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They have allowed millions of dollars worth of their birds to be coolly snatched away from them by the greedy market-shooters. There is one state in America, and so far as I know only one, in which there is at this moment an old-time abundance of game-bird life. That is the state of Louisiana. The reason is not so very far to seek.
To-day, even the average poor man hunts birds for the joy of the outing, and the pampered epicures of the hotels and restaurants buy game birds, and eat small portions of them, solely to tempt jaded appetites. If there is such a thing as "class" legislation, it is that which permits a few sordid market-shooters to slaughter the birds of the whole people in order to sell them to a few epicures.
"There are no such things as market-shooters in the county." "But there are market-trappers," said Lester. "There are persons here, who are catching quails and shipping them out of the state." "Yes, there is one who thinks of going into the business, and I got him the job. It wouldn't look very well for me to turn around now and tell him that he must not do it."
I'm a pot-hunter myself. I never went hunting yet, without I intended to shoot something for the table." "But you are not a poacher." "I don't know about that. I hunt in every field and piece of woods I find, no matter who owns them." "Perhaps I had better change that," said Lester, after thinking a moment, "and say market-shooters instead of pot-hunters."
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