Colonel Miller had passed and then flushed with a derisive cackle. The Air Force officer spun around but" the bird had the advantage of surprise and range. Miller's futile blasts punctured a lot of air, but no feathers. That was all Martin and Gentry needed. They converged on the hapless hunter, verbal shafts at the ready.

"If you can't hit a bird, how do you ever expect to wear one?" Martin demanded. "Why, that bird was only 10 feet off the ground and practically standing still when you missed him. Bang. Bang. Flap. Flap." The officer waived his arms in an exaggerated mimic of the departing bird.

Gentry didn't say much but his sly, "And what happened to your 'superior' marksmanship bit, Colonel?" was enough. The C. O. of the 818th took the teasing, but his eyes were a little icier and his jaw a little grimmer as he reloaded.

A weedy fence corner was his redeemer. Two roosters cackled out and climbed toward the whistling wind. Miller took the first one on the rise, swung on the second, and upended him in a puff of feathers. The officer took the birds from the obedient Duke and started for his cronies, but they suddenly discovered urgent business at the far end of the line and kept edging away.

Paul was consistently scoring. The dogs were helping him but he was also parlaying his knowledge of the country and his hunting experience into a quick limit. Before he reached the end of the mile-long field he had his four birds. Sergeant Gentry was having a bad day. Far out on the east flank he had only one way-out chance at a fleeing rooster. The bird outflew the No. 6's and continued his long glide over the hill.

The noncom had a ready counter to the teasing he got from Miller and Martin who made several pointed remarks on the difference between skeet shots and game shots. An ardent trap and skeet shot, the sergeant had a cabinet full of trophies won at interservice shoots and he was proud of his shotgun ability.

"You see it's like this," he drawled. "When you and Colonel Miller come along, the roosters figure they have a 50-50 chance of getting away but with me they know better so they either hide or flush a mile away."

Colonel Martin scored on the second sweep to draw even with his fellow officer. At the end of the last pass, Paul suggested a break and then a two-mile jump to another soil bank section which he described as the best in the area.

It was a challenge to hunt. Two eastwest hills were separated by a marshy draw that ran north and south. The hills were covered with brome and sunflowers and edged with a tangled hedgerow of wild plum and Osage orange. The valley was heavy with cattails and marsh grasses. Like the first field, this one was too big for four men so Paul doped out the strategy.

"A guy who's that good a strategist ought to be in the Air Force," complimented Gentry as he studied the terrain.

"No thanks. I'll stay a civilian and leave strategy up to you professionals," Paul replied.

A threesome of roosters whirled from in front of Gasket and headed for the draw before the party was halfway down the first slope. Colonel Martin's long chance winged the tag-ender and he dropped within yards of the busy dogs. Even so, Duke and the shorthair had to work for several minutes before they found the running bird. Gasket's staunch point was the tip-off so Martin walked over and picked up the almost finished bird. He put the rooster in his coat and held up three fingers to signal his colleagues that he was a bird up on them.

"That's the way to do it, Jerry," Miller yelled. "Get your limit and then you can drive for us sportsmen who kill a bird outright like you should. Cometothinkofit,ifyouhada pointed hat instead of a head and a wispy goatee, you'd be a dead ringer for the old papa-san in Korea who used to drive birds for me."

Gentry feathered a bird at the bottom of the slope and both dogs raced after the wounded runner. Gasket made the point when he finally cornered the ringneck and Duke made a lunging retrieve to stop him for good. Ed patted the Lab in sheer gratitude for the recovery of the almost certain to be lost bird.

The Air Force men skirted the valley and hit the other hill, flushing several more pheasants into the valley. Taking a break, the hunters compared guesses on how many birds they had marked down. Miller and Martin said 50 but Moode was a little more conservative. He bet 25 with better than half of them roosters. Gentry didn't guess saying he'd be happy if there were three where he could get decent shots.

The Hartington sportsman held the dogs while the soldiers made their end around run with the pickup and moved into blocking positions at the south end of the valley. Once they were set up, Paul and the dogs hit the draw. Pheasants came streaming out, heading south on the rising wind.

One towered high but Colonel Miller's long poke was just enough and the bird came down with a solid thump. Another swung wide when he heard the shot and got away, but a third one wasjustalittleslowandMartin caught him in the invisible snare of No. 6's to limit out. Gentry was in action, too.. He took a high incomer, left the bird lying, and waited until another came down the slot. He scored on a fine right to left chance for his third kill of the day.

