It was there that Ketchel took delight in luring sparring mates and other camp hangers-on for his well known snipe hunts. Usually, he would first make certain that he had the confidence of those he intended to lure into the woods by joking, story-telling, and card playing. Then, when he spotted his man, invariably the most talkative of the lot, he would nod and wink to the boys and politely ask them to accompany him to the training table where arrangements for the hunt were made. “How would you like to join me in a snipe hunt, tomorrow?” the champ would ask. “Snipe are game birds, exciting to catch.” What a silly query! The honor of supping with the great Michigan Assassin was glory in itself, but to stalk the woods in Ketchel’s company at night for the elusive snipe, that was an experience to be cherished. The next day, dinner over, the great hunt was on. We of the fourth estate would gather at the Inn to see the fun. A lone miner’s lantern was the only means of finding the trail through the woods. The victim was provided with a potato sack. Into this sack Ketchel and the scouts proposed to drive the wary snipes. A snipe potpie was to be the culmination of the hunt, and the victim was told that he must not permit the snipe to pass him on the trail once Ketchel and his aides started off for the birds. “A snipe,” said Stanley, “would never change his course after starting down the trail.” The snipe trail was found after a long skin-scratching jaunt through the briars, with a number of newspapermen trailing the leaders to add more realism to the affair. “Now you remain here and keep the mouth of the bag open right in the middle of the path,” said Ketchel to the poor victim. “The snipe will see the hole and run right into it. You just can’t miss them. From the chirping that is now going on in the brush, there should be several dozen of them on the loose tonight. Mind you now, stay on guard, keep the bag wide open and keep your eyes open. Be on the alert!” Ketchel would then pick up the lantern and accompanied by the scribes, hit the trail back to camp, leaving the snipe-snarer holding the bag. We’d return to Woodlawn Inn by a roundabout way and there Ketchel would start a card game lasting until midnight. Then, in a sympathetic tone, he’d remark that it was about time that the poor dupe in the woods was relieved of his burden. But instead of going back to him, his training staff would laugh it off and retire for the night, letting the chap in the wilds find his own way out of his predicament.