National Affairs: Black Jack

Along a strip of frosty marshland at Red Deer Ranch, Cherry County, Neb., Gen. John Joseph Pershing prowled with a gun. Two companions crouched beside him. On a nearby pool they espied a flock of wild ducks cutting the water zigzag. General Pershing approached.

A voice, menacing, came from the woods behind him. General Pershing turned, heard gruff phrases from the lips of a distraught plainsman, obviously the owner of the land on which he, General Pershing, hunted.

Spoke one of the General's companions: "We just wanted a couple. This is General Pershing with us."

Excitedly the figure in the rawhide boots advanced: "You mean Black Jack* Pershing. Well, shake hands with your old private that used to peel potatoes for you. Yes, Sir, General—in the Sioux Indian campaign, buck private in Seventh Cavalry at Fort Niobrara. Black Jack himself! Yes, sir, all the ducks you want. I'll be danged."