After the first flurry there was a lag in the action and it looked as if that might be it until Paul and the dogs were within 200 yards of the waiting hunters. A mixed flock whistled out of the swamp grass and headed toward the waiting hunters. Most of them were high and fast but a loner came barrelling in, head high and jet propelled. He headed straight for Colonel Miller who waited him out, let the bird pass, and folded him with an easy straight away.

Martin had a barb cocked and primed when the bird went down. "Too bad that's your last bird. The way you pick on set ups, it's a wonder that you don't 'arkansas' them. Why didn't you take that bird the sporting way when he was coming in instead of sneaking up on him from behind?" he wanted to know.

Colonel Miller, thinking of his coming retirement, had a quick stopper for his tormentor and it was evident that he had been saving it up for just the right time.

"That's the difference between us civilians and you military types. We got sense enough to do things the easy way," he shot back. THE END

Don't Say It—Show It

Show NEBRASKAland slides this Christmas . . . give NEBRASKAland slides to those at home, to those away. Tour the State Capitol, the fascinating Badlands, Nebraska's scenic highways or Brownville, the Village of memories—all from the comfort of your favorite easy chair. To own or to give, don't describe NEBRASKAland—show it! Send today for free, illustrated catalogue showing slides available.

Wise Folks LOOK when they're

OUTDOOR ELSEWHERE

Vanishing Act. A game warden checked the first boat he came to on a lake and found that one of the three occupants had no fishing license. By the time he had written him up, a dozen other boats that were on the lake when he first arrived had disappeared.—Wisconsin

Deferred Payment. A deer hunter was arrested for having no license. He had a tough time, when he tried to explain to the arresting officer that he planned to get one . . . if he got a deer.—Massachusetts

Friendly Moose. A 300-pound moose calf is creating quite a stir among motorists traveling along Route 116 in Easton, New Hampshire. The calf appears at about six p.m. each evening and stays until dark. He shows no fear, and motorists must first chase the moose out of the way and then inch by. He seems to enjoy the attention, and permits camera enthusiasts to come within ten feet.—New Hampshire

Rare Trout. Greenback cutthroats, a rare trout species, have been discovered in Colorado. The cutthroat is the only trout native to the Eastern Slope of southern Wyoming and Colorado. In the late 1800's it was common throughout upper portions of the North Platte, South Platte, and Arkansas river drainages. The introduction of other fish, pollution, and changes in stream flows are suspected causes of their decline.—Colorado

Backfire. Friends of Marvin Priefert mistook a skunk along a highway as Priefert's deodorized pet. They delivered it to Priefert in their portable ice chest. Before he could advise them that his pet was snoozing in his cage, the benefactors learned by direct action of a good deed that leaked.—Texas

Big One. An angler placed a trotline in his farm pond near Jacksboro, Texas, because he wanted to catch something. And that's exactly what he did: a three-foot alligator. The catch was released after conservation officers weighed and measured the toothy critter.—Texas

Tea Party. Crews operating Texas Parks and Wildlife Department gear along the coast find everything from bodies to ship wrecks. One detail, tagging fish in Galveston Bay, recently snagged the jackpot: six somewhat more than slightly used tea bags.—Texas

Hard Fish. Home economists at test kitchens operated by the U. S. Department of the Interior's Bureau of Commercial Fisheries say frozen fish should be kept solidly frozen until ready for use. The economists recommend thawing a refrigerator temperature at 40-45° F., but only long enough to permit ease in preparation. At room temperatures, the fish will thaw unevenly, and parts may spoil. This does not necessarily apply to commercially prepared frozen sea food.—Washington, D. C.

Stolen Antlers. The owner of the Never summer Ranch near Grand Lake, Colorado, reports the theft of several sets of elk antlers. One set is rated by the Boone and Crockett Club as being the fourth largest ever taken in the state of Colorado and the seventh largest in the nation.—Colorado

Prairie Chicken. Missouri's first experiment in transplanting native prairie chickens is now under way in Macon County. Hunting for prairie chickens in Missouri has been closed since 1906, but the population has continued to decline from hundreds of thousands to about 6,000 birds for all the state.—Missouri

To Kill A Cat. Mountain lions are now a protected big-game animal in Colorado. The first hunting season was set for October 16 through March 31, 1966, on the western slope and from October 23 through March 31 on the eastern slope. One lion of either sex is the bag limit. Persons hunting mountain lions with more than one dog must have a Colorado guide license or be accompanied by a licensed guide.—Colorado

Deer Loss. The Wisconsin Conservation Department estimates the 1964-65 winter deer starvation loss at 22,000 to 30,000 animals.—Outdoor America

