ON 
 
 
 ij'h IN GAVELL. 
 

SHOOTI^Q 
 
 ON 
 
 UPLAND, MABSH, AND STKEAM. 
 
 A SEEIES OF ARTICLES 
 
 WRITTEN BY PROMINENT SPORTSMEN, DESCRIPTIVE OF HUNTING THE UPLAND BIRDS 
 OF AMERICA, EXPOSING THEIR FLIGHTS, HABITS, RESORTS, AND THE MOST SUC- 
 CESSFUL MANNER OF PURSUING THEM WITH THE GUN; AND TREATING 
 ESPECIALLY OF THE SCIENTIFIC METHODS OF SHOOTING DUCKS, 
 PRAIRIE CHICKENS, GROUSE, WILD TURKEYS, WILD GEESE, 
 WILD PIGEONS, SNIPE, QUAIL, WOODCOCK, AND PLOVERS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 WILLIAM BRUCE LEFPINGWELL, 
 
 (HORACE^) 
 AUTHOR OF "WILD FOWL SHOOTING." 
 
 PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. 
 
 LONDON 
 SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON 
 
 Limited 
 
 FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E. C. 
 1890 
 
* ***1 r 6 r the Sportsmen of America 
 '**:: : -V. .This Book is Dedicated, 
 
 e" -. * 
 
 While We Convey to Them that Fraternal Love, 
 
 that Always Has, and We Trust Always Will, 
 
 Dwell in the Hearts of True Sportsmen, 
 
 One for the Other. 
 
 Copyright, 1890, by Rand, McNally & Co. 
 
 PRINTED BY RAND, MCNALLY & Co., CHICAGO, U. S, A. 
 
924744 
 
INTKODUCTIOK 
 
 The flattering reception with which " Wild Fowl 
 Shooting" was received throughout the United States, 
 and portions of the Old World, was the incentive for the 
 publication of this book; for, acting on the solicitations 
 of many of the sporting fraternity, who love the fresh- 
 ness of the field and the purity of the prairie winds, I 
 bring into the world another book, which I trust and 
 believe will be equally acceptable and enjoyable, and one 
 that will teach to this and to the coming generation that 
 there is a nobility of character in the true sportsman, 
 that will ever show itself, whether at home or in the field, 
 and that our love of field sports does not arise from the 
 desire to slaughter needlessly the feathered game, or 
 mercilessly to extinguish animal kind, but leads to the 
 protection of game; and that, when the law is open to us, 
 our pleasures are equally divided between bagging the 
 birds, and seeing the dogs, filled with animation, bound- 
 ing over hill and dale, or standing entranced and petri- 
 fied as they point the hidden game. To see the whir- 
 ring birds, that cause our hearts to throb in fluttering 
 excitement, to wander over the fields in the warm, bud- 
 ding spring-time, when the earth is clothed in bridal 
 raiments, or when the golden summer, rich in her harvest, 
 has dotted the earth with sheaves of ripened grain this 
 is our enjoyment. 
 
 Let not the reader labor under the delusion, that the 
 capturing of a large quantity of game is the extreme 
 desire of the true sportsman; for the more adept one 
 becomes in the capturing of the animal species, the less 
 
 (7) 
 
8 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 he cares for the game, one of his greatest delights being 
 in the secret satisfaction of knowing that the birds, no 
 matter how wary they may be, are not keen enough to 
 circumvent him and his well- trained dogs. Knowing 
 this, he desires that when he is afield all should be pro- 
 pitious. The day, the fields, the streams, should be in 
 their perfectness. All thoughts of business banished, he 
 would be away from the din and bustle of city life, and 
 would, in their stead, have Nature furnish him with 
 refreshment and music. This refreshment: the bloom- 
 ing meadows, the cool springs, the sweet incense of the 
 prairie grass, the sensuous perfumes of the marshes- 
 Ms music: the mild soughing of the winds, the piping 
 of the quail, the drumming of the grouse, and the thou- 
 sand and one sights and sounds of wild life, all of which 
 will be seen by appreciative eyes, and heard by willing 
 ears, as he wanders over the fields and through the moist 
 valleys, interfered with by no sights or sounds of human 
 activity. 
 
 The editor of this work is cognizant of the fact, that 
 most excellent books can be obtained treating on the sub- 
 ject of game birds. But the majority of such works 
 treat of them scientifically and ornithologically, and the 
 average sportsman does not care to delve so deeply into 
 the subject, tiring his brain over scientific terms. The 
 editor desires, therefore, rather to speak of the birds as 
 others speak, to see them as others see them, avoiding 
 terms that will mystify or confuse his reader. As a hunter 
 is born, not made, so only he can write of game birds 
 who knows them, and loves their dwelling-places; for, 
 unless he has watched them from birdlings to mature 
 growth, he knows them not simply 'knows of them. His 
 experience must have been of years, and his study, not 
 one of necessity; but the knowledge obtained, the result 
 of favorable opportunities and through love for the sub- 
 
INTRODUCTION. 9 
 
 ject. For one to become proficient in any calling, one 
 must, as we say, inherit it; but even if not inherited, the 
 passing years increase a man's ardor, and the amateur 
 speedily becomes an expert, provided his heart is in what 
 he does. These things were evident to the author when 
 he first contemplated the publication of a work of this 
 kind, and his aim and desire has been to give to the world 
 a book simple in words, pure and elevating in tone, and 
 so permeated with the invigorating recollections of days 
 spent afield, that the reader can read, then lay aside, and 
 at once recall just such scenes witnessed at some time of 
 his life. It seemed, then, that it would be far better to 
 enlist with him in the preparation of this book, men who 
 were possessed of the requisite knowledge of the habits, 
 resorts, and peculiarities of the different birds treated of, 
 a knowledge obtained, not from books, but from years of 
 actual experience in the field. 
 
 The writers selected are all known to the sporting world, 
 and have been recognized for years as among the ablest in 
 America, or in the world, on field sports. In this book, 
 each writes of his bird, treating on the subject of his own 
 selection writing of birds studied and hunted for years. 
 No one man has had the varied experience displayed in 
 this book. Every hunter of experience has a choice of 
 birds some one bird he likes to hunt best. There is 
 occasion for regret that many of the writers were neces- 
 sarily restricted in space in preparing their articles. 
 Were they not so restricted, it would have been necessary 
 to publish two volumes, instead of one. There is a vein 
 running through the many articles in this book, which 
 commingles in free accord with the views of this writer 
 that is, the desire for the protection of game and the 
 observance of existing game laws. 
 
 No experienced hunter can read this book without 
 having brought to him scenes he has witnessed with 
 
10 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 delight, and causing in his heart a secret longing for 
 their return; while, by the inexperienced, especially by 
 the young man, lessons can be learned instructive in all 
 those secrets which make hunting a success, teaching 
 him how to take advantage of the wary birds in all their 
 wanderings, and instilling into his mind a love for out- 
 door life, which will add to his strength and make the 
 world the better for his living. 
 
 The supplemental chapter, " Greyhound Coursing," 
 supplies a fund of information, and creates in the reader 
 a desire to participate in this exciting sport. Lovers of 
 the chase, of racing, of exhibitions of speed and endur- 
 ance, can not fail to have their hearts throb faster, when 
 they follow the writers in their glorious runs, and imagine, 
 as they can not help imagining, that they are present and 
 see the spirited running of the lithe and supple grey- 
 hounds, trained with all the skill and watchful care 
 which characterizes the development of speed in the 
 blooded horse. The hounds enter the contest leashed 
 together, straining eyes and every nerve, anticipating the 
 prey which may spring from the grass at any moment. 
 The level prairie, the chase, the excitement, the success- 
 ful pursuit, the cool October day, the thousands of 
 enthusiastic spectators, the ground beautified and chas- 
 tened by the presence of ladies and children, all flushed 
 with excitement as one of the hounds, with a magnificent 
 burst of speed, passes his competitor and seizes the fleet- 
 footed ranger of the plains. Then the return, the crown- 
 ing of the victor with a floral wreath by some fair lady, 
 the ovation, all these things cause one's blood to tingle, 
 and we are willing, for the time, to lay aside our rods and 
 guns, and with our wives and children enjoy sports so 
 pure and exhilarating as these. 
 
 In the preparation of a work like this, one is placed 
 under special obligations to many. I am thus indebted 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 to the writers who have so generously and brilliantly con- 
 tributed to this volume, and especially to Dr. N". Rowe, of 
 the American Field, the Forest and Stream Publish- 
 ing Co., John M. Tracy, and J. B. Sword. I can assure 
 the sporting fraternity that the generous reception with 
 which my former book has been received, has touched me 
 deeply; for, though thousands of copies have been sold, 
 there has never as yet been an adverse criticism printed. 
 Should this volume be accepted with equal friendliness, it 
 will demonstrate to the world, as it has demonstrated to 
 me, that my labors have not been in vain, and that we have 
 helped to elevate field sports by producing works of so 
 ennobling a character that a father is proud to place them 
 in the hands of his sons, knowing that they contain pure 
 and chaste thoughts, and are ripe with the fruits of man- 
 liness, unselfishness, kindness, and generosity. 
 
FULL PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 WOODCOCK-SHOOTING, .... . . 45 
 
 RUFFED GROUSE SHOOTING, ...... 95 
 
 IN THE MARSH AT BREAK OF DAY DUCK-SHOOTING, . . . 129 
 
 BOB WHITE SHOOTING, ....... 155 
 
 SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, . .... 170 
 
 SNIPE-SHOOTING, . ..... 251 
 
 PRAIRIE CHICKEN SHOOTING, . . . . . . 295 
 
 SHOOTING GEESE OVER DECOYS, . . . . . . 333 
 
 THE POINTER, . . . . . . . . . 377 
 
 THE SPEED LINES (POINTERS), ...... 385 
 
 THE BIG GOBBLER, .367 
 
 CANVAS-BACK DUCK, ....... . 413 
 
 GREYHOUND COURSING, . . . 469 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 INTRODUCTION, ......... 7 
 
 BAY SNIPE, COOT, AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING ON THE 
 
 ATLANTIC COAST. Isaac McLellan, . . . . .15 
 
 THE WOODCOCK. William Jarvis, ..... 31 
 
 THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. T. S. Van Dyke, . . 61 
 
 THE RUFFED GROUSE. C. A. Cooper, ..... 79 
 
 INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING IN THE UNITED STATES. John G. Smith, . 119 
 BOB WHITE. Amory R. Starr, ...... 139 
 
 SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, SPRUCE GROUSE, AND PTARMIGANS. Walter 
 
 M. Wolfe, . . . .171 
 
 PLOVER-SHOOTING. E. Hough, ...... 197 
 
 THE WILD PIGEON. William Bruce LeffingweU, . . . . 217 
 
 SNIPE AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. Thomas C. Abbott, . . . 237 
 WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. Samuel C. Clarke, . . 259 
 FIELD ETIQUETTE.^. E. Pond, ..... 273 
 
 PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. William Bruce Leffingwell, 279 
 THE WILD GOOSE. C. R. Tinan, . . . . .311 
 
 WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. George W. Baines, . . . . 343 
 
 CONCERNING POINTERS AND SETTERS. John M. Tracy, . . 375 
 THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. William Bruce Leffingwell, . . . 403 
 GUNS. Arthur W. Du Bray, . . . . . .421 
 
 COURSING. #. Irwin Royce, M. D., . . . . 443 
 
BAY-SNIPE, COOT, AND OTHER WILD FOWL 
 SHOOTING ON THE ATLANTIC COAST. 
 
 BY ISAAC MCLELLAN, 
 Author of "Poems of Rod and Gun," Etc. 
 
 'UTUMN is the sportsman's carnival. He 
 then explores the woods, marshes, and 
 meadows in pursuit of game, or lies in his 
 ambush blind, with his fleet of decoys, set 
 out around him, awaiting the approach of 
 hovering flocks of bay- snipe or soaring 
 legions of wild fowl. October is brilliant 
 with its autumnal scenes, and November is 
 often attractive with panoramic glories of the 
 declining year. In this fair season is com- 
 mingled all the gorgeous combinations of the " Flowery 
 Bow." The sky itself then seems to lose its heavenly 
 azure, and the smoky vapor that then ascends its domes 
 and reposes in its cerulean chambers seems to have 
 caught the variegated hues "of the emblazoned earth 
 beneath. Every mountain pool and lonely pond, every 
 brimming river and lapping brook, seem tinged with hues 
 borrowed from reflected wood or sailing cloud. In the 
 dim depths of forests, the pine, flr, spruce, and other ever- 
 greens may still retain their verdure, the wild grape-vines 
 and ivies have but partially lost their greenness, but else- 
 where the eye is dazzled with the tintings of scarlet and 
 purple, of orange and of gold. And these rich blendings 
 of color in the thick drapery of the woodlands is very 
 
 (15) 
 
16 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 lovely, whether it is tossed by the crisp mountain breeze 
 or sleeps motionless in a universal calm, so profound that 
 no sound is audible, save, perhaps, 
 
 "The sound of nutshells by the squirrel dropped 
 From some tall beech, fast falling thro' the leaves." 
 
 To all lovers of Nature, these royal autumnal scenes are 
 full of enchantment. The bright river, shining in the 
 mid-day light, and belted in with its girdle of orange, 
 purple, and scarlet foliage, painted by the lavish brush of 
 Autumn, seems to the eye like a mirror of silver set in a 
 frame of clouded gold, studded with effulgent brilliants. 
 Above, leaning against the sky, the rough brown hosts of 
 pine-trees shoot upward their lofty shafts and heavy mass 
 of umbrage, while beneath the ground is moist and russet- 
 stained with the accumulated needles of ages. As the 
 sun shoots its level rays through the open glades and 
 vistas of the wood, it enkindles the myriad sparkles of 
 dew that glisten on grass and thicket. The gossamer 
 feather of the thistle, the flaky down of the milk- weed, 
 and the fine-spun thread of the spider's web ; extended 
 from tree to tree, or floating loose in air, are then all 
 strung with dewy beads of pearls and lucent gems. 
 From tree- top to tree-top, the gossiping blue jays 
 fly merrily past, as if hastening to circulate the morning 
 news; and from grove to grove the cawing crows flap their 
 black pinions, clamoring to their mates. The golden 
 robins, admonished by the chilly airs of the season, are 
 piping their melodious notes in the sunny pastures, as if 
 sounding the warning notes for the flocks to collect for 
 their annual migration. 
 
 Along the breezy surface of rivers, the blue-winged 
 teal and the painted wood-duck are swimming, or dress- 
 ing their plumage, or diving beneath the surface in joy- 
 ous frolic. At times the hollow "honk" of the wild 
 goose will resound like a trumpet high in air, and the 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 17 
 
 melancholy wail of the speckled loon will float by with 
 musical cadence. Anon a riotous brook of wild ducks 
 will raise their scolding chatter; and anon a frightened 
 rabbit will scurry along with nimble leaps, or, sitting 
 erect on its haunches, will pause to gaze at the passer-by. 
 Anon a merry old squirrel will scamper up the trunk of 
 a tree, or, perched upon some bending twig, will chatter 
 to his mates, or nibble the hickory-nut held by its little 
 furry paws. These fair scenes are familiar to us all, and 
 it is pleasing to recognize them pictured in verse. 
 
 'Tis autumn time 
 The golden, mellow autumn time, 
 When skies are radiant, rich and warm, 
 The air delicious with its balm, 
 With laden branch and leafy spray, 
 Bright-colored by November day, 
 Magnificent, rare autumn time; 
 With honeyed fruits and leaves embrowned, 
 And gay blooms o'er thy forehead bound, 
 With scarlet vine-leaves crowned ; 
 All day the rosy-cinctured hours 
 Prolong, in the grand forest bowers, 
 Their festival of fruits and flowers, 
 
 A carnival sublime; 
 And now fowlers at the shore 
 The marsh, the cove, the bay explore, 
 So, hid in grass or yellow reed, 
 Seek out the haunts where wild fowl feed. 
 
 The noblest fowl, and the one that affords the best 
 sport along our coast-line, is the brant. It does not pass 
 into fresh bays or brackish rivers, but confines itself to 
 the sea-board and to salt waters, where it finds its natural 
 food. In the spring it is abundant along the coast, when 
 migrating to northern feeding-grounds, but its stay is 
 then very brief. 
 
 In the fall season it makes its welcome appearance in 
 the bays of Long Island and Jersey, below Barnegat 
 Inlet, and the birds are there killed in great numbers. 
 
18 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 They abound on the eastern coast of Virginia, and there, 
 we think, are to be found the best places for brant-shoot- 
 ing on the coast. 
 
