THE STORY OF A WILD GOOSE.
Two years ago, one evening, while I was returning home from anunsuccessful shooting excursion along the Atlantic shore, I observeda flock of wild geese coming toward me, but sailing high. I stoodperfectly still, and when the flock was directly overhead I aimed andfired.
In the twilight I could see the flock scattering at the report, and abird wheeling downward with one wing limp and useless. He landed on apatch of plowed ground with a thud and lay half stunned. In a moment Ihad secured my prize.
It was a large gander in prime condition, with a full, deep body, andhealthy, lustrous feathers, and I determined to spare his life.
I quickly tied his legs and fastened the uninjured wing. Then,carefully lifting the bird and getting the broken limb into ascomfortable a position as possible, I carried him home. Most sportsmenhave a crude knowledge of surgery, and I soon had the broken memberbandaged with splints and strips of cotton and my captive restingcomfortably, unbound, in a warm outhouse.
In the morning, when I went out to feed him, he was walking aroundlively enough, and, although, of course, very shy and timid, he ate ahearty breakfast of corn as soon as he thought himself unobserved. Ina few days he grew tame enough to allow me to stroke him with a bit ofstick. It was long before he would suffer himself to be touched by thehuman hand.
After some months the bird would answer to his name, Michael, would eatout of my hand, and when I let him out into the yard, after clippinghis wings, would follow me around like a dog. He invariably fled atthe approach of a stranger, but he never "hissed" like a domesticgoose. Strange to say, although a flock of domestic geese was kept bya neighbor, he never paid the slightest attention to their cries andcalls.
After a time I allowed him to roam the fields at will. At night hereturned without fail to his pen. I became much attached to thebird, so much so that goose shooting became distasteful to me and Idiscontinued the practice.
Last spring I received a letter from a particular friend requesting meto secure a wild goose for him. For various reasons I could not wellrefuse, so I at once made arrangements for a shooting excursion. In themidst of my preparations it occurred to me that I might employ Michaelas a decoy to lure the geese within gunshot. Sometimes a domestic gooseis used for this purpose, but seldom with complete success. The wildgoose is an intelligent bird, and rarely places implicit confidence inhis domesticated relative.
In a secluded bight some miles down the coast I moored a small raftnear shore and tethered Michael to it by a stout string fastened tohis leg. His wings by this time had grown to the length they possessedbefore being clipped, and the injured limb was as strong as ever.
Michael seemed well pleased with his situation, stretched his wingsa few times as if the salt breath of the ocean stirred half-buriedmemories, but on finding himself secured settled down comfortably onthe raft and calmly preened his gray feathers.
I carefully screened myself behind a clump of scrub spruce and placedsome spare cartridges conveniently near. I thought that if a passingflock should approach fairly near I might be able to fire a successfulsecond shot if the first proved a miss.
After a wait of perhaps an hour I heard in the distance a faint "honk"that quickened the heartbeats. Michael also heard it, and ceasing toarrange his feathers, raised his head to listen eagerly. I watchedhim closely. His neck was proudly arched and his eyes glistened withexcitement as he stepped as near the edge of the raft as his tetherwould allow.
Presently another "honk" dropped from the distant blue, and away tothe south I could descry a large V-shaped flock flying fairly low, butaltogether too much to the left of my position to render possible asuccessful shot.
It was now time for Michael to make himself heard, and I was beginningto grow somewhat uneasy at his silence, when all at once--"honk!honk!"--his joyous invitation sped up to the ears of the watchfulleader of the air travelers.
"Honk?" queried that wary veteran suspiciously, but at once heslackened his pace somewhat.
"Honk! honk!" called Michael reassuringly; "honk! honk!" he repeatedcoaxingly.
For a moment the old leader seemed to hesitate, then slowly he turnedin my direction, and presently the flock was sailing directly toward me.
My rifle was ready and in position. I was well screened by the bushes.The light was admirable. Everything was favorable to a good shot. Infive minutes the flock was within range. Michael had uttered severalinvitations during this time in reply to short interrogations from theleader, but he had suddenly relapsed into silence. He could see theapproaching birds and was gazing at them with intense eagerness. Myfinger was on the trigger, when all at once, to my amazement, Michaelpealed out a strange cry, loud and shrill, utterly unlike any soundthat I had ever heard him utter.
It was the note of danger, the alarm signal of the wild goose. Theeffect on the approaching flock was electrical. The leader instantlyturned and sped away with arrow-like swiftness, closely followed by hisfeathered retinue, leaving me motionless with surprise.
When my captive first heard the calls of his comrades he instinctivelyanswered with notes of invitation. The excitement of hearing and seeinghis own kindred made him forget the danger that he was leading theminto, but as they approached he seemed all at once to realize thesituation. He knew that red death lurked behind the seemingly innocentshrubbery close at hand. Perhaps the memory of his own sharp woundsprang into his mind. At all events, although he knew that to utter thewarning cry would debar himself from the companionship of his kind, heunhesitatingly gave that warning with no uncertain sound.
I laid down my rifle and pulled the raft in to the shore. Michaelwas standing at the limit of his tether, gazing after his retreatingfriends.
As the raft moved he sprang into the air, only to be jerked back by therestraining cord. I untied the string from the raft and drew the birdtoward me. He submitted to my caresses, but I guessed how earnestly helonged to soar away after his kindred. He had saved some of them fromdeath or captivity; they were free to roam the clear air of heavenwhile he----
I quickly untied the string from Michael's leg and gently pushed thebird from me. Instantly he spread his wings and sprang upward. Witheager neck outstretched he swept rapidly after the vanishing flock,uttering hearty "honks" of jubilation.
I felt that he was worthy of liberty.