Cluttered Culture. Archeologists someday may trace the wanderings of present day Americans by following beer cans. A Colorado brewing company is out to stem this tide of litter by redeeming beer cans from their customers. Since 1959 the program has kept an estimated 60 million beer cans from being strewn over the landscape.—Colorado

Big Crop. Timber production is nearly a $3 billion industry which employs 5 per cent of the nation's working force. It is the number two agricultural crop in terms of harvest value, immediately behind corn.—Forest Service Publication

First Served. New Mexico received the first grant under the Land and Water Conservation Fund Act, a sum of $4,986.50. This was the federal portion of the $9,973 total costs of New Mexico's planning project.—Outdoor America

Dizzy Bobwhites. Experiments carried out by the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission disclosed quail showed decided effects of DDT by displaying dizziness and no sense of fear. A newspaper commented: "DDT has impaired the quails' learning ability and even if they are easier to flush and shoot, who wants to eat a feeble-minded quail?"—Oklahoma

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NEW, USED AND ANTIQUE GUNS, send for list including Browning O & U's, Weatherby, Winchester, Ithaca, Colt, Ruger, and others in stock for sale or trade. Send large self-ad- dressed 10 stamped envelope or stop in, Bedlan's Sporting Goods, just off U.S. 136, Fairbury, Nebraska.

ATTENTION, Reloaders, Dealers. Weare distributors for precision made rifle bul- lets. Dealers, quantity buyers, write for prices. Guinn Sporting Goods, Box 615, Hart- ington, Nebraska68739.

I WOULD LIKE to keep four hunters during pheasant, rabbit and duck season. 53A miles northeast of Wausa. Phone 11F23. Can have three meals. Will clean pheasants, 4GV each. Room and board $8 each. Reinhold Wiese, Wausa, Nebraska.

PRIVATE ACCOMMODATIONS. Hunting for pheasants, rabbits, and squirrels. Four miles east, 1 1/4 miles south of Bloomfield. Sleeping facilities, Meals, Guides, when available. Dress and freeze service for guests. Accom- modate nine hunters. Raymond Paustian, Bloomfield, Nebraska.

EASTERBROOK Hunting Lodge. Your home away from home. Kitchen for your conve- nience. Beds for twelve people. Twin beds, $5 each. Double beds, $4 each. Write or phone A. H. Easterbrook, Arcadia, Nebraska.

RIVERSIDE RANCH. Headquarters for hunt- ers or just vacations. Pheasant, quail, and deer. Food and lodging. 13 miles west of Benkelman, Nebraska on highway 34. Reser- vations. Call or write Mrs. Mary Williams, phone 423-2880, Parks, Nebraska.

STONEGROUND CORNMEAL. Most complete line Health Foods. Many processed daily. Come see us or write. Brownville Mills, Brownville, Nebraska.

COLLAPSIBLE Farm-Pond Fish-Traps: Ani- mal Traps, postpaid. Free information, pic- tures. Shawnee, 3934-AX Buena Vista, Dallas 4, Texas.

ALL CHILDREN dream of being pioneers! Give them STAKE A HOMESTEAD, the ex- citing new pioneer game. It's authentic Ne- braska history. Award winner at 1965 Ne- braska Inventors Congress. Available from leading stores, Centennial committees, and museums or $2.98 postpaid from Woster Games, 906 Avenue D, Plattsmouth, Nebraska.

NEBRASKAwrap, heavy brown wrapping paper, 24 x 36, imprinted with photos and stories from early Nebraska periodicals. Wrap gifts; read it, give it. Four sheets $1, post- paid, Osceola Record, Osceola, Nebraska. OLD FUR COATS restyled into capes, stoles, etc., $25. We're also tanners, and manufac- ture fur garments, buckskin jackets, and gloves. Free style folder. Haeker's Furriers, Alma, Nebraska.

KAYAKS, One-man, $16.50; Two-man, $22.50. Sailboat, $39. Exciting Sitka Kaj'ak Kits known world wide for speed and safety. As- sembled in one afternoon. Free pictorial lit- erature. Box 78-N, Brecksville 41, Ohio.

BOB-K'S AQUA SUPPLY, Nebraska's largest scuba dealer. U.S. Divers, Sportsways, Voit, Swimmaster, Scubrapro. Air Station, Regu- lator Repair. Telephone 553-0777. 5051 Leaven- worth Street, Omaha, Nebraska.

THE BEST in taxidermy. Mounting all kinds of specimens with life-like expressions and positions. Otto Borcherdt, Route #8, Lincoln, Nebraska. Telephone 488-8093.