 We have seldom seen them on the New England 
 shores, when engaged in coot-shooting, and we presume 
 they do not follow that line of coast, but pass far out at 
 sea, and first fall in with the land on the south side of 
 Long Island, and there stop for rest and food. In 
 former years, they were quite abundant at Montauk, 
 and in Gardiner's Baj^, on the east part of Long Island, 
 but now they are much more scarce. They are shy of 
 passing over a point of land, so that a battery-gunner, 
 concealed in his small boat, far out from shore, and sur- 
 rounded by decoys, has great advantage over the fowler 
 who shoots from shore. It is a bird that easily falls to 
 shot, and does not escape by diving, or it does not 
 plunge for food, feeding on bars at low water on a broad- 
 leaved plant called the sea-cabbage. The first flocks to 
 arrive remain but a few days, and then, collected in large 
 flocks, rise high in air, and after describing wide aerial 
 circuits, they start out in a direct course over the sea, 
 avoiding all projecting points, and traveling night and 
 day. They are 'soon succeeded by other flocks, which 
 remain until the severe weather of December compels 
 them to a southern flight. The brant-geese are more 
 wary than the Canada geese, and are shy of approaching 
 the ambushed gunner. They will often, however, alight 
 beyond the decoys, and then slowly swim into the 
 wooden flock, mistaking them for their feathered breth- 
 ren. A favorite way to kill them is to have a boat-like 
 box on some open sand-bar which the fowl frequent, 
 and the unsuspecting birds fall an easy prey. The best 
 location for the sport that we know of is on the eastern 
 coast of Virginia, in the ' * broad waters ' ' between the 
 outlying sandy islands and the main-land. We have 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 19 
 
 passed several seasons there on the main opposite Cobb' s 
 Island, where we found the bay -snipe shooting most excel- 
 lent, especially for the big siche-bill curlews. On those 
 "broad waters," during the summer months, numerous 
 tree-blinds are planted in the water by the fowlers, and 
 between these they hide themselves and boats until the 
 brant arrive, late in the season. These blinds are formed 
 of small cedar-trees, stuck into the soft mud of the bot- 
 tom, and make with their bushy tops a thick screen 
 some five feet above the water. Numerous decoys are 
 anchored all around these blinds; the gunners take posi- 
 tion in the boats, the hovering flocks approach the snare, 
 the guns explode, and the surface is overspread with the 
 slain. These are quickly gathered up, the guns reloaded, 
 and all is ready for another flock. The victims are easily 
 disabled, and you are sure to retrieve with your boat all 
 that you shoot down. The black duck (Anas obscurd) also 
 is abundant at those places, as indeed it is along the 
 whole coast from Montauk to Hatteras. Though it fre- 
 quents salt bays and inlets, it seems also to be fond of 
 fresh waters, and is found in swamps, marshes, ice-fields, 
 and the margins of rivers. Though called the black 
 duck, that is a misnomer; for the black duck of science 
 is the spectacle -duck, a species of coot (Fuligula perspi- 
 culata), and is properly the dusky duck. We have 
 enjoyed much better bay-snipe shooting on the eastern 
 peninsula of Virginia than on Long Island, New 
 Jersey, or North Carolina. The scenery on the Chesa- 
 peake Bay side is very lovely, and we have never seen 
 more picturesque spots than the old plantation sites 
 along the bay shore; there green slopes dip down into the 
 crystal -clear water; noble trees droop their greenery of 
 foliage, engarlanded with the trailing vines of wild grape, 
 woodbine, ivy, and the splendid trumpet-flower. Broad 
 plantations outstretch for miles their fruitful acres of 
 
20 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 corn and grain, and the dingy white house of the planter 
 gleams through its bower of fruit-trees, twinkling amid 
 the embowering elms, locusts, and oaks. There the mock- 
 ing-bird builds and sings and other sweet songsters 
 assemble, and every stubble-field repeats the soft whistle 
 of the quail; but there pervades the blight of malaria; but 
 on the sea-coast side it is much healthier, where the salt 
 breeze, blowing in fresh from the Atlantic, fills the lungs 
 with healthful inspiration. In such latter place the bay- 
 snipe shooting can not be surpassed, and we have never 
 seen the curlew in such great numbers, while the willet, 
 plover, yellow-leg, and dowitch are ever abundant. These 
 haunt the meadow-lands that line the shore, and the 
 boundless acres of salt marshes, intersected with tidal 
 creeks, between the main-land* and the sea; there also 
 resort the ducks in late fall, and a good boat, good gun, 
 and good aim are all that is requisite for good and ample 
 enjoyment. We have found the broad-bill (blue-bill) very 
 numerous in the lower parts of Chesapeake Bay, where 
 they are called "raft-duck." These fowls pass the nights 
 on the flats, in large flocks, and seldom resort to salt 
 meadows. Great havoc is made among them by batter- 
 ies, and we rejoice that the use of these destructive 
 machines are prohibited in many places. Of all wild fowl, 
 the most valued is the canvas-back, though we think 
 them not superior to their congener, the red -head. The 
 two fowl closely resemble each other in size and plumage, 
 and their food is identical, viz., the valisneria, or duck- 
 weed. They are very plentiful in North Carolina waters, 
 but the best ground for them seems to be the upper waters 
 of the Chesapeake. They arrive there about the middle 
 of November, and are then in poor condition after their 
 long flight from the North; but soon after feeding on 
 the succulent grasses, they acquire the delicious flavor 
 which makes them world-renowned. At such places the 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 21 
 
 canvas-back and broad-bill dive to the bottom and tear up 
 the roots of the grasses, while the red-heads and widgeons 
 feed on the leaves that rise to the surface. The widgeon 
 (bald-pate) is a regular thief, and thieves at the expense 
 of the canvas-back, snatching the treasure from the bill 
 of the latter as it brings it to the surface. The Chesa- 
 peake is their chosen place of rest and pasture. 
 
 By myriads there the wild fowl come 
 
 To taste the rich, delicious fare; 
 The red-head and the canvas-back, 
 
 The widgeon with his plumage rare, 
 The ruddy duck, the buffle-head, 
 
 The broad-bill, and the Canada goo^e, 
 Hovering o'er shoal or cove 
 
 Their winnowing pinions to unloose. 
 
 The best points in Long Island for geese, brant-duck, 
 and bay-snipe shooting are at the Great South Bay, the 
 East Bay, and Shinnefcod Bay, and at the latter location 
 we have pleasantly passed several successive seasons, 
 enjoying excellent sport. It is a bay of only eight miles 
 in extent, and the points are all easily accessible; and 
 when the valisneria (duck -grass) is abundant, the shooting 
 for duck and snipe is very good. In former years, Great 
 South Bay was, and still is, a favorite resort for wild 
 fowl shooters, and there often came "Cypress, Jr." 
 (Hawes), W. H. Herbert, and others of sporting celeb- 
 rity, though we think that Frank Forester preferred the 
 sport to be had at Barnegat Bay, at old John Maxon's, 
 and there he advised us to try it, which we did for sev- 
 eral years, with ample pleasure and success. The bay- 
 snipe, by their countless numbers, afford rare sport to 
 the bay-man and amateur gunner in July, August, Sep- 
 tember, and October, throughout our great coast-line 
 from Cape Cod to Cape May. Spring shooting is now 
 properly prohibited by law. In their fall migrations, 
 they turn aside from the open sea to frequent the vari- 
 
 \ 
 
22 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ous bays, marshes, and mud-flats of Long Island and New 
 Jersey, where they enjoy their natural, abundant food; 
 and there the gunners, securely hid in ambush, await 
 their approach, and greatly thin out the flocks. These 
 migratory tribes are very diverse in their cries, shapes, 
 and color, and usually fly in separate flocks. 
 
 The splendid golden plovers, however, do not resort to 
 these bays, or consort with the bay -birds, but as their 
 natural feast consists of insects, grasshoppers, crickets, 
 etc., they frequent and feed upon upland pastures, and 
 there only are found. In years past, they were found in 
 countless numbers over the grassy slopes of Montauk 
 Point and the hill-sides of Gardiner' s Island, and there 
 for years we successfully interviewed them; but in later 
 ^years, from some unknown cause, they have forsaken 
 their old haunts, and flown to "fresh fields and pastures 
 new." In the above-mentioned bay they still are found 
 in large, though diminished, flocks; and we think that, 
 warned by their destruction in those bays, they pursue 
 their southward course far out to sea, not pausing by 
 the way. We have been told by fishermen that they 
 often have seen their great flocks over the ocean, far 
 from land. In pursuit of them, the gunners issue forth 
 when the tides are out, secreting themselves in grass- 
 dressed boats, or amidst the sedge-grass, and there await 
 the flood-tides, which drive the birds from the marshes, 
 creeks, and mud-flats, and in their passage they are 
 readily lured by the wooden stools and imitative whistles 
 of the sportsman, and, so deceived, they hover and alight, 
 and become an easy prey to the destroyer. It is usual to 
 make the blind at the edge of a pond or creek, and there 
 set out their stools, with long legs, in the water, where 
 they will make a more conspicuous show than if planted 
 on a mud-flat on the short grass of the marshes; when the 
 birds, such as the varieties of curlew, martin, willet, 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 23 
 
 brant-bird, yellow-shank, robin-snipe, dawitch, kreekers, 
 sanderlings, ox-eyes, ring-neck, etc., etc., rise from their 
 submerged feeding-grounds, they will pass through 
 the various leads and thoroughfares in great numbers, 
 and, enticed by the sight of the stools and the simulated 
 whistles of the gunners, they will approach, and, hover- 
 ing, will alight among or near the decoys, and receive the 
 deadly shot, after returning to their crippled and flutter- 
 ing mates, and so falling to a repeated volley of 
 No. 10 pellets. The black-breast plovers arrive here 
 in May from their winter quarters in the South, and 
 after delaying for a few days on the bars, beaches, 
 and uplands, they leave in a body for the North, 
 where the young broods are hatched and raised, and in 
 the months of August and September they return to 
 us again, reinforced by their now well-grown offspring. 
 Though shy, they are enticed within shot by the decoys, 
 and their imitated plaintive notes. In autumn they 
 are distributed along the coast^ subsisting on minute 
 shell-fish and marine insects, on which fare they become 
 fat. They remain with us until September, when they 
 begin to pass southward, their migrating course extending 
 to the southernmost extremity of the Union. The brant- 
 bird, which we have often seen mixed with the black- 
 breast flocks, is very prettily marked; mingling with 
 its plumage are white, black, reddish-brown, and black- 
 ish-brown feathers. It is commonly known as the 
 u horse-foot snipe," from its feeding on the spawn of the 
 king-crab, or horse-foot, as it is termed. It arrives on the 
 coast early in May, from the South, and leaves for its 
 breeding -place in the North by the end of May. It 
 returns to the bays of Jersey and Long Island in Sep- 
 tember, where it remains until late iri autumn. On the 
 New England coast, we have recognized it chiefly under 
 the name of "turn-stone," from its habit of turning the 
 
24 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 pebbles of the beach in search of food. In its ways it is 
 rather solitary, and is seen singly or in pairs only, skim- 
 ming the beach in search of marine insects and minute 
 shell-fish. It is then in plump condition, and considered 
 a delicacy. In the spring it moves with the black-breast 
 flocks, but at other seasons it does not seem to be gathered 
 in numbers with other migratory birds. The most numer- 
 ous fowl, perhaps, on our coast are the various tribes 
 of coot, old squaws, and shell-drake, and there should be 
 no restriction on the allowed time for shooting. The 
 laws of New York have provided that no geese, black 
 duck, shell-drake, coot, or old squaws should be killed on 
 Long Island in certain prescribed months; but there 
 should be nothing to forbid the killing of these last- 
 mentioned fowl, as they are not valued for food or market 
 on Long Island or Jersey; they afford good sport, and it 
 should be left discretionary with sportsmen to kill or 
 spare them. There is no law in New England placing 
 any such prohibitions on shooting them, and nearly all 
 the fowl-shooting on that coast consists of coot, old 
 squaws, shell-drake, and loon. We have for years enjoyed 
 that sport at some of the best points from Maine to 
 Seconnet Point, Rhode Island, and always found it to 
 be good. It is followed in Massachusetts Bay by 
 hundreds and thousands of gunners, with success and 
 satisfaction. But there these fowl are held in fair esti- 
 mation for the table, and fowlers come from remote 
 places in the interior to favorite locations on the coast 
 to enjoy their annual sport. Wherever there is a jutting 
 point or head-land, with a reef of outlying rocks project- 
 ing into the sea, there along the extended coast will be 
 seen long lines of the fowlers' boats, tossing on the 
 waves. At some such point we have seen a fleet of from 
 ten to fifty "dories" strung out and ready for the flight 
 of the coot. There are coot of many varieties: old 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 25 
 
 squaws, shell-drake, or loon are the chief and almost the 
 only game; for seldom does a brant, broad-bill, or black 
 duck cross that dangerous line of boats. 
 
 The coot and old squaws are in myriads 'all along the 
 coast, and we have seen acres of them in sailing, late in the 
 fall, from the mouth of the Chesapeake to York River, 
 a distance of 100 or more miles. The velvet duck (Fuli- 
 gulafusca), or white-wing coot, is in flesh rather tough 
 and fishy, and is so hard to kill that its slaughter is con- 
 sidered by fowlers a sure test of skill. It feeds on shell- 
 fish, especially the scollop. When migrating South, it 
 performs its long journey from its summer breeding-place 
 in perfect silence. It is a heavy -bushed bird, and well 
 supplied with down, and when in full plumage a heavy 
 chain of shot is requisite to bring them low. The surf 
 or spectacle duck breeds from Labrador northward. 
 Its flesh is coarse and fishy. It is peculiar to America, and 
 its life is spent in the bays and on the shores of the sea. 
 Its food consists of those small bivalve shell-fish, the 
 spoat-fish and others, that lie in the sand near the sur- 
 face. For these they dive constantly, seldom visiting 
 the salt marshes. They often remain with us in the 
 North during the winter months. They are very. shy 
 birds, and not easily approached by boat. In these 
 waters are also very abundant the long- tailed duck, com- 
 monly called the old squaw or old wife, which we hear 
 along the shores repeating their sonorous cry of " South, 
 south, southerly," by which name they are known 
 along the southern coast. On the New England coast 
 they are called the "quandy." This bird is the latest 
 to leave their remote northern feeding-grounds. Pro- 
 tected by its thick, downy plumage, it lingers long among 
 the ice-fields of the Arctic, till at last compelled to seek 
 its food in a milder region. They come in large flocks, 
 but soon separate in small flocks, and through the winter 
 
26 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 frequent the whole coast. It is expert in diving, and 
 goes under "shuts the door" so quickly that it is hard 
 to shoot. Its flesh is tough and fishy, like that of the 
 coot. It accompanies the coot in its migrations, and its 
 food and habits are similar. Wherever there is an 
 abundance of small clams and mussels, there the old 
 squaws select their feeding-places. They remain with 
 us till the weather is severe enough to form ice, and so 
 prevent their getting any more food. Long Island Sound 
 abounds with them, where long lines of boats are ranged 
 for their destruction; but their chief flight extends along 
 the open sea-coast, and they may be seen at all times 
 skimming across the ocean waves or winging high in air 
 their ceaseless flight. Sometimes they will pass in wavy, 
 wide, long lines, like an immense undulating serpent, 
 and at other times passing on in dense phalanx and 
 solid columns, like an immense army. Neither the 
 broad-bills (scaup-duck) nor the brant seem to join in 
 their flight. In numbers the coot and old squaw tribes 
 seem to be countless, exceeding any species of fowl that 
 sweep the air. They have these in the North, on sandy 
 islands, as well as the curlew and others of the snipe 
 tribe, where they find their food in the salt deeps, and 
 deposit their eggs in the sand, and these find deadly foes 
 in the provincial poachers, who rob their nests of the 
 eggs without remorse. These men land on the sandy 
 islands at sundown, and then trample all over the sands, 
 destroying all eggs that cover the ground, and on the 
 following morning they revisit the spot and collect all 
 the fresh-laid eggs, with which they load their small ves- 
 sels, and so proceed with their plunder to Boston or 
 other city markets. The brant and geese, however, are 
 more wary, do not resort to those sandy islands, but 
 retire to inaccessible swamps and marshes, where they 
 deposit their eggs and raise their young in perfect 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 27 
 
 security, beyond the reach of white poacher or Indian 
 robber. The Canadian laws prohibit all such devasta- 
 tions, but the enactments are easily evaded. It is said 
 that more fowls are thus destroyed than by the guns of 
 all the fowlers of the coast. 
 
 In New England there is no sporting-club to monopo- 
 lize the ground and maintain exclusive privileges. The 
 coot- shooting is free to all, and old ocean opens wide its 
 gates, and with its rolling billows invites the daring gun- 
 ner to its breast. There is much real hardship, and some 
 spice of danger, in the sport, that is unknown to the 
 shooter in the sheltered bays of Long Island, the waters 
 of Barnegat in Jersey, or the shoal creeks and shallows 
 of Carrituck Sound. The coot-shooter has to dare the 
 combing breakers ready to engulf, the sharp and hidden 
 rocks eager to impale, and the sudden and violent gales, 
 sufficient to sweep the dancing skiff far away from 
 friendly shore to the pitiless wastes of ocean. We have 
 had many a desperate struggle against wind and tide, 
 when caught out a mile at sea in our diminutive craft, by 
 a sudden gale blowing from the shore, and we have seen 
 hair-breadth escapes from certain drowning among the 
 venturous coot-shooters. There are many capital points 
 for the shooting on that coast, the best of which are the 
 Boarshead, at Hampton, N. H. ; Cohasset Rocks, Scit- 
 uate Harbor, Brant Rock, Marshfield, and Manamet 
 Point, at the mouth of Plymouth Bay. We have had many 
 a good day's sport at each of these places, for at them 
 all, the fowl-flight is plentiful, and the fishing unsur- 
 passed. It is a rule that the first boat in early morning 
 to reach the shooting-ground shall have the first choice of 
 place; and sometimes the sportsman most eager for the 
 sport will anchor his boat, in the darkness, off the outer 
 rock of the reef, and wrapping himself close in his shoot- 
 ing-coat, lie down and sleep till awakened by the dawn 
 
28 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 or by succeeding boats; and such has been our own not 
 unf requent experience. If the wind and weather be calm 
 and adverse, there will probably be but a small flight of 
 fowl; but if a light or a smart breeze blows from the east- 
 ward, then " look out to the eastward." The first fifteen 
 or twenty boats to arrive anchor and set out decoys, and 
 then form a curved line from the outer rock, at about 
 gunshot distance from each other. Those who come later 
 form a second line, anchored some thirty rods in rear of 
 the former; and all the latest comers, who have lingered 
 too long in bed or at breakfast, form a straggling third 
 line in rear of all, and are content to open fire upon the 
 broken flocks that have escaped through the two front 
 lines, and ofttirnes they are rewarded in picking up the 
 cripples. On a blowy day, with a rough sea running, these 
 third : line laggards do a profitable business in gathering 
 up the killed and wounded. These coot-shooters form a 
 mixed and curious assemblage. Some of them are city- 
 bred, fresh from the wharf and warehouse, rigged out in 
 the most correct sporting-garb, and armed in the best 
 fashion. Then there are rural gunners from the far-back- 
 in woods, provided with squirrel-guns, and using only 3 B 
 shot, instead of No. 2 and 3. Then come the native 
 gunners, old fellows who have followed the sport at the 
 shore where they reside for half a century or more. We 
 have known some of them, venerable with the frosts of 
 eighty years, yet strong enough to pull a boat or thin a 
 flock, using only their ancient muskets. In a favorable 
 day for the flight, it is exciting to take one's stand on a 
 bluff and witness the sport. It is like overlooking a battle- 
 field, with constant roar and flash of guns. A light breeze, 
 then, perhaps, blows from the northeast, just sufficient to 
 ruffle the waves, without stirring them to anger. The 
 rolling surge frets and foams against the weed-draped 
 rocks and the yellow sands of the shore, where the dark 
 
BAY-SNIPE AND OTHER WILD FOWL SHOOTING. 29 
 
 pines and yellowing oaks cast their shadows. Above 
 spreads the blue canopy of sky, hazy with the vapors of 
 Indian summer. Far away spreads old ocean's gray and 
 melancholy waste, dotted here and there with snowy sail 
 or smoking steamer; while beneath you lies the little 
 fleet of boats, in constant smoke, and, as the flocks of 
 fowl pass over them, we might celebrate the scene and 
 the coot in verse, thus: 
 
 High, high in upper air they rise, 
 Their dark forms melting in the skies; 
 Seaward, in solid, compact mass, 
 The flapping squadrons onward pass; 
 And now they skim the frothy brine, 
 In lengthen'd file, in wedge-like line, 
 Ne'er sweeping over land or bar, 
 But skirting headlands high and far. 
 
