When the open season for chicken shooting began we had frequent visitors who were fond of the sport. Major Upham, commanding at Fort Scott, would come often and bring friends from Fort Scott, generally Mr. Drake and Mr. McDonald and sometimes others, to spend a day with dog and gun. Captain Butler from the camp on Drywood would come for a day. Colonel Delancey Floyd-Jones of the Third infantry came down from Fort Hayes for two or three days, and brought with him an excellent setter dog, that could not stand the heat as well as the pointers, but was much more easily controlled. I was a bit amused at his experience while there. When asked at the dinner table the first day if he would be helped to both beef and chicken he replied, "No beef for me while I'm here, I can get all the beef I want at Fort Hayes, I came down here to eat prairie chicken." The last morning he was there I said, "Well Colonel, how is it this morning, prairie chicken or steak, or both?" "Well, he said, I believe I will try a little steak this morning." He went away delighted with his experience and promised me another visit in the fall, but for some reason we did not see him again. He was a fine type of the old army officer, dignified, courteous and cordial. I had done my first chicken shooting on the way in from Fort Sill, and was by no means a good shot. Mr. Kerr, the young lieutenant, who was stationed here, was the best wing-shot I have ever seen on the sporting field. He had his gun made to measure and although he was six feet tall and finely proportioned he had ordered his gun to be only 6½ pounds in weight. Up to that time I had thought the bigger the gun the more deadly the weapon. I found I had a good deal to learn about guns and how to shoot them. I must tell you about one of my first experiences in chicken-shooting with Mr. Kerr. I happened to see one on the ground and could not resist the temptation and I will never forget the disgusted expression on his face as he turned to me and said, "For God's sake, are you hungry." That one precipitation cured me of shooting birds on the ground, unless I was hungry. Time and practice finally made me a fairly creditable shot but I was never steady in the field or at the trap. Mr. Kerr on the other hand was always steady and reliable. I remember one day just before Christmas when the snow was several inches deep he asked me to count out one hundred loaded cartridges for him while he attended guard mount. The ambulance was at the door and he started promptly when guard mount was over. He brought back eighty-four quail and nine loaded cartridges. Poor old Dick, his faithful pointer had retrieved them all, and was an invalid for two or three days thereafter.