CUSTOM TAXIDERMY. Trophies mounted true to nature. Reasonable prices. John Reigert, Jr., 865 South 39th Street, Lincoln, Nebraska. Telephone 489-3042.

SAVE THAT TROPHY through taxidermy. All types of taxidermy work done. Lifelike mounts at reasonable prices. Also hides tanned for glove or jacket making. Livingston Taxi- dermy, Mitchell, Nebraska

OUTDOOR NEBRASKAland of the Air

NOTES ON NEBRASKA FAUNA... KIT FOX

THE KIT OR SWIFT fox enjoys an enviable position among varment-type animals. His small size, rare appearances, and nocturnal feeding habits keep him out of the public eye and thus relatively undisturbed by sportsmen or scientists. Even the scientists are not sure if the kit fox, Vulpes Velox, and the swift fox, Vulpes Macrotis, are two separate species or not. The biologists do agree that he is the smallest North American member of the Family Candidae which includes the more familiar red and gray foxes.

Kits range over Arizona, New Mexico, Nevada, Utah, Colorado, and southern California, and portions of North Dakota, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas. Since they prefer desert valleys, and low open country of the more arid west, kits are rare in Nebraska at the present time.

When homesteaders advanced into central and western Nebraska, naturalists and writers commented on the fairly common kit fox but sightings declined as settlement increased. Most specimens were collected prior to 1908 when the little animals ranged as far east as Antelope, Madison, northern Clay and Saline counties. The taking of a vixen and two pups near Bridgeport about 12 years ago is the only recent record of their presence in NEBRASKAland. Although kit foxes appear quite tolerant of close human activity, they are not known to frequent cultivated areas.

Mating begins in late December and is generally completed by early February. Most kits are monogamous throughout their mated life but if one of the pair dies the survivor will mate again. Two or more females may mate with one male. Several natal dens may be selected at the time of mating but generally only one is used for pup rearing.

Gestation period for the kit fox has not been accurately determined but is believed to correspond with that of the red fox, 49 to 55 days. Litters are relatively consistent in size with four or five pups being born in March. The pup or natal fur is retained until early May. This fur is soft and woolly and closely resembles that of other foxes, coyotes, and certain dogs like collies. At 10 weeks the young are weaned but the family remains together until mid-September. Natal dens are abandoned when the pups are about half grown. Few pups live with their parents through the following breeding season.

The kit fox spends a good deal of his time underground, emerging during the evening hours to begin his nocturnal hunt for food. A majority of dens are located in silty clay soils which permit easy digging and renovation. Low vegetation for maximum visibility is another requirement for good home sites. These underground tunnels may have from two to seven entrances. These escape hatches are large enough to permit an adult kit to make a rapid entry but are too small for badgers squirrels, and burrowing owls often use abandoned dens. Kit fox homes are located with an apparent indifference to surface water. This indicates that the animals obtain adequate water from their food sources.

Adults consume an average of six ounces of flesh per day while pups require two ounces. Since the kit fox is so small he apparently takes no live prey larger than jack rabbits. Black-tailed jack rabbits have comprised over 90 per cent of the flesh diet of these little foxes. Two species of kangaroo rats and deer mice have also been found in their scats. Remains of burrowing owls, horned larks, and meadowlarks have been recovered from den sites but small mammals are the primary food source. Lizards and crickets are also eaten by the omniverous kit foxes.

The vixen apparently does not leave the burrow while suckling her pups. Trapping during this period have resulted in no adult female catches. Since adult males were caught readily it is believed that he does most of the hunting for his mate and their young.

Self-sustaining predators in their own right, kits in turn are preyed upon by eagles, or other large raptors, and coyotes. Predation by eagles probably occurs when a fox emerges from his den early in the afternoon or is caught far from home at sunrise.

Although once common in Nebraska during the 1800's the kit fox is now so rare that an observation of one would rate mention in scientific journals. Because of his scarcity and because his feeding habits are considered beneficial or indifferent to man's interests, the kit fox in Nebraska deserves preservation and study rather than persecution. He is part of the West and as such should be permitted to fulfill an undisturbed destiny.THE END

Everyone Wants NEBRASKAland's Calendar of Color

Bring in the New Year with the beautiful 28-page NEBRASKAland Calendar of Color. Great for owning, great for giving—comes with free greeting-style gift envelope. Includes many of the outstanding color pictures seen in NEBRASKAland magazine, plus reminders of many of the major NEBRASKAland events throughout the year—all for only 50 cents. Available with gift envelopes from newsstands across Nebraska or send us the names and addresses and we will mail them for you. Send your order to: NEBRASKAland Calendar of Color, State Capitol, Lincoln, Nebraska 68509.