 Along the rocky shores of Massachusetts Bay, crowned 
 with bowery woodlands, bordered in vast acres of salt 
 marshes, and washed by the salty tides of the bay, lies 
 the little town of Marshfield, famous as the chosen and 
 last home of Daniel Webster. Many years since, 
 charmed with the location, he purchased an old farm- 
 house and a few acres of land, near the marshes and the 
 shore, where the Green River debouches into ocean, and 
 here he passed many happy years of life, in a haven where 
 he could retire from the bustle of the law and the dis- 
 tractions of politics, and refresh himself with the tranquil 
 pleasures of rural life and the exciting delights of fish- 
 ing, fowling for coot, and bay-snipe shooting. It was 
 our good fortune to be established, through his courtesy 
 and kindness, in his adjoining farm-house, and for some 
 three years of residence there we had good opportunity 
 to enjoy the sports of marsh and ocean, and the much 
 greater pleasure of seeing constantly the great states- 
 man. Brant Rock, not far from his home, was a famous 
 point for fishing, and for some years he might be found 
 
30 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 in the line of boats trying his hand at shooting; but his 
 greater pleasure, especially in later years, was to sail out 
 in his little sloop and enjoy the sport of cod and haddock 
 fishing. He was ever a generous and beloved landlord 
 among his dependents, and the kindest of parents, ever 
 delighted to have his sons with him, on marshes, over 
 the farm, or in the boat. The elder one, Fletcher, a 
 colonel in a Union regiment, fell in battle during the late 
 war, and the youngest, Major Edward, died of disease 
 during the Mexican War. It was a sorrowful day when 
 the remains of the statesman were interred, on a hill -side 
 overlooking the ocean and the meadows. 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 
 
 BY WILLIAM JARVIS ("MONT CLARE"). 
 
 the list of birds pursued with dog and gun, 
 there is one that has a lasting claim upon 
 the affections of a sportsman, both on 
 account of its beauty and the mystery that 
 surrounds its ways; a bird of mighty 
 wanderings and daily rest; a bird with eyes 
 large, dark, and deep, in whose depths the 
 glories of an autumnal sky and landscape 
 are reflected in miniature; a bird with the magic power to 
 turn its admirer from all other feathered game, if once 
 he hears the whistle of its wings or sees its form glide 
 stealthily down the glade. 
 
 Its plumage above is mottled with rufous, slate, and 
 black, the first two colors softly blending upon the sides 
 of the neck, while below, upon the shapely breast, there 
 is a tinge of pink, which changes to a rufous toward the 
 wings and thighs. This color full upon the breast of a 
 perfect-plumaged bird, fading away as it nears the tail to 
 the shade of a bit of sedge reminds one of the reflection 
 of an October sunset. Its legs are of moderate length, 
 delicate in their molding, and flesh-tinted; the toes are 
 long and slender; its bill dark in color and very long, and 
 the full dark eyes, set quite to the top of the head, that it 
 may more safely feed without injury to its eyesight, give 
 to this bird a most singular appearance. Its length is 
 about eleven inches, and its weight from five to eight 
 ounces, the female generally being the larger. Such is 
 
 (31) 
 
32 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the woodcock, a bird once known, never to be forgot- 
 ten. 
 
 It has, too, a claim upon the epicure as well as the 
 sportsman, and, from those days when the Pontine 
 marshes furnished woodcock in such numbers that the 
 Romans feasted upon their tongues until to-day, this 
 bird has been regarded as one of the daintiest morsels 
 ever tasted by man. 
 
 Of woodcock we have but one variety, inhabiting 
 Eastern North America, and breeding in various sections 
 of the United States and Provinces, called by ornithol- 
 ogists PMlohela minor , to distinguish it in a scientific 
 manner from its cousin, the woodcock of Europe, which 
 differs from ours in shape of wings and general markings, 
 being less beautiful in coloring, and in size a third larger. 
 Wherever the woodcock may be found, it is a migratory 
 bird, although in the most southern of its breeding- 
 grounds its migrations are of short duration. It is 
 something of a Bohemian in its ways, bound to live well 
 for the day, or rather the night; no matter for the mor- 
 row; governed in its choice of home by no provincial laws, 
 but by the climate and the food which it loves so well; 
 fearing the cold, the sleet, and the snows, and altogether 
 being a lover of the sunny side of life. 
 
 The woodcock of the Northern States is the woodcock 
 of the Southern no difference in its markings, no differ- 
 ence in its size, nor in the flavor of its flesh. 
 
 The bobolink of New England is the reed-bird of the 
 Pennsylvania marshes, the rice-bird of the South; its 
 food varies, and so does its flavor. 
 
 The ruffed grouse in certain winter months feeds upon 
 the buds of the birch, and its flesh at such times is bitter 
 to the taste, and unfit for food. The canvas-back 
 searches for the wild celery, revels in its fragrance, and 
 then furnishes to the epicure a far more delicate viand 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 
 
 33 
 
 than at other times. But the woodcock, no matter where 
 it wings its way, in all of the many sections in which it 
 may be found, at various seasons legitimate for shooting, 
 is much the same sort of bird, and woodcock- shooting 
 
 WOODCOCK. Philohela minor. 
 
 is much the same sort of sport throughout the length and 
 breadth of the land; yet no other in the list of game birds 
 is so little understood by mankind in general; no other 
 has so wrecked the many theories which from time to time 
 have been advanced concerning its modes of life, and no 
 other has been subject to such relentless persecution. 
 
 3 
 
34 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 In the dells and covers where woodcock breed, they 
 are birds of curious ways, and it is in such places, with 
 no evil intent in one' s heart, that he can best learn their 
 nature, and get at those secrets of their forest lives 
 which are ^beyond his reach when, with dog and gun, he 
 beats the covers in autumn months. 
 
 The arrival of woodcock upon their breeding-grounds 
 varies with the season and the sections of country 
 through which they scatter. They leave their winter 
 resorts, where for a short time they have enjoyed a 
 southern sun, and commence their northward pilgrimage 
 late in January or early in February, advancing with the 
 spring- tide, until they hnd grounds suited to their 
 habits. In their most southern grounds they breed as 
 early as the last of February, and in their more northern 
 as late as April or May, depending upon the season. 
 
 Their breeding in the Southern States is rare, if the 
 season be favorable for early migration, as they prefer 
 grounds farther north; but the season being cold and. 
 backward, some make short migrations, and go at once 
 to breeding. Again, there may be a few broods raised 
 near their winter habitat, on account of the inability of 
 the old birds to accompany their tribe; so everywhere 
 may the woodcock be considered a migratory bird, as the 
 isolated cases of their breeding in the far South are the 
 exceptions. 
 
 In sections where the woodcock breed as early as Feb- 
 ruary, they may rear a second brood; but in their northern 
 homes they do not, unless their first nesting is destroyed, 
 when they go to work at once to repair the injury. 
 
 Usually reaching the Middle States in March, the 
 New England States in April, this desire to return so 
 early to their breeding-grounds often meets with a cold 
 reception. The great storm of March, 1888, was, no doubt, 
 the shroud of many a woodcock. 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 35 
 
 When first the bluebirds twitter in the orchards and the 
 robins sing their morning songs, then may we look for the 
 coming of the woodcock; for the deep snows of our 
 northern clime have nearly gone, and the warm rains 
 have swelled the rills to rivers and moistened the loam 
 along their banks. 
 
 Although it may freeze somewhat at night in the more 
 open glades, there are many streams flowing among the 
 hills and winding through the sheltered lowlands where 
 Jack Frost has performed his last work for the winter 
 gone. 
 
 Here upon these banks, softened by the sun's warm 
 rays, woodcock feed, and here, later on, amid the alder- 
 covered environs and down in the bottom-lands, they nest 
 and rear their broods. 
 
 Although they are well-known lovers of fens and 
 alder-glades, and generally nest in such places doubtless 
 from the fact of its being much easier to feed their young 
 still an occasional pair, wiser, perhaps, than their gen- 
 eration, or more willing to work for the support of their 
 family, will select some spot high and dry, even though 
 quite distant from their feeding-grounds; and whatever 
 the labor, they are well repaid, since there is not the 
 danger from heavy rains that continually threatens the 
 lower breeding-grounds. 
 
 The woodcock, unlike the ruffed grouse, is satisfied 
 with a single mate, the choice being made in the course 
 of their flight, or just before setting out on their north- 
 ward journey; for soon after their arrival, the weather 
 being propitious, they commence a skilled and careful 
 inspection of the breeding-grounds, to find a suitable 
 nesting-place. This skill consists not in building for a 
 woodcock' s nest is rather a poor specimen of bird archi- 
 tecture but in selecting some spot where little effort is 
 required to construct a nest, and where the immediate 
 
36 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 surroundings are such that there is nothing to distinguish 
 it. In this nest, built among a few loose twigs and 
 leaves, or, perhaps, in a slight depression amid a bunch 
 of withered grass, the eggs are laid. They are four in 
 number, quite round in form, of a dull clay-color, covered 
 with brownish spots, and in size corresponding to those 
 of the pigeon. 
 
 The male bird, no doubt, assists his mate in incubation, 
 since they are such voracious feeders that a great deal of 
 time must be consumed in obtaining food; and as they 
 feed in the cool of the early evening and morning, the 
 eggs would soon become chilled unless protected. 
 
 During this period, which is about three weeks, the 
 sitting bird is quite easy to approach, as she seems to 
 know that silence is her best protection, and indeed it is, 
 for the coloring of her plumage so blends with the sur- 
 roundings that he must have sharp eyes to find the nest 
 which she so silently protects. 
 
 The young being hatched, a transformation scene takes 
 place, for then, especially at eventide and early morning, 
 all is bustle and activity, the parent birds having a busy 
 time in caring for their little family, which is more help- 
 less than that of the grouse or the quail, and sometimes, 
 before the fledgelings are able to fly, have to be carried 
 from one feeding-ground to another. 
 
 It is stated by some authorities that the young are 
 carried upon the back of the parent bird, clinging there 
 with bill and toes; again, that they are carried between 
 the thighs, being held there partly by the aid of the bill 
 and the tail; the position of the bill, pointed downward 
 during flight, unless distinctly seen, would tend to con- 
 vey this idea. I have never seen the young carried in 
 either of these ways, but have seen them transported 
 from place to place, grasped by the long, slender toes of 
 the old bird and drawn up closely to the body. 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 37 
 
 The young woodcock, when first hatched, very much 
 resemble bantam chicks, with the exception of their eyes 
 and bills, although even in these respects the difference 
 is not marked. 
 
 The parenb birds are very solicitous for their little 
 ones, and when their domain is encroached upon, endeavor 
 by all the arts known to bird-land to attract attention 
 to themselves, with a warning to their downy chicks to 
 drop silently and closely to the ground or to scatter in 
 different directions. 
 
 How her cry causes the little ones to disappear 
 upon an approach! How she flutters and feigns to be 
 lame and wounded, leading you a merry chase, if 
 you will only follow, anywhere, everywhere, through 
 the glades, to guard against any possible danger to her 
 family! 
 
 She will lead you a winding course, and then you see 
 her no more, for having successfully decoyed you, she is 
 off on pinions swift, noiseless, and strong from maternal 
 love. Taking a wide circle in her flight, she returns to 
 the vicinity of her young, and dropping quietly to the 
 ground, listens a little for the step of her pursuer; all is 
 still; her ruse has been successful; not a sound or move- 
 ment, save here and there the song of some forest thrush 
 or sparrow, or the hopping of the tiny wren from bough 
 to bough, either of which contains no terrors for her little 
 ones, who are listening for that call of safety which never 
 yet deceived them. 
 
 The mother' s large dark eyes gleam with eagerness, as 
 her low, guttural "peek, peek, peek" draws forth the 
 fainter answers from her little ones, that, rising slowly 
 from the ground, or appearing from under leaf or twig, 
 rush with flapping wings to meet their mother, who, with 
 a tender care that would melt a poacher's heart, guides 
 her fledgelings through all the dangers that beset their 
 
38 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 paths by day, and when the sun has gone from sight, 
 directs them through the pleasures of the night. 
 
 Woodcock, in their intercourse with each other, dis- 
 play none of that pugnacious spirit possessed by the 
 quail and grouse, and are altogether more loving in 
 their ways, and seemingly better satisfied with their 
 surroundings. 
 
 It is during the warm spring evenings that one may 
 hear, by visiting the breeding-grounds, the song of the 
 woodcock; and the love-notes of the male, though not so 
 soft as those of the thrush, are far sweeter than the strains 
 of many a well-reputed songster, doubtless sounding as 
 sweet to his lady-bird down in the ferns as any sere- 
 nade ever sung by ardent lover. 
 
 With guttural prelude to his song while on the 
 ground, he circles upward in his flight through the 
 twilight, till, lost to sight, his notes are heard high in the 
 air, not unlike those of a night-hawk; but it is in his 
 downward flight-that the full melody of his love-song is 
 heard, as he approaches the female who is awaiting him; 
 resting a few moments, he repeats his upward flight and 
 song, and at intervals repeats this performance until 
 darkness has shut out the last glimmer of the daylight. 
 Who would suppose that this bird, indifferent as he 
 seems in the day-time to all sentiment, could sing such 
 love- songs in the gloaming? 
 
 There is no bird family of all our fields and forests so 
 peculiar in its ways, or any whose ways are so hard to 
 study, and consequently so little understood. Woodcock 
 do not fly about during the day for either food or pleasure, 
 rarely taking wing unless disturbed, seeking rest and quiet 
 all day long away from human eyes; but when the sun has 
 set, and most good birds have gone to bed, they start out 
 for their feeding-ground. 
 
 They seem to know by intuition what loam contains 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 89 
 
 the fattest, freshest worms, what bog contains the 
 choicest loam, and by their borings leave for us, other- 
 wise unsophisticated in woodcock logic, indications of 
 their presence. 
 
 I know of bogs, meadows, fens, and alder-covers that 
 topographically, and from all evidence gained by man in 
 general, are seemingly as worthy of a woodcock's choice 
 as those wherein they dwell and feed, but, for all that, are 
 never inhabited by these long-billed birds. No matter 
 how favorable such grounds may seem to the casual 
 observer, they contain none of the worms and larvae upon 
 which woodcock feed; and such grounds, upon a careful 
 examination, will be found to be either sandy or so hard 
 that woodcock supplies can not exist, or else sour and 
 rank, as the growth of grass may indicate. I know of a 
 favorite cover, through which a tiny brook picks its 
 course, whose waters are strongly tainted with iron, and 
 yet woodcock bore upon its banks, and are amply 
 rewarded for their labors; possibly they are invalids, who 
 go there for treatment; if so, they are fortunate in having 
 mineral springs so easy of access. 
 
 Woodcock have no choice as to the locality of their 
 feeding-grounds, if only the proper food may be found, 
 and in many a country village there are rich vegetable 
 gardens which furnish fine feasts to wise old woodcock, 
 who do not hesitate to take advantage of the dusk to 
 visit them, and whose only danger at such times is from 
 the telegraph wires or from the prowling house-cat. 
 
 Often, when the feeding-ground is quite distant from 
 suitable covers, the birds may be' seen at dusk, rising 
 spirit-like from the deep gloom of the woods, and, darting 
 athwart the sky, dropping to the low, wet meadows, bogs, 
 and brook- sides beyond. 
 
 They well know where to find the proper food, how to 
 get it when found, and the exact moment in which to 
 
40 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 present their bills they are long ones, too for pay- 
 ment. 
 
 It must not be understood that woodcock never feed 
 between the hours of dawn and sunset, for I have caught 
 them at their borings where a dark morass, studded with 
 pools, each bordered with deep, rich loam, furnished the 
 choicest food, and where the alders were so thick that 
 the sunlight could not reach the ground beneath, and 
 low upon the earth all was dark and still, save the hum 
 of insects and the purling of the brook. Again, one day 
 in early autumn, I came upon a woodcock in a meadow 
 corn-field. I watched him for some time probing the soft, 
 moist soil, until, either becoming weary in well-doing or 
 suspicious of my presence, he walked slowly away, with 
 bobbing head, from his last feast, for I then flushed and 
 shot him. And again, one dark, rainy morning in July, 
 about 8 o'clock, as I was driving along a road which 
 had recently been repaired from the rich soil of a neigh- 
 boring alder-flat, a woodcock flushed in front of me, and 
 then another, and another, and another. As soon as 
 possible I stopped my horse, and again saw them, only a 
 few rods distant, busily feeding; punch, push, probe, 
 pull, and worm after worm, brought toward the surface 
 by the warm rain, was drawn from the soft road, not by 
 suction, but by the good muscular efforts of those long 
 bills. Driving on, they flushed again; but loath to leave 
 such a delicious breakfast, they would not take to the 
 covers, and stopping, feeding, flushing, for more than 
 fifty rods, that quartette of woodcock kept the highway 
 until there were open fields upon either side of them, 
 when, with a curve in their flight, they turned back and 
 disappeared in the cover. 
 
 Curious birds are they, forever presenting to him who 
 studies their modes of life new phases of character. 
 Their complete history has never yet been written. 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 41 
 
 I have often pictured them upon stormy nights feed- 
 ing beneath the cover of overhanging tree-lined banks, or 
 in open marsh and fen, and wondered if their actions 
 were as solemn then as in the daylight. It must be sad 
 work in such weather, indeed almost funereal, and the 
 joy, like that of many a human life, be the anticipation 
 of the coming rest. 
 
 In festal moods, no doubt they pass many a night in 
 revelry, by the margin of some favorite pool, whose 
 mirrored surface reflects the star-lit zenith, with the moon 
 high above for a chandelier, and the wind-anthems 
 through the tree-tops for music. Perhaps, too, they 
 have some knowledge of astronomy, understand the 
 twinkling of the stars, study the signs of the zodiac, 
 thereby learning when to time their flights, and plac- 
 ing great reliance upon the moon's phases, and the 
 tale which she tells them, as they watch her course; for 
 they take their migratory flights by the pale light of the 
 moon, rather than by the bright rays of the mid-day sun. 
 
 What other of our upland game birds enjoys such 
 nightly revels? The upland plover flies by night, and its 
 plaintive call, half sad, half glad, may be heard wavering 
 upon the evening air; but it feeds by day, and does not, 
 like the woodcock, indulge in nocturnal feasts. 
 
 Woodcock are a riddle to the sportsman, who knows 
 them best, while to those without the pale of field-sports 
 they are known only as their name is read upon some 
 tempting menu, or as they are brought to the table, 
 served with highest culinary skill. 
 
 To him who, in the early summer, with rod in hand, 
 follows some trout-brook as it dashes down from among 
 the hills and out through the interval, they often, for an 
 instant, show their mottled plumage ere they whistle 
 from sight in the thick, green foliage, and leave him gaz- 
 ing with eager eyes at " what might have been." 
 
42 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 To the rustic lad, and the farmer, upon whose land, 
 among the glades and swamps, they breed, they are 
 unseen, unknown, or, if seen, known only as "whistling 
 snipe," "timber doodles," or by some other such pro- 
 vincial name; and should one make an inquiry for wood- 
 cock, he would probably be directed to the old trees in 
 the orchard or upon the hill-top, but almost never to the 
 proper covers; for the farmer is not as familiar with these 
 bird-tenants of his freehold as with the quail, the ruffed 
 grouse, and many others of the feathered tribe who 
 encroach upon his domain. 
 
