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The true sportsman is one of the first to preserve all song birds, and give even game birds a fair chance for life; he is thus very different from the cruel man who, simply because he owns a gun, shoots everything, from a Robin to a Quail, and even in the nesting season." "Please, what is a pot-hunter?" asked Dodo.
Anyway every little while some soldier would say that he thought it was a mean man that would go out and kill a lot of rebels and not bury them. He said a man that would do that was a regular pot-hunter, who killed game and left it on the ground to spoil. They made lots of such uncharitable remarks, but I did not pay much attention to to them.
She will finish the last pressing matter of the Robichaux succession now in an hour or so, and be off on the little branch railway, whose terminus is here, for New Orleans. When the pot-hunter approached Lake Cataouaché again, he made on foot, under cover of rushes and reeds taller than he, a wide circuit and reconnoissance of his hut.
His fairy stories don’t hurt game an’ they be interesting to the tenderfuts in the States. The real sportsman is the pot-hunter. Yes, that’s jist what I mean, a pot-hunter—he’s out ’cause the camp kettle is empty, and it’s up agin him to fill it or starve. Now then, this fellow is not after blood; nor trophies, nor is he hunting for the market. It’s self-preservation with him, that’s what it is.
Say, Dave," he added, drawing rein, as the subject of his remarks approached, "can you spare us just about two minutes for a little private conversation?" "I reckon," replied David. "Have you joined that sportsman's club, and are you going to prosecute me for being a pot-hunter?"
Not that four smallish deer are anything to brag about for a week's hunt by four men and two dogs. I have known a pot-hunter to kill nine in a single day. But we had enough. As it was, we were obliged to "double trip it" in order to get our deer and duffle down to "Babb's." And we gave away more than half our venison.
It chanced that the path of the pot-hunter took him close past the further shore of the pond where the captive was straining at his tether and eating his heart out in determined silence. The homesick, desolate bird would swim around and around for a few minutes, as a caged panther circles his bounds, then stop and listen longingly to the happy noise from over beyond the reed-fringes.
The Indian pot-hunter, who is but little scrupulous as to the means he employs in accomplishing his ends, sounds the bleat along near the places where he thinks the game is lying, and the unsuspicious doe, who imagines that her offspring is in distress, rushes with headlong impetuosity toward the sound, and often goes within a few yards of the hunter to receive her death-wound.
Like his 'lonely cerebrate' hero, Gissing himself, at school and college, 'worked insanely. Walked much alone, shunned companionship rather than sought it, worked as he walked, and was marked down as a 'pot-hunter. He 'worked while he ate, he cut down his sleep, and for him the penalty came, not in a palpable, definable illness, but in an abrupt, incongruous reaction and collapse. With rage he looked back on these insensate years of study which had weakened him just when he should have been carefully fortifying his constitution.
There was genuine human interest in her voice when she said gently: "Would you mind telling me about it?" "It was up in the Minnesota pineries, where we were building a branch railroad through the corner of an Indian reservation. A half-breed pot-hunter for the game companies had a right-of-way quarrel with the railroad people, and he pitched upon me as the proper person to kill.
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