 Sometimes in the early summer mornings, as he mows 
 the swale, they spring from before him, and are seen 
 only for an instant ere they drop farther down among the 
 low-grown willows, leaving him to wonder whether he 
 saw a bird or spirit; and I myself often wonder that it is 
 not the spirits of woodcock only that are seen, consider- 
 ing the warfare that has been waged upon the tribe for 
 so many years, in season and out of season north, 
 south, east, and west, from the rising to the setting of 
 the sun, and indeed from the setting to the rising again 
 by that execrable practice of fire-hunting practiced in 
 some sections of the South. Truly, their time of peace is 
 very limited. Permitted by law, in some States, to be 
 shot before they are fairly fledged, they know no safety 
 from that time on until they once more return to their 
 breeding-places, and for a few weeks out of the fifty-two 
 are granted a short respite during their nesting and 
 hatching. 
 
 Summer cock-shooting must be everywhere abolished, 
 to save the 'tribe, already becoming scarce in many sec- 
 tions which formerly held them in great numbers. It is 
 true that, owing to the increase in population, large tracts 
 of swamps, rich with the best of soil, have been cleared, 
 drained, and reclaimed; and now the field-sparrow sings 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 43 
 
 and nests where woodcock used to breed and furnish 
 shooting. 
 
 Again, as woodcock have decreased, the men who shoot 
 have increased, and just so much more should their 
 intelligent protection be enforced. As for summer shoot- 
 ing, it is cruel and \vrong, both in theory and practice, 
 and no manner of logic can make it right. 
 
 It is strange that the selfish pleadings of a few should 
 have the power to enact laws permitting summer shoot- 
 ing; or, if enacted in times past, when it seemed folly to 
 be wise, should have sufficient force to overrule all those 
 who would legislate from a higher standpoint, and seek 
 to preserve one of the choicest game birds known. 
 Granting, for the sake of argument, that summer shoot- 
 ing has but little to do with the decrease in the number 
 of woodcock, no one, not even its most zealous advocate, 
 can deny that there is not only a possibility, but a proba- 
 bility, of its having some deleterious effect upon these 
 birds. Why not, then, keep upon the safe side, and for- 
 bid killing woodcock until the season legitimate for field- 
 sports shall arrive. 
 
 After all, what is there in summer shooting to draw 
 one forth? It can not be that they are more easily killed 
 than in autumn, for, although not so swift and strong of 
 wing, their flights are fully as erratic, and the covers, 
 thick with their wealth of leaves, block the aim. 
 
 It can not be the desire for healthful pleasure afield 
 with dog and gun, for a summer day holds no exhilara- 
 tion when the sun shinies hot upon pasture-lands that lie 
 dried and withered beneath his scorching rays; when the 
 grass upon new-mown fields is struggling to show a tinge 
 of green; when not a cloud flecks the sultry sky, and the 
 cattle upon the hill-sides stand beneath the friendly shade 
 of wide-spreading trees; when down in the alder-flats, 
 although the sun may not reach the sportsman's path, 
 
44 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the air is stifling, and the mosquitoes are in swarms about 
 him, while his dog is nearly exhausted from his efforts 
 to find the half -grown birds. 
 
 Where the law permits this summer shooting, some 
 feign to enjoy it, because there is nothing else to shoot; 
 others and there are many of them are drawn forth by 
 the market price of the early birds; while still others 
 claim that in certain sections, unless hunted before leav- 
 ing their breeding-grounds, there can be no shooting, as 
 the birds do not return, but, when through their moult, 
 start on their southern flight which will prove true in 
 the near future, if this pernicious habit is not abolished, 
 for there will be no woodcock to return. 
 
 The uncertainty of our seasons is another very excel- 
 lent reason why July cock-shooting should everywhere 
 be abolished. One year the season may be early, and 
 favorable to their nesting, hatching, and rearing their 
 broods; the next year the heavy snows may retard their 
 early migrations and nesting, and later the floods destroy 
 the nests or young, so that the second broods are not half- 
 grown by July, and are in no way suitable for gun or 
 table; but, supposing that July of each year finds the 
 young well grown, still the habit of hunting them at this 
 season is disastrous to the race. 
 
 These are happy nursery days for the young wood- 
 cock, and should be guarded by every true lover of 
 Nature. 
 
 Many a young ruffed grouse meets his death at this 
 season, for "shooting woodcock," by men who never 
 shoot them later, is simply an excuse for being in sum- 
 mer covers where many a fledgeling grouse helps to fill 
 the bag. 
 
 Someone may tell you that lie never shoots half- 
 grown birds; but "to err is human," and when a bird 
 flushes in thick cover before the setter's point or the 
 
(45) 
 
46 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 spaniel's spring, where the quickest snap-shot is required, 
 he must have a prophet's eye who can tell whether it be 
 fledgeling or full-grown bird. Avoid such uncertainty, 
 and do not put temptation in the sportsman' s path. 
 
 There has always been a mystery connected with the 
 woodcock's disappearance during the moulting season, 
 and various theories have been advanced in explanation; 
 some claim that they remain in their breeding-grounds, 
 but can not be found, as they give no scent, and will not 
 flush; some, that they betake themselves to the corn- 
 fields, and can be found there in numbers; some, that 
 they fly to the high mountains and ridges, where no one 
 ever thinks of looking for them; while still others assert 
 that upon leaving their breeding-ground they migrate 
 farther north. Each and all seem to attribute this dis- 
 appearance to their moulting, without taking into con- 
 sideration the fact that there may be other causes. Do 
 not all birds moult? and why should these not disappear 
 as well, if the cause be only the casting off of an old 
 gown, and the taking on of a new one? 
 
 After a careful comparison of the different years in 
 which I have studied the habits of these birds, and 
 recalling some unusually w r et Augusts, when they seemed 
 to remain in numbers in their summer haunts, my con- 
 clusion is that their disappearance is not so much due to 
 their moulting, as to the effect that the season may have 
 upon their feeding-grounds. 
 
 Woodcock are great gourmands, and the drought, 
 which usually comes about the time they begin to moult, 
 dries up and hardens the places where they have lived, 
 loved, and fed all the summer long, thus necessitating 
 a change, and so they scatter; and if, in certain sections, 
 they disappear, although their grounds are apparently 
 capable of furnishing food, it is only that appearances 
 are deceitful, and the food is not there in reality. The 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 47 
 
 young are able to take care of themselves by this time, 
 and do not need the parents' solicitous attention, and 
 whether found alone by some secluded spring, deep in 
 the recesses of the hills, or in numbers in some back- 
 woods swamp, it is simply another phase of that great 
 question which agitates so many minds that of supply 
 and demand. 
 
 There may be a few birds willing to eke out an exist- 
 ence in the wettest portions of their old haunts, others 
 who choose the corn-lields, if they be moist enough, and 
 still others who know of springs among the mountains, 
 which early in the season reached the lowlands, moist- 
 ening th,e loam, but now lose their waters in more imme- 
 diate surroundings. 
 
 Among the hills there are swamps rarely visited by 
 man, which, flooded in the earlier summer, now expose 
 their soil, furnishing fine feeding- grounds for woodcock. 
 In such places I have found woodcock in fair numbers 
 during the period of their moult, and I know of a pond 
 nestling in the depression of a high ridge of pasture-land, 
 forty rods away from the nearest grove of birches, pines, 
 and maples, where, in the spring, the dusky-duck stops 
 to rest and feed, that in August, when the hot sun has 
 absorbed its waters, shows countless woodcock borings, 
 while in the covers near, the moulting birds may be 
 flushed. After a week of sunshine, the soil becomes 
 parched, and that place knows them no more until 
 another season shall have run its course. 
 
 Even now, though one know where to find them, there 
 is no more real pleasure in their pursuit than in July, for 
 the chill of autumn is not yet in the air, nor are the 
 birds plump of body, or smooth and glossy of feather; 
 but when the heat of summer days and nights is on the 
 wane, and the forest is changing its robe of green to one 
 of many colors; when the crops have all been garnered, 
 
48 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and the grass and clover are springing green again in the 
 stubbled fields; when the corn is ripe and ready to be 
 husked then, and not until then, can the sportsman 
 take the field with dog and gun, restrained by no twinge 
 of conscience, forbidden by no law; and he who has waited 
 all these days is well repaid for waiting, for the wood- 
 cock is altogether a different bird from what it is when 
 found in the summer months; its dress is richer in its 
 coloring, its body fast gaining that rotundity which 
 comes only when free from the worry of moulting and 
 finding food where food is scarce; its flight shows far 
 more vigor, and the whistle of its wings is sharper, 
 louder, clearer than before. 
 
 This whistle is another of the peculiarities of the 
 woodcock which are so puzzling. It does not come from 
 the throat and bill, as would naturally be supposed, but 
 from the pinions as they cleave the air. I have held a 
 woodcock by the legs, and heard this whistle as it flut- 
 tered to escape, and to satisfy myself that the noise was 
 made by its wings, have grasped it by the neck and bill, 
 and still that whistle; but when the wings stopped beat- 
 ing, the whistle ceased. The woodcock possesses vocal 
 powers of no mean order, as its love-songs during its 
 breeding-season testify; but the whistle when the bird is 
 flushed is not the result of vocal effort. 
 
 Examine the pinions, and you will find the first three 
 feathers altogether different from the others shorter 
 and narrower and in this difference lies that mysterious 
 whistle. It takes great force to start the woodcock in its 
 perpendicular flight, and the resistance offered to its 
 wings must be immense, since its body keeps about the 
 same relative position, with bill pointed downward^ that 
 it has when its course is 'horizontal, and the air rushing 
 through the first three feathers of each pinion makes the 
 whistle, which ceases when the angle of resistance is 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 49 
 
 varied by the change of flight. No other of our upland 
 game birds whistles in its flight, for no other possesses 
 these peculiar characteristics. 
 
 I have flushed moulting birds when these first three 
 feathers were imperfect, and only the faintest whistle 
 caught my ear; and I have seen them glide away from 
 their nesting -places with full-fledged pinions and make 
 no noise. But when their course is upward, or at a cer- 
 tain angle, in their startled flight, the whistle tells of 
 their presence a sound as sweet to the sportsman, when 
 out with dog and gun, as was ever the music of ^Eolian 
 lyre to Apollo' sear, and, like that, variable, irresponsible, 
 sounding only to the rushing of the wind. 
 
 During the cool moonlight nights of September that 
 golden month of the harvest moon woodcock commence 
 to leave their sylvan boudoirs, where they have changed 
 their summer dress, and visit the southern hill-sides, 
 sunny glades, and tinted brakes, there to linger until the 
 sharper frosts shall warn them to be on their journey, 
 ere the winter snows fly among the naked trees and cover 
 the brown hills and meadows. 
 
 But it is when October' s scenes are full upon us, and 
 their beauty reigns supreme by the dashing streams, in 
 the woodlands, and along the furrowed hill-sides, that 
 the finest woodcock-shooting is enjoyed throughout the 
 northern covers. And what can excel an October day, 
 when the morning is clear and fresh, and the frost of the 
 night before, harbinger of the woodcock's flight, whitens 
 the fence-tops and fallen trees, and hangs sparkling and 
 dripping from the lichen-covered tree-trunks, and from 
 every leaf and twig, while the grasses, wet with the dew 
 which came at sunset, are one mass of fretted silver? or 
 what, when the midday sun casts over land and water 
 that misty veil so peculiar to autumnal months, giving to 
 the pine and hemlock a softer hue than at any other 
 
 4 
 
50 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 season, and to the swamp maple and the oak a deeper 
 tinge, blending so perfectly with the yellow of the birch 
 and beech? Or what can surpass the setter's work the 
 eager, swift, yet cautious, pace, the quick turn on scent 
 of game, the poise so stanch and true? or what the 
 active roading of the cocker-spaniel and his merry yelp 
 when the bird is flushed? Truly these are glorious days; 
 golden links between heated summer and cold winter; 
 and of all who love these days, woodcock seem to love 
 them most, and are wont to take advantage of them as 
 they wing their way to southern grounds, furnishing in 
 their flights the best of sport; for though one shoots a 
 favorite cover clean, two or three moonlight, frosty 
 nights will bring others to it again. 
 . But when the cold blasts of November rush through 
 the leafless trees, and the cold nights freeze the loam too 
 hard for the woodcock's bill, then they whistle Their 
 adieux, and are off for a warmer clime, moving south- 
 ward, as in the early spring they came northward, with 
 the change of seasons, until December finds them again 
 established in their winter quarters. 
 
 How the whistle of a flushed woodcock on an autumn 
 morning stirs the blood! what a thrill it sends dancing 
 along the nerves! None can excel it; not even the ruffed 
 grouse, as he springs like a feathery rocket from the 
 bank above one' s head, or from the evergreens almost at 
 one's feet; nor the grouse of the western plains, as he 
 rushes from the stubble; nor the quail, as he whirs from 
 the sedge or corn-field; nor yet the snipe, as he twists 
 away upon the wind. 
 
 The woodcock, too, is unlike these birds in the man- 
 ner of its flight. When flushed, they are up and away- 
 one may be very sure of that; but the woodcock is quite 
 as likely to come into one's face as to go elsewhere, for 
 there can be no dependence whatever placed upon its 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 51 
 
 flight; and that very uncertainty is, perhaps, one of the 
 magic ties that bind us to its pursuit. Yet the wood- 
 cock is no dullard, but as great a rascal as ever flushed 
 before the gun. It will rise straight from before you, as 
 though impelled by some hidden spring; then, taking a 
 dash over the tree-tops, pitch just behind, not two rods 
 from where it was started; or it may dart through the 
 thicket to the outside, and skimming the edge quite close 
 to the ground, drop upon the very margin, or, suddenly 
 rising, dart back into the deepest portion of the cover; 
 or if the dog fails to catch the scent, it may wait until 
 you pass; then, when your back is turned, steal away 
 without even a note of warning. 
 
 Again, it may flush rods away, a veritable coward, or 
 sit in an open spot, like the bravest of the brave, seem- 
 ingly indifferent to yourself, dog, and gun, and watch 
 you with big, staring eyes. Keep still, stare it out of 
 countenance, if you can, and it will soon take flight, but 
 in which direction no one can tell possibly down the 
 open pathway, probably straight into the thickest 
 bush, where a sparrow would find hard work to force its 
 way. 
 
 It is truly wonderful how the woodcock directs its 
 flight, for no matter how thick the trees and branches to 
 mar your aim, it skillfully avoids them, and leaves 
 you wondering how it possibly escaped their network. 
 These leafy labyrinths are open sailing to this dark-eyed 
 bird. 
 
 Its knowledge of curves and angles is shown with 
 mathematical certainty; and in the moderately open 
 woods it knows the exact position of all the trees, and 
 will dart away, twisting its flight behind these bulwarks, 
 so safely that you can only catch the shadow of its pin- 
 ions, while some tree catches your charge of shot. At 
 the report of a gun, it will often pitch headlong down 
 
52 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 into a tuft of grass or a bunch of brakes, even if caught 
 on the open hill-side, thereby giving to the novice the 
 idea that it is killed or badly wounded. 
 
 But put no faith in these antics, for unless well 
 skilled in the manner of its flight and lighting, you will 
 be deceived, and upon rushing up to gather the bird to 
 bag, find only a strong pair of wings whistling in mock- 
 ery at your eagerness, as with a sudden spring it is away 
 for the cover. 
 
 Although the woodcock springs from its resting-place, 
 when startled, with rapid, vigorous, and not too graceful 
 wings, yet, when it lights in a moderately open spot, its 
 action is as graceful as a falling leaf; its wings fan the 
 air for a moment, its slender legs drop down and gently 
 touch their resting-place, and the bird squats slowly to 
 the ground, or, the spot not being favorable, runs a few 
 rods before finding rest. Again, it will suddenly turn, as, 
 if losing its balance, and dart to the ground with half- 
 closed wings, lying wherever it pitches until routed by 
 the pursuer. I say the ground, as woodcock never light 
 upon trees or fences another of their eccentricities. 
 
 To hunt these birds successfully, one must thor- 
 oughly understand their habits, know the time of their 
 coming and going, and the grounds they frequent at cer- 
 tain seasons, whether wet or dry. It is not chance that 
 keeps half a dozen or more birds resting for several Octo- 
 ber days along a stretch of moss-covered rocks shaded by 
 pines and maples, for down in that interval the soil has 
 been turned up moist and fresh by the farmer's plow, the 
 feed then is delicious, and those scattered trees afford 
 sufficient cover. It is not chance that brings to that hill- 
 side of birches, pines, and hemlocks these dreamy-eyed 
 birds in autumn weather, for here and there, by tiny 
 springs that moisten the surrounding soil, enriched by 
 the mold of fallen leaves, they find good feeding. You, 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 53 
 
 did not find them there last year, nor the year before, 
 for both years were dry, the loam of that field was not 
 turned up, and those little springs had not force enough 
 to reach the surface. Woodcock love a sunny spot to 
 lie in on cold autumn days, but the selection of this spot 
 is governed by their appetites. 
 
 The slopes, covered with brakes and sapling pines, 
 are the choice of some; the knolls, covered with birches, 
 of others; the alder-patch and willow- covered interval the 
 favorite resort of others. When the season is wet their 
 feeding-grounds are more extended, and they more scat- 
 tered, consequently it requires more tramping to secure 
 a bag. When it is dry they are harder to find, but when 
 discovered, are in numbers. A moderately wet autumn 
 furnishes the best woodcock- shooting, all other things 
 being favorable. 
 
 In their autumn flights, I have found them on the 
 highest hills and in tire lowest covers, under hemlocks 
 near large woods, and among the briars in the open past- 
 ure; and one day, while walking along a river, my setter 
 wheeled to a point among the rocks under a thin line of 
 alders; I walked up and saw a woodcock lying on a little 
 patch of sand, headed toward the hills. Telling my 
 companion to shoot, if the bird should start, I went down 
 the stream a short distance, then out into the shallow 
 water, stepping from stone to stone until opposite the 
 bird. I tried to flush it by throwing pebbles; it would 
 not flush, and did not, until the young dog, becoming 
 restless, rushed in, when with characteristic obstinacy 
 the bird turned and came straight over my head. My 
 companion dared not shoot, and in turning to get a shot 
 my feet slipped on the rocks, and into the water I went. 
 Apparently having accomplished its object, the wood- 
 cock, when half way across the stream, turned, and just 
 as I arose, dripping from my bath, darted past me for 
 
54 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the hill-side cover, where it should have gone in the first 
 place. It was particularly gratifying to see that bird 
 fall before my companion's shot. 
 
 They are curious birds in their ways before the gun, 
 and just as strange when performing in the privacy of 
 their woodland homes; and I well remember the antics at 
 which I caught one, when with a friend, one autumn 
 day, I was beating a high hill-top for ruffed grouse. 
 
 Our setter came to a point toward a clump of pines, 
 and we expected to hear the rush of a startled grouse; 
 but not a sound. Peering beneath the trees, there upon 
 the carpet of pine needles we saw a woodcock, strutting 
 about just like a turkey-cock in miniature, with tail 
 erect, spread like a fan, and drooping wings, nodding its 
 head in time with the movement of its feet, as though 
 listening to music we could not hear. It was a droll 
 scene, and at the same time picturesque the tall, green 
 pines above their carpeting of tfsd-brown needles, a red 
 dog standing in perfect pose, with outstretched neck and 
 glaring eyes, a small, long-billed, dark-eyed, mottled 
 bird marching to and fro with all the pomp of a grena- 
 dier, and two sportsmen on their knees as silent spec- 
 tators. After watching it for some time, we flushed and 
 shot it, and in beating out a patch of pines not far away, 
 bagged four more. 
 
 Although woodcock are much the same sort of birds 
 wherever found, and woodcock -shoo ting much the same 
 sort of sport when followed legitimately, still there are 
 slight variations, depending upon the topography of the 
 different sections in which they rest and feed. 
 
 In certain parts of the West they are numerous in 
 extended swamps and corn-fields, while in other sections 
 it would be useless to look for them in these places, 
 because of the one being rank and sour and the other 
 dry and sandy. 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 55 
 
 In the South, in the alluvial and swampy portions of 
 Louisiana, they are found in great numbers from Decem- 
 ber to February; but upon the higher land, covered with 
 open pine forests, they are rare, except where such bor- 
 der lakes and streams. In the thickets along the rivers 
 and ponds, in the little branches, in the low switch-cane, 
 and among the dwarf palmetto near swamps, they rest 
 by day, and feed at night in the wet savannahs and 
 neighboring cultivated fields. Here, as in their northern 
 quarters, they are very uncertain as to localities, for 
 to-day a certain thicket may be full of them and to-mor- 
 row not a bird be found. 
 
 During a period of unusually severe weather, they 
 collect in the warmer swamps in vast numbers; and in 
 the streets and gardens of Mandeville, a town upon the 
 shore of Lake Pontchartrain, they have been known to 
 collect in such numbers that a boy killed five dozen in a 
 single day. 
 
 Their winter habitat extends from the Carolinas 
 along the southern coast; but in that vast undrained terri- 
 tory of the Texas coast, which is claimed to be the finest 
 feeding-ground for the jack-snipe on this continent, and 
 where they abound from October to April, woodcock are 
 never seen. 
 
 In certain sections, when they take to the wide, open 
 fields for feeding, the pot-hunter kills great numbers by 
 the light of torches, which so bewilders them that they 
 are easily shot or beaten down with clubs. Although in 
 many places this fire-hunting has been given up, along 
 the Mississippi, as it nears the Gulf, and on some of the 
 bayous, notably the Bceuf, and along the Atchafalaya, it 
 is still practiced to some extent, owing to the physical 
 characteristics of the country, which, it is claimed, make 
 it almost impossible for one to find and shoot them in 
 their day-time haunts. This may be exciting, but has 
 
56 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 none of the inspiration of true sportsmanship, any more 
 than has the yarding and killing of deer when the snow 
 lies too deep for their legitimate pursuit. 
 
 When given a fair field and fight, woodcock can hold 
 their own against all comers, and seem at times to set all 
 human knowledge of their ways at defiance, puzzling the 
 most experienced hunter to find them with success; but 
 it is usually when he, unmindful of the peculiarities of 
 the country, or of that particular season, looks for them 
 in their usual haunts, or depends upon their flights being 
 at the same period as in some other year, different in 
 itself, and preceded by a different spring and summer. 
 
 Woodcock, before their migratory flights, are some- 
 what nomadic in their ways, changing their feeding- 
 grounds frequently, thus leading many to believe that 
 they are on their southern journey. 
 
 The autumnal equinox, if followed by two or three 
 sharp, frosty nights, usually starts the first flight south- 
 ward, and when once the birds commence to move in num- 
 bers, one may be sure of good shooting. A still day is 
 the best for woodcock- shooting, especially if following a 
 rain, for then the scent lies better, and so do the birds. 
 On windy days, woodcock are wild, and usually flush 
 with the wind, no matter which way it blows. The idea 
 that when found in their autumn flights they always 
 flush toward the south, and continue in that direction, 
 no matter how often started, is simply a theory not borne 
 out by facts. 
 
 These birds being unlike all others in their field 
 tactics, he who hunts them should have a somewhat 
 different outfit from that, used in pursuit of other game. 
 The choke-bore is out of place in a woodcock cover, for 
 it either misses or tears the bird in pieces, and a heavy 
 gun has no advantage, for the range at which woodcock 
 are shot is usually within the killing power of the cylin- 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 57 
 
 der-bore and light charge, and even half a pound makes 
 quite a difference in a long day's tramp. A seven -pound, 
 twelve-bore gun, with barrels twenty-eight, or even 
 twenty-six, inches in length, loaded with three drams of 
 powder that which gives least recoil and smoke pre- 
 ferred and one ounce of No. 12 shot if early in the 
 season, or No. 10 if later, will, if held straight, render 
 a good account of every cock that rises. 
 
 The successful woodcock hunter must be the quickest 
 shot of all who follow the dog in autumn months. A 
 woodcock gliding down an open glade straight away is 
 the easiest of birds to kill, but when one springs from 
 its resting-place among the trees, he who hesitates is 
 lost, or rather the bird is, for, like time and tide, it waits 
 for no man. There are covers where one can take care- 
 ful aim, but even there, owing to the uncertainty of a 
 woodcock' s flight, the snap-shot is the most successful. 
 But for the fullest enjoyment of this sport, whatever 
 one's skill with the gun may be, he must bring to his 
 aid the intelligence of the dog, and the choice depends 
 upon the character of the covers in which the birds are 
 found. In some covers the spaniel is no doubt the most 
 killing dog, provided he is well trained; while in others, 
 the setter or the pointer is to be preferred. When wood- 
 cock are found in covers where the underbrush is thick 
 and matted, along the banks of streams, and in ravines 
 where alders, willows, or briars grow so thick that it 
 would be impossible for the shooter to walk, or the 
 pointing dog to work, a small, well-trained spaniel could 
 penetrate and work out every spot and tuft, giving warn- 
 ing, by a stifled whine, of the flushing of the bird, while 
 the sportsman remains on the outside, and gets an open 
 shot. But of all dogs, unless thoroughly broken, he is 
 the most exasperating and useless. A well -trained 
 spaniel should range within a few paces of the gun, drop 
 
58 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to shot and wing, and retrieve; he should do all this 
 without a constant hallooing from his master; but to 
 teach him requires careful attention in the field, strict 
 discipline, and great patience at all times, and the tui- 
 tion must begin at an early age. Personally, I prefer 
 the pointing dog and he is without any doubt the most 
 popular with woodcock shooters throughout the United 
 States for it is half the pleasure in upland shooting to 
 see the highly trained setter or pointer at work; and 
 even if he does, in his higher-headed range, now and 
 then pass some dense thicket that contains a bird, he 
 will more than make up for it in the pleasure derived 
 from watching his graceful attitudes when pointing, and 
 by the intelligence displayed in giving one a shot in 
 some difficult location. Killing the birds is not all there 
 is in upland shooting. 
 
 The successful woodcock dog, whether setter or 
 pointer, must, first of all, have a very sensitive nose for 
 the bird gives out but little scent be very obedient, 
 moderately fast and stanch, and a good retriever. He 
 should work in a restricted range, around the shooter, 
 otherwise, many a bird, with its habit of turning back- 
 ward in its flight, will be passed. A very fast dog is 
 to be avoided, but a slow, pottering one will try the 
 patience of the thorough sportsman fully as much, and is 
 perhaps the greater evil of the two. A dog that knows 
 his business may go through a cover with speed, until 
 his nose tells him birds are near; then all is changed, and 
 his caution is not excelled by even the pottering dog, who 
 would be far behind, nosing about some tuft of brakes, or 
 jogging along, poking into each clump of brush or bunch 
 of weeds. 
 
 I hunt my setter with a soft-tinkling bell attached to 
 the collar, and from its tone judge of the working of my 
 dog, whether slow or fast, near or far away, and find it of 
 
THE WOODCOCK. 59 
 
 great assistance, while it seems to make no difference in 
 the lying of the birds. Although there are many dogs 
 over which good shooting may be had, yet a first-class 
 woodcock dog is rare, and invaluable to his owner. 
 Many dogs do not particularly care for the sport, but 
 prefer to hunt the grouse and the quail. I once had an 
 English setter, of a strain noted for its field-work in both 
 cover and open shooting, that although a bold and capi- 
 tal worker on ruffed grouse, seemed to fear the wood- 
 cook's scent, and would stop hunting, drop his tail, and 
 come to heel the instant the odor reached his nostrils. 
 
 But whether you use setter, pointer, or spaniel, there is 
 a peculiar charm about woodcock and woodcock-shooting 
 that no one can deny who is at all acquainted with the 
 birds, or has ever tried the sport. You have seen the 
 gamy quail tumble into the sedge before your aim, and 
 gathered him to your game-bag, with the knowledge of 
 a deed well done; you have felt a glow of pride as the 
 lordly grouse, rushing on pinions swift and strong, fell 
 before your prowess, and struggled in his death-battle 
 upon the autumn leaves; but there comes a feeling that 
 can not be explained when you take the woodcock from 
 your setter's mouth, and watch the dark eyes close, 
 and that soft, velvety sheen over head and neck fade 
 away until there is only left the dull gloss of a mottled 
 plumage, and the bird-life has passed beyond recall. 
 
 How the memories of days passed amid the wood- 
 cock's haunts crowd in upon our reveries when the land is 
 snow-bound and the streams are ice-locked! and how we 
 long for the time to come when these dark-eyed birds 
 shall once more breed among the alder-dells, and sing 
 their love-songs in the gloaming of warm spring evenings! 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 BY T. S. VAN DYKE, 
 
 Author of " The Still Hunter,*' "The Rifle, Rod, and Gun in California" 
 "Southern California'' 1 etc. 
 
 HERE is probably no other game 
 bird that flourishes under so many 
 varied conditions as the valley 
 quail of California, and wherever 
 found, he seems to get more posi- 
 tive satisfaction out of existence 
 than any other bird. Though more abun- 
 dant near sea-level, he is equally at home at an eleva- 
 tion of a mile or more above it; drinks plenty of water 
 or goes without it with apparently equal ease, and seems 
 quite as happy in the glare of the sunlit plain as in the 
 cool arbors of wild rose, sycamore, and wild grape that 
 form dense shades along the creek bottom. Alike to him 
 are the settler's garden and the lofty hill-top miles away 
 from sight or sound of man; and though he can never be 
 satiated with raisin-grapes or strawberries, he will keep 
 quite as fat and cheerful upon scanty picking of dry 
 grass-seed upon the stoniest hill-side. 
 
 Few of our game birds are so eternally busy as this 
 quail. He hardly ever rests except at night, never looks sad 
 or bored, never sits around with ruffled feathers or droop- 
 ing head, but wears always either a decided business air 
 or a sublime look of contentment. He lacks the modest, 
 retiring ways that make Bob White so hard to find, even 
 with a good dog, but rather courts inspection comes 
 
 (61) 
 
62 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 boldly out to look at you, and seems generally anxious 
 to let you know that he is about. He lives and moves 
 the whole year round beneath the eye of everyone famil- 
 iar with the land beyond the pavement, and there is no 
 bird whose private life and business methods are so easy 
 to become thoroughly acquainted with. 
 
 The valley quail's 'peculiar colors of slate-blue, gray, 
 white, and cinnamon, and the long, jaunty plume of jet 
 hanging forward over his bill, are now too generally 
 known to need special description here. In size he is 
 a little smaller than Bob White, and quite inferior to Bob 
 in flavor, though still a very good bird, except when in 
 the hands of a cook whose sole knowledge of quail is the 
 cabalistic phrase, "quail on toast." In such hands the 
 combination is almost as good as chip on pasteboard. 
 
 This quail apparently breeds but once a year, and sel- 
 dom raises a new brood if the first be destroyed, as 
 young ones are rarely seen late in the season, as is often 
 the case with Bob White. The number of eggs is from 
 twelve to seventeen, and though the bird is smaller, its 
 eggs are larger than those of the eastern quail, and are 
 well spotted with chocolate blotches. It shows a remark- 
 able instinct in not breeding, after winters of too low 
 rain-fall, in those sections where the winter rains are 
 occasionally too light for a good growth of vegetation. 
 In such cases it remains unmated all summer, in the large 
 flocks into which it was banded in the fall, and so con- 
 tinues until the next season of sufficient rain. 
 
 Few birds have so many different notes as the valley 
 quail, and in few do pitch, tone, and accent vary so 
 much, even with the same individual. The common call 
 is a flute-like, penetrating o-lii-o, rapidly repeated four 
 or five times, but varied often, so that it sounds like 
 7co-loi-o. Again, the accent is shifted until it sounds 
 like tuck-a-lioe, and sometimes the accent is so heavy on 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFOKKTA. 63 
 
 the second syllable that it becomes 7c-woicJc-u7i, and often 
 this last uTi is dropped entirely, and only a low ~k-woick 
 is heard. During hatching-time, the male, perched upon 
 a bush near the nest, sends forth, at intervals of a 
 minute or two, a low wah full of deep content, and often 
 during this time, when on the ground or moving about, 
 he gives a metallic -toned wTieeooo or teeooo, often 
 sounded several times in quick succession, and sometimes 
 in a husky tone. The alarm-call is a sharp whit, wJiit, 
 whit, changing often into a low, muffled wooJc, wooJc, wook, 
 wooTc, while the birds are on the ground, but when they 
 rise, a sharp, clear chirp, cliirp, chirp, is the only sound 
 heard, and this is generally from birds started singly. 
 
 This quail is abundant over the greater part of Cali- 
 fornia, and for several hundred miles below the Mexican 
 line, in those sections where the rain-fall is sufficient. 
 Its numbers in many sections, before the railroads opened 
 the country to the market-shooter, were incredibly great, 
 especially in the County of San Diego, where it so 
 abounded as to astonish even old California shots from 
 other parts of the State. The statement may seem 
 extravagant, but for many years it was a simple mat- 
 ter for any good shot to bag 200 in a day, all at single 
 shots on the wing. For several years dozens of market 
 shooters shipped an average of 10,000 apiece for the sea- 
 son. This hoggish work, with the number crippled and 
 finally killed, has greatly reduced their numbers. But 
 seventy-five or a hundred can still be killed in a few 
 hours, though it requires far more tramping than for- 
 merly to do it. 
 
 These figures will be readily understood by recollect- 
 ing that the abundance of the birds is more apparent than 
 real. During the shooting-season they are concentrated; 
 during the months of July and August the bevies run 
 together, like those of the pinnated grouse, into flocks of 
 
64 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 several bevies; and these flocks again unite, until dark 
 sheets of quail, sometimes covering half an acre or more 
 of sun-dried grass or stubble, may be seen around the 
 edges of every valley. Out of cactus-patches, clumps of 
 sumac, and old piles of granite rock in the smaller canons, 
 they flutter and squeal by hundreds, and even thousands; 
 and in the spring, in the morning or evening, one may 
 hear for several seconds a steady roar of wings, and see 
 the air in all directions filled with hundreds of blue lines 
 of wheeling, twisting, and chirping life. It is to this 
 habit of descending from the hills after the breeding - 
 season, and thus congregating in the valleys, that the bird 
 owes its name of "valley quail." 
 
 Before the gun this bird makes in some respects more 
 sport than Bob White, while in other respects the shoot- 
 ing is decidedly inferior. For one who knows how to 
 handle the valley quail, the shooting is much less 
 fatiguing, and much more certain to yield a good bag, 
 than any shooting now to be found in the Eastern States. 
 The .shooting is nearly all open or in low brush, under the 
 clearest of skies, with great mountains looking down upon 
 one from all directions. There are no bogs to flounder 
 through, no briars to tear and swear one' s way through, 
 no very big hills to climb, and no big woods to get lost 
 in. Either in a buggy or on horseback, one can ride 
 directly to the game, tie up, shoot awhile, rest awhile, 
 lunch and smoke, and shoot again. A large flock prop- 
 erly handled gives two or three men all the shooting 
 that rational creatures should wish; but if one wants to 
 be piggish, another large flock is easily found not far 
 away from where the first one became too much scattered 
 for further sport. 
 
 But while one can burn more powder behind this bird 
 than behind Bob White, become far more excited, and, 
 when accustomed to it, can carry home a much larger 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 65 
 
 bag, there is a sad lack of that charm that comes from 
 hunting a bird that can rarely be seen, even on the wing, 
 without the aid of a well-bred and well-trained dog. 
 This quail never lies to the dog as Bob White does in the 
 Atlantic States, and only in the northern part of Cali- 
 fornia does he sometimes lie as closely as Bob White 
 does in the Western States. In the south of California 
 he rarely lies much better than Bob White does in the 
 Western States during those short periods of migra- 
 tion when, for two or three weeks in early fall, two or 
 more bevies sometimes run together, run into town, fly 
 against houses, and make fools of themselves generally. 
 The first dependence of the valley quail is upon its legs, 
 and it rarely trusts to hiding until thoroughly scared and 
 scattered, when it will often lie quite well. But by this 
 time the dog, unless kept at heel or tied up, is generally 
 demoralized by the running and rising of innumerable 
 birds, and feels more like hunting shade than birds. The 
 more it is hunted, the more closely this bird seems to lie, 
 but it is doubtful if any amount of hunting will give it 
 the habit of lying from the beginning as closely as Bob 
 White lies. Though a dog can, in many places, and in 
 all places where the birds are scarce, be used to great 
 advantage by one who thoroughly understands these 
 birds, as well as the proper working of a dog, no such 
 fine exhibition of dog intelligence is to be seen as is an 
 every-day occurrence in hunting Bob White. There are 
 those who think otherwise, but it only proves to me that 
 they have never seen handsome work by good dogs on 
 close-lying birds. 
 
 Though large quantities of these quail may, in sum- 
 mer and early fall, be killed upon the ground by the 
 merest tyro, especially if shooting from a wagon, it be- 
 comes quite a different matter later in the fall, when they 
 are full-grown and strong, and especially where they are 
 
66 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 much hunted. Probably no bird on earth so baffles the 
 tyro. He hears the wook, wook, woolc, and sees occasional 
 dark-blue streaks through open places ahead of him, gone 
 before he can raise his gun. Trying all the time to get a 
 shot at a bunch on the ground, he thinks if he only goes 
 carefully, and looks keenly enough, he will get a fine 
 "pot-shot." Meanwhile, the birds trot along ahead of 
 him through the brush, keeping up their whit, whit, 
 whit, and wook, wook, wook, just a yard or two beyond 
 good shooting distance, but with such a tempting tame- 
 ness as to delude him constantly with the idea that a 
 little more caution, and a little more keenness of eye, will 
 secure a fine shot at a bunch. In this way they lead him 
 up one hill, down the next slope, and up the next, nearly 
 always a little too far, yet always equally tempting. 
 Perhaps he gets a shot at thirty or thirty -five yards into 
 a large bunch in some opening, and pours his second 
 barrel in all confidence into the roaring black sheet that 
 rises at the report of his first barrel. No more stunning 
 surprise awaits mortal man than when, after two such 
 shots, the tyro advances hopefully through the smoke to 
 bag his game. He sees, perhaps, a wing-broken bird or 
 two scud darkly away through the brush almost as fast as 
 it once could fly, finds a few feathers, and hears a bird 
 fluttering in its death-struggles a dozen yards or more 
 down the hill-side among the brush. But more often he 
 finds nothing but a few feathers, and by the time he gives 
 up the search for a dead bird, the flock is two or three 
 hundred yards away on another hill- side, already col- 
 lected together, and ready to repeat the same games. 
 
 But still more amusing is often the work of the experi- 
 enced shot from the East, who comes \vith a good dog, a 
 quick eye, and ready finger a skillful shot, perhaps, both 
 in cover and in the open. Most of the Calif ornians claim 
 that their valley quail is a harder bird to shoot than Bob 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFOENIA. 67 
 
 White. Beyond question it is a far harder bird to kill, 
 but taken under the same circumstances, and especially 
 at the same distance of rising, it certainly is not a harder 
 bird to hit. It flies no faster and twists no more than 
 Bob White does. Nevertheless, it is true that it bothers 
 the best shots very much at first. Capt. Ira Paine, on his 
 first introduction to this bird, some three years ago, a few 
 miles back of San Diego, missed his first nine birds in 
 succession all single birds, all within easy range, and all 
 missed clean before he settled down to steady shooting. 
 Captain Paine told me of this the same day, and two 
 friends of mine saw the whole performance. I have 
 known many instances, almost as remarkable, where the 
 missing lasted the whole day; and it has taken some good 
 shots two or three days to get to shooting well. This 
 seems to be due to the great numbers of the birds, rising 
 all around one at different times and distances, all buz- 
 zing and chirping and jumping from unexpected places, 
 which, combined with the peculiar color of the birds, and 
 the strange background of the picture, is quite certain 
 to demoralize the oldest shot from the East. 
 
 One recovers rapidly from this, and in a few days can 
 make as clean a score as upon Bob White provided, 
 however, that he has in the meantime learned how to hunt 
 the bird; for if left to work out his own knowledge, 
 plenty of vexation is yet in store for him. Perhaps at 
 the first rising of the flock he brings down a bird with 
 each barrel. He walks confidently to the place where the 
 first one fell. A moment ago he believed he could put 
 his finger upon the precise spot where it fell. He is now 
 prepared to swear that no mortal, either native or foreign, 
 can tell one bush from another. He discovers a few 
 feathers on a bush, under which he looks instead of look- 
 ing several yards ahead and in line with the place where 
 the bird rose. He quickly concludes it will be easier to 
 
68 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 find the second one, but when he tries to find where that 
 fell, he is even more exasperated than before at the 
 bewildering sameness of all the shrubbery. He declares 
 there is no use in hunting these quail without a dog, for- 
 getting that the heaviest bags ever made are made on 
 precisely such ground without any dog an experienced 
 hand retrieving almost every bird as quickly, almost, as it 
 was shot, and all birds being shot singly and on the wing; 
 forgetting, also, that if he had a dog he would soon have 
 his nose nearly worthless by letting him run too long in 
 dry air and hot sun without water instead of keeping him 
 at heel until really needed. 
 
 He loses just time enough in looking for these birds to 
 let the scattered fiock run together again some 300 
 yards away, where they are making the hill-side ring 
 with their clear call, and can perhaps be seen darting here 
 and there through openings in the brush. Until this 
 flock is broken and scattered, he will have no shooting 
 worthy of the name, but only boundless vexation; and 
 he has lost just time enough to have to begin all over 
 again. Just before he gets within shooting distance of the 
 flock again, a bird starts from a bush almost at his feet, 
 runs a few yards along the ground, almost as swiftly as if 
 on the wing, then bursts into flight, with a clear chirp, 
 chirp, chirp, and goes wheeling off toward a ravine on the 
 left. The temptation is irresistible. Bang! goes the gun, 
 and the bird whirls downward out of a cloud of feathers, 
 and, with a tremendous roar, over 1,000 birds rise 
 from the slope beyond. Running to the place where the 
 bird fell, our friend finds a few feathers on the edge of 
 the ravine, but looks in vain for the bird. Suddenly there 
 is a violent fluttering near the bottom of the ravine; he 
 runs down, and finds it bouncing and gyrating in its death- 
 struggles, eluding all his efforts to seize it until it is a 
 dozen feet or more farther down the hill. By the time 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 69 
 
 he has scrambled out of the ravine, and got to where he 
 can hear or see the main fiock again, they are some 
 300 yards or more farther away, all together again, 
 and all prepared to lead him another weary chase. And 
 so he may go on until, heated, breathless, and thoroughly 
 mad, he quits the field with six or eight birds, declaring 
 that of all sublunary abominations California quail-shoot- 
 ing takes the lead. 
 
 This is a very hasty judgment, however, for nothing in 
 the line of shooting will exceed the certainty with which 
 that same man, after a few weeks' practice, will bag from 
 150 to 200 birds with little more work than his first half 
 a dozen cost him. And the regularity and quickness of 
 his shooting will scarcely equal the certainty and quick- 
 ness with which he will pick up dead birds, remembering, 
 unconsciously, their course, speed, direction of wind, etc. , 
 and going at once to where they fell, guided only, perhaps, 
 by a single feather on a bush to a bird twenty or thirty 
 feet away. 
 
 The first, and in fact the only important, step to easy 
 success is not to attempt to bag anything at first, but 
 spend all your time in breaking and scattering the flock. 
 This can be done only by rapid and repeated flushing, 
 without giving them time to get together again. Firing 
 over them, and especially in front of them, materially aids 
 this scattering. For this reason, two persons can always 
 do better together than alone, and by working around on 
 the outside can keep the birds more or less rounded-up 
 toward a common center. The more rapidly you run 
 upon the flock, and the more noise you make, the more apt 
 you are to break the flock at the first charge; and if two 
 or more persons are ahead of them, and fire their guns off, 
 the greater the probability of this result. Wherever the 
 flock alights the first time, lose no time in getting there. 
 At each charge you make upon them, they will scatter 
 
70 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 wider and wider when they alight. If quickly handled, 
 you will have them scattered over fifteen or twenty acres 
 at the second or third flushing, which should not take 
 more than fifteen minutes in all; but even now turn your 
 attention first to any considerable number that may have 
 kept close together, and break and scatter every bunch as 
 fast as possible. You may now have 1,000 or 1,500 quail 
 fairly scattered over twenty or thirty acres of good 
 cover, and in a state of such alarm that they will trust 
 more to hiding than to their legs. Quite a number will 
 still run away on the sides, and at every report of the gun 
 some will rise and make off; but these latter will not fly far, 
 and will generally lie all the better when they alight. If 
 you are wise, you will now tie your dog to a shady bush, lay 
 aside your heavy coat and all else that is unnecessary, for 
 unless you travel fast and work rapidly, too many of the 
 birds will yet steal away from you. 
 
 Before you have advanced many steps, there is a sud- 
 den rustling in a bush of white sage, which the wild pea 
 has festooned with a wealth of brilliant pink; a little dark- 
 blue object whips out of the other side, and rises with a 
 sharp chirp, chirp, chirp, and loud buzzing wings. A 
 puff of feathers rides the air behind it at the report of 
 your gun ; but away it goes. You have no time, however, 
 to watch it; for there is a whiz to the right, a buzz on 
 the left, a chirp, chirp, chirp, behind, a rustling of swift 
 little legs in a bush in front, and a dozen birds have 
 broken cover all around you at the sound of your gun. 
 Bang! goes your second barrel at one, whose rapid wings 
 make a dark haze around it as they fan the warm sun- 
 light. Another puff of white and blue feathers, with a 
 shade or two of cinnamon-color, comes back upon the air, 
 yet the bird goes gaily on, and with stiff -set wings sails 
 downward over a ridge as easily as if the shot had only 
 ballasted it for a swifter and steadier flight. 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 71 
 
 You have now come upon another difficulty which 
 the Eastern shot little suspects, and which is quite sure 
 to mar at least one day's happiness. These are the 
 toughest birds alive, and need an immense amount of 
 killing. They need, too, very dead killing, or half the 
 time you will find nothing but feathers where they have 
 fallen. Cartridges loaded for Bob White will not do. 
 For old, full-grown birds here, you need the finest shot, 
 up to No. 10, that the gun will shoot to best advantage, 
 with about as much powder as you would use for ducks. 
 Even then, thirty -five yards will be a long shot, and if 
 you kill everything clean at thirty that you hold on 
 closely, you have an extra-good gun. 
 
 Finding yourself out with weak cartridges, your only 
 remedy is to take no long shots. You will have plenty 
 at ten, fifteen, and twenty yards if you will possess your 
 soul in patience. See, now, as you advance, how from 
 this green sumac on the right, overhung with the snowy 
 drapery of the wild cucumber, from this wild alfalfa, 
 brilliant with scarlet and gold, upon your left, and from 
 among the crimson trumpets of this mimulus almost at 
 your feet, rise another, another, and another. Depend 
 upon it, you will get enough close shots. 
 
 Scarcely a dozen more steps do you take forward, 
 when another quail bursts, whizzing and chirping, from 
 the orange-glow of a bunch of poppies, and as you raise 
 your gun upon it, another breaks, just beyond it, from 
 some chemisal over which the dodder is fast weaving its 
 orange-colored floss. Before your gun is in line with the 
 first bird, half a dozen more are buzzing, curling, and 
 chirping upward out of the wild buckwheat just at your 
 feet, over which the morning-glory is all in bloom;; 
 another half-dozen join them at the report of your first 
 barrel, and the sound of your second barrel rouses as 
 many more from the spangled covert around you. 
 
72 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 What wonder that in all this confusion you have 
 failed to mark the spot where the first bird went whirling 
 down upon the right, and the other fluttering to earth 
 upon the left! Where you think the first one fell, you 
 find only a bewildering wealth of violets, blue-bells, pop- 
 pies, and shooting-stars among the brush. Going to 
 where you think you saw the other fall, you find only 
 spangled confusion worse confounded the green and 
 pink of the alfileria, the scarlet of the cardinal flower, 
 the blue of the phacelia, the gold of the primrose, with 
 a feather or two upon the red bracts of the painted-cup. 
 You will get the dog, you think; but remember that, 
 although tli is is mid- winter, the air is still very dry, 
 the direct rays of the sun are quite hot, and without a 
 frequent supply of water your dog' s scent will soon lose 
 that keenness that it will need a little later in the day. 
 Better learn to retrieve your own birds, and keep your 
 dog fresh. For the present, take no double shots. Keep 
 your eye on the place where every bird falls, and go 
 directly to it without taking another shot. With experi- 
 ence, you may play with these birds as you like, but not 
 now. Now, you might drop a dozen around you in all 
 directions, and neither you nor the dog could find half of 
 them without taking time that you can use to much 
 better advantage. 
 
 You may now go on for 200 or 300 yards, then 
 turn and come back a few yards on one side, then cross 
 your first path, and go forward again on the left of it; 
 and all the while, singly and in pairs, and in bunches 
 of four or five to a dozen, birds are rising around you, 
 some whizzing straight away, some circling around 
 behind, some crossing in front, some wheeling overhead. 
 Some burst at once into fiight; others, before rising, scud 
 a few yards along the ground, making quite as hard a 
 mark to hit as when on the wing. Some spring almost 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 73 
 
 from beneath your feet, others rise at thirty, forty, fifty, 
 seventy, and even 100 yards and over. Very few fly over 
 300 yards before alighting again. 
 
 Nowhere else, outside of a good duck -pass during 
 "the even ing flight," shall you find such brain-befuddling 
 intensity of shooting as on ground like this. When }~ou 
 have handled your birds right, the gun flames almost as 
 fast as you can load it, and birds you can not hope to 
 shoot at are whizzing and chirping on every hand at 
 every step forward. Through the smoke you see dark 
 lines darting and wheeling, and a constant chirp, chirp, 
 chirp, plays the interlude between its quickest thunders. 
 You are lost in the confusion and the strange nature of 
 the background; the earth ablaze with flowers that would 
 adorn any garden, yet all strangers to your eye; a sky 
 above you that you have rarely seen elsewhere; the soft 
 air filled with notes of a score of other birds whose music 
 is all new to your ear; the distant slopes rolling away in 
 long undulations of green, and gold, and blue, until they 
 break into the chaparral of the hills, the higher hills 
 looking solemnly blue with distance, and above all, great 
 snow-clad peaks looking down upon the whole. 
 
 You may thus traverse this piece of ground to and 
 fro several times, but after the first and second beating 
 the shooting will rapidly decline. You may still have 
 fair shooting for two or three hours more, but when the 
 shooting falls off to anything less than a good shot every 
 two minutes, you may let loose your dog. You will now 
 be surprised at the number of birds still lying on the 
 ground you have just walked over several times. Many 
 of them lie about as well as Bob White, and for 
 hours to come you may have plenty of shooting 
 upon this same ground But though no one loves hunt- 
 ing with a good dog more than I do, I prefer the uproar 
 and racket of a new flock, which, up to the last three 
 
74 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 years, used to be quite as easy to find as it is to keep 
 your dog in order to hunt on one sufficiently scattered to 
 lie closely. 
 
 When we leave the lowlands of California, and begin 
 to climb the highlands, where the rain-fall is much heavier 
 and timber and running brooks in summer more abundant, 
 and clear springs begin to break from every hill-side, we 
 meet another variety of quail, although we have by no 
 means lost sight of our old friend the valley quail. This 
 new quail is called the mountain quail in California. It 
 is said to be the common quail of Oregon, and to be found 
 there near sea-level. But in California, though occa- 
 sionally found within 1,500 feet or so of sea- level, its 
 favorite home is a mile or more above that, and it is 
 often most abundant at an altitude where the valley quail 
 has entirely disappeared. It is apparently a larger bird 
 than Bob White, being fuller feathered, but in fact only a 
 trifle larger, if any. It is plump and full-breasted, and as 
 graceful and artless in every motion as Bob himself. Its 
 breast is a slate-blue, with a low-cut vest of bright cinna- 
 mon mottled with white. Farther back along the sides 
 are four bands of white; the back is a brownish gray, with 
 tail bluish above and cinnamon-tinged beneath. Around 
 a full, swelling throat is a white collar, with a cinnamon- 
 colored necktie. The head is slate-blue, small, and cun- 
 ningly set with a grayish -brown top-knot, from the top of 
 which rise two long, slender plumes of jet black. 
 
 In character, the mountain bird differs radically from 
 the valley quail. The valley bird is a perfect hoodlum, 
 roistering, bold, saucy, and defiant. He ravages vine- 
 yards almost beneath the owner's nose, yet his clear whit, 
 wJiit, wliit, of alarm indicates an abiding confidence in his 
 ability to take care of himself. He knows quite well the 
 range of a gun, and though he makes an occasional mis- 
 take by basing his calculations upon cheap powder and 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 75 
 
 pot-metal, he generally has the laugh on the countryman, 
 and is again gorging his fine raisin-grapes before he has 
 got fairly into the house. 
 
 But the mountain quail is all gentility and politeness. 
 He lingers around in your presence as if he would like to 
 trust you, as if his better judgment inclined him to be 
 your friend, if only his foolish little legs could be per- 
 suaded it were safe. But the legs are the better logician, 
 and^a decided tendency to disappear underlies all his 
 most trustful movements. In many parts of the State 
 this quail is much wilder than in others, and is so even 
 when little shot at; but in the mountains of the south 
 they are the most artless little innocents imaginable. 
 Yet, when once they find their confidence in you misplaced, 
 their little feet bear them away with a marvelous speed; 
 and when they find their legs too slow, they can unfold 
 as swift a pair of wings as any quail, and dart with ease 
 through the heaviest chaparral. Quick must be the eye 
 and the aim to catch one before it wheels behind the 
 dense arms of the manzanita, which will stop fully half 
 the shot, and quicker still the eye and hand that can 
 scatter on the air feathers of blue and cinnamon and 
 white before the owner crosses the opening between two 
 dense thickets of lilac. Often must the shot mow down 
 the dense green of the brush live-oak, and often on the 
 steep hill-side must one drop on one knee to catch a sight 
 on the swift-scudding mark before it fades among the 
 leaves above. 
 
 The calling-note of this bird is a mellow cloi, cloi, cloi, 
 or woi, woi, woi, penetrating and far-reaching as the note 
 of the upland plover. Its note of alarm is a C?L, ch, ch, 
 ch, cTieeah, sounding sometimes harder, like quit, quit, 
 quit, quit, queea7i, most dolorous and distressing in tone 
 when the mother has her little brood with her. It lays 
 from twelve to fifteen eggs of pure white, in a nest along 
 
76 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the mountain-side quite difficult to find. The chicks are 
 little gray scraps of energy, that can eclipse even Bob 
 White in getting away with half the shell still clinging. 
 
 The mountain quail does not unite in large flocks as the 
 valley quail does, nor does it descend into the valley of 
 the mountains any more after reaching full growth than 
 before. It remains always until next mating-time in the 
 levees in which it was hatched. It is more apt to fly into 
 trees when flushed than the valley bird, and, like it, will 
 not lie well to a dog. Like the valley quail, it must be 
 thoroughly scared and scattered and the bevy broken up. 
 Then, if the cover be good, it will often lie quite well, but 
 the covey will quickly unite if not hotly pursued, and 
 once together again the birds will quickly run, and almost 
 always up-hill arid into the roughest ground and densest 
 cover. 
 
 Both the valley and mountain quail are easily tamed, 
 and live well in a cage. I have known the mountain 
 quail run at large every day with the chickens and return 
 to its coop at night. The valley bird does not well 
 endure very deep snows or very cold weather, but it 
 would seem that the mountain quail could be easily raised 
 on the Atlantic Coast. It loves the higher slopes of the 
 great inland hills, where it becomes very cold in winter 
 and the snow is very deep. Far away upward it climbs, 
 and lives and loves where the snow-banks linger through 
 mid-summer, where the cedar and fir are dwarfed and 
 distorted. Even far above where the blue jay squalls, and 
 where the condor rarely wheels, where no hawk, wild- 
 cat, coyote, or fox worries the fond mother, away up 
 where nearly all other birds have disappeared, this charm- 
 ing bird seems still at home. 
 
 Both of these quails will survive long years after the 
 market's royal demands and the piggishness of the "big 
 bag" hunter have made Bob White a curiosity. There 
 
THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 77 
 
 is here too much breeding-ground which can never be 
 broken up, too much cattle-range upon which the market- 
 shooter will not be allowed, to permit of their extermi- 
 nation. Much of their home will long lie unravaged by 
 the hoof of the great white spoiler of all that is fair in 
 Nature, and our children' s children shall hear their cheery 
 call upon a thousand hill-sides when the valleys and 
 plains below are almost a solid mass of gardens and 
 orchards of the rarest and most valuable fruits that can 
 be grown in America. 
 
THE RUFFED GROUSE 
 
 (Bonasa umbellus.) 
 BY C. A. COOPER ("SIBYLLINE"). 
 
 ADULT MALE. 
 
 ^YES, brown; superciliary membrane (con- 
 cealed), orange- color in the spring, faint at 
 other times. Bill, horn-color, darkest above 
 and at tip; short, with upper part curved 
 over lower. Head, capped by a brownish- 
 gray crest; short feathers above the eye. 
 Throat, brownish-yellow. Front of lower 
 neck and breast, lighter, crossed with dusky bars; 
 brownish-yellow beneath the surface. Abdomen, 
 creamy-gray. Flanks, mottled with dark-brown 
 and white, or irregularly barred with black. Back, 
 and top of neck, reddish-brown, finely speckled with 
 dusky, each feather being marked by a large heart shaped 
 spot of reddish-brown or gray. Sides of lower neck 
 with bare space, concealed by tufts of long, broad, black 
 feathers called ruffs. Ruffs occasionally brownish-black, 
 each feather being squarely cut at its end, and terminally 
 bordered with a metallic lustre of blue or green; erected 
 at will. Tail, moderately rounded; erected or spread at 
 will; light reddish-brown above, sometimes gray; crossed 
 with narrow bars of dusky or black, and with one broad 
 bar of black near its end; tip, gray, and slightly convex; 
 consists of eighteen broad feathers; measures from six to 
 
 (79) 
 
80 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 seven inches. Upper legs only feathered; naked behind. 
 Lower legs with two rows of hexagonal scales behind. 
 Weight, 21 to 26 ounces; length, 17| to 20 inches; stretch 
 of wings, 22| to 25. Habitat, east of Eocky Mountains. 
 
 ADULT FEMALE. 
 
 Similar to male, but smaller. Ruff lacks metallic 
 lustre, and varies in color from liver-color to dead black. 
 Lacks the trace of orange above the eye. Length, 15J to 
 17J inches; stretch of wings, 20J to 20f ; weight, 18 to 
 22 ounces. VAKIETY UMBELLOIDES. 
 
 Marked similar to umbellus, but general color bluish- 
 ash; tail, pale ash. Found in the Rocky Mountains and 
 South Central British America. 
 
 VARIETY SABINI. 
 
 Similar to umbellus, but much darker generally. 
 Grayish specimens occur occasionally at high altitudes. 
 Found in Oregon, Washington, and British Columbia. 
 
 Although a description of the ruffed grouse may seem 
 to many unnecessary, in view of the scarcity of birds in 
 certain populous districts, and the increasing interest 
 taken in natural history by the young men of the day, 
 the writer has thought best to follow the mode of prede- 
 cessors, avoiding, however, the use of scientific terms. 
 
 As the sexes are so nearly alike, only the male bird 
 has been minutely described, but a little space further on 
 will be devoted to pointing out the few external differ- 
 ences, in order that sportsmen, with opportunities for 
 observing the habits of this beautiful bird, may assist in 
 clearing away the mists which envelop and leave in 
 doubt some of its characteristics. 
 
 With the exception of the forests bordering on the 
 Gulf of Mexico, this species may be found in consider- 
 able numbers in nearly all the wooded sections of the- 
 United States and Southern British America. 
 
THE BUFFED GROUSE. 
 
 81 
 
 Although it should be universally known as the 
 ruffed grouse, it is called, in different localities, part- 
 ridge, pheasant, drumming-grouse, tippet-grouse, birch- 
 partridge, white-flesher, etc. 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 RUFFED GROUSE. 
 
 Specimens from each of the three varieties, umbellus, 
 umbelloides, and sabini, are occasionally found with part 
 of the plumage shading into one or both of the other 
 varieties. As a rule, however, we find the lighter-plum- 
 aged birds at high altitudes, and in cold countries, 
 though exceptions are numerous. The winter coat is also 
 slightly lighter in color than that of summer, and it has 
 
82 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 been noticed that birds, when transferred from cold to 
 warm countries, have become darker after moulting. 
 
 Chapters have been written upon this variation in 
 plumage, but Baird, Brewer, and Kidgway, in ' ' North 
 American Land Birds," tell the story in so few words 
 that I take the liberty of quoting the following: " These 
 three varieties, when based on specimens from the regions 
 where their characters are most exaggerated and uni- 
 form, appear sufficiently distinct; but when we find that 
 specimens from the New England States have the rufous 
 bodies of umbellus, and that examples from Eastern 
 Oregon and Washington have the dark, rusty bodies of 
 sabini and gray tails of umbelloides, and continue to 
 see that the transition between any two of the three 
 forms is gradual with locality, we are unavoidably led to 
 the conclusion that they are merely geographical modifi- 
 cations of one species." 
 
 To show to what extent this individual variation, or 
 whatever we choose to call it, is often carried, I quote 
 from the private letter of a gentleman well known to 
 American sportsmen: 
 
 4 'Many years ago I killed a ruffed grouse near 
 Albany, N. Y., which had one side of its tail all black 
 a case of partial melanism; and in November or Decem- 
 ber, 1856, I saw a flock of the same birds near Fort Rip- 
 ley, Minn., one of which was entirely black. The flock, 
 of perhaps thirty, passed within a few feet of me while 
 I was watching a deer from behind a log, and, as they 
 were not alarmed, I noted the bird carefully. . . . 
 One of my female wood-ducks has an extra- wide white 
 stripe at the base of the bill, one has almost none; one 
 more white under the throat, etc." 
 
 Nearly grown birds are thought by some authors to 
 be darker than old ones, but the difference is frequently 
 so slight that persons comparing the two disagree. 
 
THE KUFFED GROUSE. 83 
 
 Soon after the disappearance of the snow, in the 
 spring, the female responds to the love-call of the male. 
 In the United States this mating usually takes place 
 early in April, and precedes the laying of the first egg two 
 or three weeks. A single meeting of the pair, at this 
 time, insures a fertile laying. 
 
 The nest is composed of a few leaves placed in a slight 
 depression on the ground, usually under a log, but often 
 under low bushes, low, spreading evergreens, or in weeds. 
 It is as frequently found along the edges of sunny open- 
 ings as in dense cover, but is always located within half 
 a mile of the male's headquarters. 
 
 For her second laying, when the first has been 
 destroyed, the female sometimes takes possession of 
 abandoned nests, in trees or on the tops of stubs; remov- 
 ing her young to the ground in her bill. This is of rare 
 occurrence. 
 
 The eggs of each laying vary in number from seven 
 to fifteen; they also vary in color, being usually a clear 
 cream or buff, but sometimes dotted or splashed with 
 brown. They are ovoidal in form, and measure 1.65 by 
 1.20 inches, although specimens have been taken consid- 
 erably larger as well as smaller. 
 
 But one brood is raised each year; but should the first 
 laying be destroyed, a second (or even a third) is pro- 
 duced, the male being revisited each time. 
 
 When on her eggs the hen often permits a very close 
 approach. I have seen them captured by the hand, and 
 one by placing a hat over her. Such cases are rare, how- 
 ever, as she usually sneaks away from her nest upon the 
 approach of man. The fact that she covers her eggs with 
 leaves, when leaving them to look for food, leads me to 
 believe that she hides from the cock during the hatching 
 period, much after the manner of the hen turkey, and for 
 the same reason. 
 
84 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 During incubation, which lasts twenty-one days, and 
 until the chicks are half -grown, the males wander soli- 
 tary, or in twos and threes, keeping, however, within 
 easy reach of their respective drumming- stations, so that 
 their russet wives may occasionally be cheered by well- 
 known notes, and come to them, if their eggs be molested 
 by predatory vermin. Like the average man, they are 
 very busy elsewhere during the season which corresponds 
 with baby- wheeling, but by some strange instinct manage 
 to find their families when the work of raising the young 
 is over. This is about September 1st, and unless sepa- 
 rated by a scarcity of food, or persistent pursuit, the 
 members of each family, with the exception of some of the 
 young males, remain together until the following spring. 
 
 The young can fly a few yards when a week or ten 
 days old; and being nearly the color of dead leaves, are 
 seldom captured. 
 
 When danger threatens, the mother shows a brave 
 front, usually succeeding in diverting attention from her 
 young until they have found shelter. Everyone who 
 spends much time in the woods in June knows the 
 strength of this maternal love; how the wanderer is sud- 
 denly checked in his walk by the charge of an infuriated 
 bird, sometimes so determined that he steps back in 
 alarm or amazement before he realizes what is being 
 enacted; how the bird flies at the face, or pecks furiously 
 at the feet, before retreating and simulating a broken 
 wing, or leg, or both; and how, when the scattered 
 thoughts have been collected, and pursuit is made, the 
 maimed bird suddenly recovers, and flits away, leaving 
 no trace of her deftly concealed progeny. 
 
 I have never seen anything in bird-life that compares 
 with this fierce attack of the mother, nor have I seen 
 acting that surpasses the subterfuge of the distressed and 
 trembling bird. 
 
THE EUFFED GROUSE. 85 
 
 The drumming of the male begins with the earlier 
 indications of spring, and is more frequently heard as the 
 love-season advances. This peculiar throbbing roll is 
 common to the woodland during March, April, May, and 
 the latter part of February; is occasionally heard in 
 summer, frequently in the fall, and rarely upon very 
 warm or rainy days in December and January. 
 
 The morning hours are usually selected by the cock 
 as the time to send forth these notes of love, although 
 they are often heard in the late afternoon, and at other 
 hours, when the weather is warm and cloudy. It is also 
 common on warm, cloudy nights, which usually precede 
 rain. 
 
 4 ' Archer," who is excellent authority, says that barren 
 hens drum occasionally in the summer. I regret that this 
 assertion can not be verified by personal experience or 
 ornithological works at hand. The difficulty experienced 
 by gunners in distinguishing the sex of these birds, is the 
 principal reason for this point remaining in dispute. 
 
 Young males, more gallant than wise, do much of the 
 fall drumming, and often pay for their temerity with their 
 lives. 
 
 The muffled, throbbing sound called drumming is 
 essentially a love-call, and, nnder favorable atmospheric 
 conditions, may be heard three-quarters of a mile, or even 
 farther. When loudest, it somewhat resembles the quick 
 roll of a muffled drum, being occasionally mistaken for 
 distant thunder. It begins with an indistinct thump, 
 which is considerably augmented in volume at the second 
 stroke of the wings. The first two or three strokes are 
 quite regularly spaced, with intermissions of about a 
 second each, and sound very much like the flaps of the 
 domestic game-cock when he is about to crow. After 
 this preliminary flapping, the wing-strokes suddenly 
 increase in speed until they can be no longer counted, 
 
00 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and the sound becomes a roar, which is continued for 
 perhaps five seconds, when it is gradually decreased in 
 volume, and brought to an end by a shortening of strokes 
 rather than by diminishing the speed of the wings. 
 
 Many theories are advanced as to the exact manner of 
 producing this peculiar sound, but that it has a ventril- 
 oquial power, in seeming equally loud and distinct at the 
 distances of 150 feet and 150 yards, everyone who has 
 stalked a drumming bird will acknowledge. 
 
 Long ago, this woodland music was thought to result 
 from wing-strokes upon a hollow log, but it is now con- 
 ceded by the majority of close observers to be due to the 
 rapid movement of the stiffened wings, which strike 
 neither the body nor the foot-rest of the bird. The hollow 
 log theory exploded when it became known that the bird 
 drummed occasionally when standing upon rocks, roots, 
 and mounds. Many experienced ornithologists claim that 
 the sound is made by beating the wings against the body; 
 others, by striking the shoulder- points together over the 
 back; while a few insist upon its being "the conjoint 
 action of the muscular force of the wings and the inferior 
 larynx, which is the special avian organ of sound." 
 These theories seem to fall before the shafts of " Archer," 
 who, in the Chicago Field for October, 1878, relates 
 his experience with a pet canary, which learned to drum 
 while drying its feathers after a bath, and subsequently 
 kept up the habit, when dry, for the applause he received. 
 When drumming while perched upon the hand, the 
 wings failed to touch the body or the perch, and a finger 
 held over the back showed conclusively that they did 
 not touch above; yet the drumming was in exact imita- 
 tion of the grouse, partaking even of the ventriloquial 
 effect. 
 
 Before drumming in the spring of the year, the 
 male marches pompously back and forth upon his perch, 
 
THE HUFFED GROUSE. 87 
 
 imitating very closely the strutting of the turkey-cock. 
 The great pride and passion displayed on these occasions 
 is transiently broken by drumming, for the strained and 
 inflated appearance of the bird indicates that all of his 
 muscular force is centered in the production of the love- 
 call. 
 
 For his drumming-post, he usually selects a log in 
 dense underbrush, and when unmolested will give vent 
 to his feelings each morning from the same perch. Pro- 
 fessor Baird, in speaking of this attachment, mentions a 
 case where a grouse was said to have adhered to his 
 drumming-log after the woods had been cut away, and a 
 road made near by. 
 
 In the fall, this habit is not so strictly observed, as 
 the writer believes that on several occasions, in districts 
 where grouse were very scarce, and easily marked down, 
 he has heard them drum after alighting from the first 
 and second flushing. 
 
 From all that I can learn, this bird does not drum in 
 captivity. Mr. J. B. Battelle, editor of the Business 
 World, at Toledo, Ohio, who has been kind enough to 
 favor me with the result of his experience in domesticat- 
 ing the ruffed grouse, says, however, that when excited 
 the female taps so rapidly upon the sides of the coop 
 with her bill that the sound could be mistaken for the 
 drumming of the male. 
 
 One must be a quick, cool snap-shot to excel in shoot- 
 ing this grouse. Instead of being blinded by the sudden 
 whir of wings, he must have his senses so keenly alert 
 that the moment the bird leaves the ground he calculates 
 instantaneously at what point in the course of its flight 
 he will shoot, and the allowance to be made, if any. 
 This having been done, he raises the gun quickly, and 
 fires the moment it touches his shoulder. Nothing will 
 help him to accomplish this feat so quickly as the prac- 
 
88 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 tice, at home, of raising the gun, and trying to have the 
 sight upon a nail-head, or other small mark, when the 
 stock strikes the shoulder. 
 
 Nervous nlen often miss by shooting before the bird 
 has reached its line of flight, forgetting in their excite- 
 ment to hold over, while others thoughtlessly fire directly 
 at a bird descending from its perch, instead of holding 
 under. 
 
 Sometimes it is seen that a flying bird will pass from 
 view, behind leaves and twigs, before the gun can be 
 brought to bear upon it. ' In this case, always make a 
 quick estimate as to where the bird will probably be by 
 the time you can fire, and then shoot to hit that point. 
 The cool man, quick to decide, kills many birds in this 
 manner. 
 
 Cross-shots are not frequent, and do not require as 
 much allowance as we give to ducks, the flight of grouse 
 in timber being slower, and the shooting at shorter 
 distances. In large openings, however, the speed occa- 
 sionally equals that of teals. 
 
 An eight-pound, double-barreled, twelve-bore gun 
 seems to be the favorite for this game; although when I 
 once stood beside a snow-covered brush-heap, from which 
 ten birds emerged at two-second intervals, I wished for 
 a repeater. 
 
 On account of the short distance at which most grouse 
 are killed, and their zigzag flight in timber, an open-shoot- 
 ing gun will not only bring more birds to bag, but it will 
 do it in a manner that permits of their being roasted 
 instead of converted into hash. 
 
 The conditions upon which guns are usually targeted 
 are, 1J ounces of No. 8 shot, thirty-inch circle, distance 
 forty yards. 
 
 Upon this basis, the right barrel, if habitually used 
 first, should make a pattern of about 250 pellets; the left, 
 
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 89 
 
 350. In a large majority of cases, the above-mentioned 
 gun will give satisfaction when loaded as follows: Right 
 barrel, 3J drams of high-grade black or wood powder, 
 two heavy wads, 1-J- ounces of No. 8 shot, card-board 
 wad; left barrel, 3f drams best black powder, two heavy 
 wads, 1-J ounces of No. 6 shot, card-board wad, or if 
 using brass shells, an Ely shot-wad. 
 
 All hunters do not find pleasure in the pursuit of a 
 bird so difficult to capture, in a sportsmanlike way, as 
 the ruffed grouse; but here, as elsewhere, perseverance 
 and energy win, especially if coupled with the faculty of 
 observing closely. 
 
 I do not know why, but it is a fact, that when we hear 
 a man spoken of as a successful hunter of this bird, we at 
 once believe him to be energetic, persevering, intelligent, 
 generous in short, a desirable camp companion. 
 
 We would know more of the successful still hunter 
 before joining him upon a long trip; for have we not read 
 that he wears his hair long, and is crafty and garrulous, 
 or lazy, or that he toes in, or has killed hoop-snakes? 
 
 But we never hear these things about the grouse - 
 hunter. When he looks us in the eyes, and says: u John 
 and I killed fourteen yesterday, and we're going again 
 to-morrow; come and go with us," we say without hesita- 
 tion: " All right, Tom; we'll be with you in the morning, 
 without fail." 
 
 The man who never gives a retrospective moment to 
 the time when he looked on the magnified form of his 
 first ruffed grouse, must be more than ordinarily busy 
 or care-laden. 
 
 That blissful day of youth, to which we subsequently 
 manage to refer on all social occasions, regardless of the 
 subject under consideration, was probably fraught with 
 boundless exultation, a fitful sadness we could not define, 
 and were ashamed to acknowledge, and an Aladdin -like 
 
90 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 growth, which would have carried us quite to the sky had 
 not our listeners refused to swallow, verbatim et literatim, 
 our proffered cup of joy. 
 
 Does it make the retrospection less delightful to think 
 of the first successful shot as having been made at a sit- 
 ting bird, with a woful-looking gun, loaded with cheap 
 powder, newspaper wadding, and No. 1 shot? 
 
 Was not the boy of whom we borrowed a jolly bit of 
 humanity, for one obliged to work on Saturdays, and did 
 he ever refuse to lend that venerable relic upon the 
 unsubstantial consideration of I O U eternal friendship? 
 
 Did not the man who sold us the powder say it was 
 some he had bought for his own use, and he only parted 
 with a little of it because of the great love he bore us? 
 
 Did he not say that he was out of No. 3, but that 
 with No. 1 we need not carry a club with which to give 
 the finishing stroke? 
 
 And was not the newspaper equal to hornet' s-nest for 
 wadding? 
 
 Indeed it was, for it brought a ' ' free from care ' ' 
 happiness we do not experience later in life, though 
 equipped with all that fancy dictates. 
 
 In looking back upon my many trips afield in pursuit 
 of this noble bird of the uplands, it is with regret that I 
 recall the fact of having been denied the brief period of 
 ecstasy which nearly always accompanies the capture of 
 the first specimen. It is a thousand miles to the scene 
 of that first exploit, yet distance and time are obliterated 
 at a glance, for I see a smooth-flowing, beautiful river, 
 between woods of maple, and beech, and oak. The sun 
 shines upon a light skiff which contains an indulgent 
 father and a ten-year-old, happy boy. On one of the 
 longer reaches, the boat is met by a lone Indian in a 
 light canoe, who, without flourish of rhetoric, tells of a 
 flock of wild turkeys to be found at the bend above. 
 
THE BUFFED GKOUSE. 91 
 
 The wily aboriginal, having exchanged a mental inven- 
 tion for a good cigar, drops his tEolling-spoon into the 
 water, and paddles away with silent stroke. 
 
 In a stage whisper, the boy asks to be put ashore. 
 The father consents, then continues quietly on his way, 
 while the boy, who has never seen a quail or a grouse 
 much less a wild turkey with fast-beating heart and 
 unsteady step, follows the indistinct path along the 
 stream. Very soon he is startled by a rustling in the dry 
 leaves, and sees a large bird, with fan-like tail, step into 
 the path before him. The gun is raised, and fired without 
 aim, and the bird is seen fluttering in its death-struggles. 
 
 ' ' So you are a wild turkey, are you f ' soliloquizes 
 the boy, as he holds with trembling hands his prize. 
 But before he can shout to his father, two men appear 
 on the path, and stop to learn the cause of the shot. 
 The boy holds his game aloft, but is checked in enthusi- 
 astic utterance by the indifference on the two new faces. 
 Then one of the two slowly says: " Ye killed a pattridge, 
 did ye?" 
 
 Confused beyond responsibility for his words, the boy 
 asks: ' ' Is that a pattridge V ' 
 
 "Yes, sonny, that's a pattridge; didn't think it was 
 a whale, did ye ?" 
 
 But we will pass by that first great disappointment, 
 and the fact that the dismantled "turkey" regained 
 much of its original magnificence before the day was 
 ended, and return to the habits of Bonasa, which will 
 perhaps interest the reader more. 
 
 This species, I believe, is the only one known to have 
 tfoe habit of plunging into light snow for protection from 
 pursuit or extreme cold. The momentum of flight, 
 which carries the bird under the snow several feet hori- 
 zontally, and nearly a foot perpendicularly, is supposed 
 to be necessary for the accomplishment of this act; but 
 
92 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 having seen birds emerge at least six feet from where 
 they entered, the writer believes them capable of forcing 
 their way through very light snow, after entering in the 
 manner described. 
 
 One cold morning, I started a ruffed grouse, which 
 flew into the deep snow less than 100 yards away. Keep- 
 ing the spot in view while making a cautious approach, 
 I soon saw the bird stick its head out of the snow, about 
 six feet from where it entered, and, after a hasty survey, 
 take wing. 
 
 Several times since, I have seen burrows in the snow 
 evidently made by these birds. Although many believe 
 that birds thus concealed may be easily captured, it 
 will be found a very difficult thing to do. I do not pos- 
 itively know of one having been taken in this way. 
 
 There is also a general belief that when crusts form 
 over the snow, large numbers of birds are imprisoned and 
 perish. In support of this, several ornithologists point to 
 a scarcity of birds during seasons succeeding winters 
 noted for deep snows, and weather favorable to the 
 formation of crusts, and to the finding of dead birds 
 after the snow has melted in the spring. While it is true 
 that naturalists, who are especially active in the spring, 
 should know more about this subject than the sportsman, 
 who rarely enters the woods earlier than July, I incline 
 to the opinion that comparatively few grouse die from 
 this cause. 
 
 In the boreal regions, where thaws and rains are 
 infrequent in the winter, this practice of roosting under 
 the snow may be common, but south of Latitude 45, 
 everyone who has explored the woods on cold morn- 
 ings knows it to be rare, from the fact that grouse are 
 found in trees, fallen tops, or loose brush-heaps. 
 
 Authors agree that the bird enters only dry, light 
 snow. To imprison them, then, the weather must sud- 
 
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 93 
 
 denly turn warm, and as suddenly cold. Birds come 
 forth every warm or pleasant day in search of food, and 
 should the snow become crusted or damp during their 
 absence, would not reenter it at night. Consequently 
 the disastrous change must take place at night, and 
 consist of rain, night thaws being uncommon. 
 
 How many instances can the reader recall, when the 
 snow was fresh and deep, where the weather has changed 
 from extreme cold to rain, and again to cold, between the 
 hours of 5 p. m. and 8 a. m.? 
 
 If very few, and single birds, unable to find a bed-fel- 
 low, only occasionally indulge in this eccentricity, the 
 loss from crusting can not be very great. Either insuffi- 
 cient food, prolonged cold in connection with deep snows 
 of early winter, disease, or gunshot wounds, may 
 account for dead birds being found when the snow has 
 disappeared. 
 
 What few "burrows" I have seen were situated in 
 comparatively open parts of the woods therefore reached 
 by the sun. While this seemingly indicates that the 
 grouse remains in his snowy retreat during a part of the 
 sunshiny days, the open spaces are more probably 
 selected because of the absence of underbrush, which 
 permits of his striking the snow at the angle necessary to 
 make a horizontal burrow. 
 
 Except in a few districts in the far North or North- 
 west, the ruffed grouse has learned to fear man to such 
 an extent that it is next to impossible to make a satis- 
 factory score without the aid of a well-broken dog, to 
 divert the bird's attention while one gains the proper 
 shot-gun range. 
 
 Even in those outlying districts where pot-shooting is 
 the rule, the bag may be increased with the help of an 
 experienced setter, pointer, or spaniel. 
 
 The setter is best, because of his thick coat, which 
 
94 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 enables him the more easily to enter briar-patches and 
 thorny thickets, and to withstand cold; for the ruffed 
 grouse is nearly always hunted ^in cold or temperate 
 weather. 
 
 The following experience in support of his superior- 
 ity comes to mind: 
 
 I was among the blackberry-patches of Saginaw 
 County, Mich., for a week's shooting, and had as com- 
 panions two dogs; one a well-broken pointer (not a blue- 
 blood), the other a thick-coated Irish setter, who had so 
 far forgotten his early training, by serving as " town 
 dog," as to chase a bird until it took refuge in a tree, 
 and then proclaim the fact with an indefatigable vehemence 
 that was very amusing to everyone save his owner. 
 
 On the second morning, the pointer refused to enter 
 the thorny coverts. I therefore sent in the ambitious 
 red-coat, who hurriedly dispersed the congregations. 
 At the end of the first hour, I caught and thrashed him. 
 This was repeated at irregular intervals until night-fall, 
 when I had a thoroughly subjugated dog, and all of my 
 shells intact. 
 
 Next morning, much to my surprise, this dog pointed 
 like a veteran, while the pointer again refused to face 
 the briars. The setter was therefore used during the 
 remainder of my stay. 
 
 By the third night he had worn off what we term the 
 "wire edge," and a large portion of his coat; but, 
 undaunted as before, Jie resolutely obeyed every motion, 
 pointed with excellent judgment, and without breaking, 
 and worked as industriously and unflinchingly on the last- 
 day as on the third. It was a wonderful performance, 
 but one that shall never be repeated by one of my dogs, 
 for after our return home the poor fellow lay by the fire 
 three days, nearly blind, and so foot-sore he could not 
 walk. 
 
(95) 
 
96 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 A dog broken on ruffed grouse is better for that par- 
 ticular game bird, and an old dog better than a young 
 one. If the sportsman can own but one dog, whose time 
 aiield will be equally divided between ruffed grouse and 
 quail, I would suggest his being broken on the former 
 bird, unless the hunting be done on horseback, or the 
 puppy be a descendant of potterers. 
 
 It being the fashion at present to raise fast, wide-rang- 
 ing dogs, it will be found easier to restrain this instinct 
 in the puppy than after it has been sanctioned a season 
 or two upon the quail-field. The disposition of the high- 
 strung dog to range just behind the border of his limit is 
 never quite eliminated by early work on ruffed grouse, 
 and is only checked by frequent practice under a master 
 hand. 
 
 As Nature asserts herself when untrammeled, so will a 
 temporary " ; grouse potterer " soon range wide enough 
 when transferred to the more open domain of Bob White. 
 In many parts of our country, however, this dog-break- 
 ing on ruffed grouse is a tedious and expensive task; 
 but if BONASA is our favorite game bird, and we hunt it 
 more than any other, the time given to the dog' s educa- 
 tion is an investment that will eventually bring us many 
 happy hours, and a companion capable of sympathizing 
 with us in our sorrowful moments, and worthy of sharing 
 the joy of our happiest days in the woods. 
 
 Never begin the work, though, unless you have ample 
 time and patience, or money to pay for its being well 
 done; for of all the exasperating and comfort-destroying 
 things which come to the sportsman afield, none equals 
 the torture brought by the crazy antics of a half -broken 
 dog. The initial lessons may be given on young birds, 
 which lie better; but if this course be too long followed, 
 many old birds will be flushed ere the dog learns that 
 safety lies in stopping the instant a bird is scented. 
 
THE KUFFED GROUSE. 97 
 
 The perfect dog has a keen nose; knows nearly as well 
 as his master where game is likely to be found; silently 
 approaches promising coverts from the leeward; points 
 the instant he catches scent: keeps in sight of his master; 
 watches him, and obeys each motion; holds his point 
 until ordered to flush; stops until ordered to retrieve, and 
 quarters his ground thoroughly at a moderate gait. 
 
 Next in value to the setter and the pointer is a well- 
 broken spaniel, which follows at heel until ordered to 
 scour a thicket upon whose border your companion and 
 self have taken stands. 
 
 In wooded regions, where but little hunting is done, a 
 fast, ranging, yelping cur will tree about one-half of the 
 birds found; but etiquette no longer allows the sportsman 
 to shoot a sitting bird, though the chances are two to one 
 he will miss it if flushed. 
 
 When conscious of danger, this grouse rises with a 
 loud whir, and, if the surroundings are favorable, flies 
 straight away from the cause of alarm. It seldom rises 
 more than ten feet in the air, and the flight is rarely pro- 
 tracted beyond 250 yards. When suddenly disturbed by 
 a dog or fox, and rising, as it were, to a point of inquiry, 
 the flight is often silent, as it always is when the bird 
 rises of its own accord. In the latter case, the flight 
 closely resembles that of the pinnated grouse, part of it 
 being made with extended wings; but when forced, it is 
 almost invariably a continual beating of wings. 
 
 This bird flies at night only when disturbed. I have 
 never known of its coming in contact with trees, on even 
 the darkest nights, though it occasionally rises above 
 them, as if to avoid the possibility of such an occurrence. 
 In the day-time, it has been known to fly against windows 
 and white houses. 
 
 Young birds are most delicious as food. In fact, all 
 are in prime condition for the table during early autumn, 
 
98 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and, if properly cooked, rank with the best of game 
 birds. 
 
 A belief prevails in districts where the laurel (Kalmia 
 latifolia) grows, that the flesh can not be eaten with 
 safety when snow covers the ground. If, from a scarcity 
 of other food, there be reason to think that the bird has 
 eaten of this poisonous shrub, the crop and intestines 
 should be removed immediately after death, and examined. 
 The fact that the bird is not killed by an occasional indul- 
 gence, seems to indicate that the laurel is not a virulent 
 poison, or that dangerous absorption is possible only 
 after death. The examination, however, will put the 
 mind at rest, if our Southern brother sportsmen be in 
 doubt regarding this absorption in life. 
 
 The food of this species consists, in summer, of straw- 
 berries, blackberries, raspberries, blueberries, huckleber- 
 ries, wheat, choke-cherries, grasshoppers, and other 
 insects; in the fall, of wild grapes, cranberries, the seeds 
 of blackberries, insects, haws, wintergreen berries and 
 leaves, buckwheat, corn, thorn-apples, and partridge- 
 berries; in the winter, of thorn-apples, acorns, winter- 
 greens, grape seeds and leaves, and cone-seeds of ever- 
 greens; and during the early spring, principally of the 
 buds of the birch, the poplar, the beech, the alder, and, 
 rarely, those of the apple. 
 
 Whenever ruffed grouse enter a grain-field, which 
 is not often, they keep close to the fence, and upon the 
 first intimation of danger, retire to the nearest sequestered 
 retreat. Like the domestic fowl, they avail themselves of 
 sunny, sandy spots wherein to dust and scratch. 
 
 Mr. Audubon states that, where very abundant, these 
 birds perform partial migrations, evidently in search of 
 food. These sallies have always been extremely rare, and 
 now that birds are no longer abundant, have undoubt- 
 edly ceased. 
 
THE KUFFED GROUSE. 99 
 
 Rarely do they wander more than a mile from their 
 birth-place. Knowing this, one would naturally expect 
 to find them far more plentiful away from civilization 
 than near small towns, where they are often hunted; but 
 while this is usually true, there are so many glaring 
 exceptions that one loses himself in trying to account 
 for them. Of course the wariness of the "civilized" 
 bird tends to foil the exterminator, and the unsus- 
 pecting nature of the other assists carnivorous animals 
 and certain birds of prey to many a meal; but this 
 does not satisfactorily explain the scarcity of birds 
 where the natural increase should make them plen- 
 tiful. 
 
 When snow covers the ground, the roosting- place is 
 either the lower branches of a thick-topped tree, or some 
 sheltered spot upon the ground, such as a fallen top, a 
 brush-heap, or a cavity beneath a log. At other seasons, 
 they roost in thickets, on logs, on the ground beside a 
 log or stump, and occasionally in pine, oak, beech, 
 spruce, birch, or poplar trees, often making a flight before 
 settling, either that they may leave no trail for Reynard 
 to follow, or because they have been driven or have 
 wandered from home during the day or the day previous. 
 These flights are silent, and best known to hunters who 
 watch for feeding deer at sunset. 
 
 The variety found in the dense forests of the North- 
 west, roost in the tops of tall evergreen trees in winter. 
 They feed upon the buds and cones, which impart a dis- 
 agreeable flavor to the flesh. When flushed, they fly 
 to the upper branches of other trees. At other times, 
 they differ in habit from the Eastern variety only in more 
 readily taking to trees at a greater height. 
 
 While upon the habits of this bird, I am tempted to 
 quote a few lines from the poet Isaac McLellan, a close 
 student and lover of Nature. Only half of the charming 
 
100 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 poem is quoted, as were I to give the other half, there 
 would be nothing left for me to say: 
 
 ' ' In rocky regions, where the* pine 
 And spruce and hemlock intertwine, 
 Forming an overhanging roof, 
 Against the rain and sunbeam proof, 
 So dense that scarce a ray may pour 
 Across the dark and russet floor, 
 There doth the speckled partridge come, 
 In dim recess to make a h'ime ; 
 To sound the drum, or forth to lead 
 The young, on berries ripe to feed ; 
 Prompt on affrighted wing to break 
 When foes the tangled thickets shake. 
 They love the lofty, breezy height, 
 The hill-side, with its sunshine bright; 
 The long, mountainous range of hills, 
 Where bubble forth the crystal rills, 
 Where oak and laurel intertwine, 
 And shakes its plumy crest the pine; 
 And there they love to lurk, and feed 
 On falling mast and dropping seed." 
 
 If the sight of these brown-eyed, innocent beauties, 
 busily dusting themselves or receiving food from the 
 mother's bill, will not inspire a man with tender and 
 pleasing emotions, it is doubtful if anything ever will. 
 The instinct to kill is strong in the hunter; so strong, in 
 fact, that he sometimes kills with the knowledge that 
 regret will follow; but I have yet to see the man so 
 merciless so utterly destitute of all the qualities that 
 make life enjoyable as to fire into a huddled brood of 
 these harmless birds. The temptation to shoot single 
 birds, upon the ground or in trees, is greater, perhaps, 
 than the inclination to deny it when done; but such acts 
 bring lasting pleasure only to the youthful tyro; whereas 
 one bird killed upon the wing is worth a dozen potted 
 ones to the sportsman, who hunts for pleasure. 
 
 The members of a scattered covey return on foot to 
 
THE KUFFED GROUSE. 101 
 
 the point whence they were flushed, Feimiljffg '^feowt an 
 hour after the separation. They then iis\ia>llF ipnye, to, 
 
 some other part of the forest, returning* on* 
 of the following day. 
 
 When danger threatens, they generally squat, and 
 remain motionless until forced to rise, which they do 
 with a loud, whirring noise. At times, however, especially 
 in extensive forests, they spread the tail and walk 
 proudly some distance; then, dropping all appearance of 
 dignity, run swiftly before taking wing. Even in local- 
 ities where often disturbed, there are occasions when 
 they seem to know but little fear, and again, they are 
 quite wild in deep woods, where one would expect to 
 find them tame. 
 
 When shot only in the head, they tower above the 
 tallest trees, fluttering to the earth almost perpendic- 
 ularly. 
 
 In addition to their deadly enemy, man, they have 
 the fox, the weasel, the mink, the wildcat, the lynx, the 
 opossum, the owl, and the hawk to guard against, all of 
 which, in some sections, are sufficiently numerous to 
 render bird -life precarious. 
 
 East of the Rocky Mountains, the ruffed grouse lies 
 better in September and December than in the interven- 
 ing months, and closer on snowy days than on pleasant 
 ones. I have found them unusually wild on very windy 
 days in autumn, though a frequent contributor to one of 
 our leading journals says the opposite is true. 
 
 It occasionally happens that we flnd eight or ten of 
 these birds in an evergreen tree. A belief prevails that 
 when thus circumstanced one may pot the covey by 
 each time shooting the lower bird. Different coveys, how- 
 ever, seem to have different opinions as to the fitness of 
 the proceeding, as very many times the gunner has to 
 content himself with a single bird. With a rifle of small 
 
102 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 . do a little better if lie shoot at the body, 
 
 but jtlje. first fluttering bird is pretty apt to flush the 
 ;^einaiiicler. of fhe covey. 
 
 Nearly every sportsman has had experience in shoot- 
 ing at sitting birds with a rifle. Being proverbially hon- 
 est, he can confess to frequent misses (when he was a 
 boy when he was a boy), possibly more than one at the 
 same exalted neck, which finally left him, in order that 
 some other beginner might have his little anecdote to tell. 
 
 Another feature known to sportsmen, and lovers of 
 Nature, is the peculiar throb or flap which is often made 
 by this grouse when alighting in a tree, and which dis- 
 closes their location while yet unseen. While obviously 
 made by the closing of the "wings, it is not always heard, 
 being more frequent when the bird has attained consid- 
 erable speed before alighting, but often when rising by 
 silent flight to a perch but a few feet from the ground. 
 Whether made at will, or the result of the state of mind 
 when flushed, I know not, but it is not caused by the 
 wings coming in contact with leaves or branches, as I 
 once supposed; for I have heard the sound under con- 
 ditions which rendered such a thing impossible. If 
 caused by the wings striking the perch, the sound would 
 scarcely be intermittent, as the bird rises to its perch 
 at a sharp angle, instead of sitting upon it from above. 
 
 Wing- tipped birds are pretty certain to escape, unless 
 you have a knowing dog. They not only flatten them- 
 selves among the leaves of their color, but quickly hide 
 under stumps and logs, and in cavities at the foot of 
 decayed trees. 
 
 In semi-cultivated districts, they either tree at the 
 second or third flushing, or lie closely. Whenever they 
 fly straight toward a field, or other large opening, distant 
 not more than 150 yards, the probabilities are that they 
 will be found in trees near the edge of the wood. 
 
THE BUFFED GROUSE. 103 
 
 Although they dislike to cross large rivers or fields, they 
 decide the question, when nearing the opening, without 
 the least hesitation. If the decision be in the affirmative, 
 and the flight be down wind, they soon attain a speed 
 that astonishes the beholder, especially if he witness the 
 latter part of the open flight, which is often made with 
 set wings. 
 
 Ordinarily, they are easily approached when in a tree. 
 A barking dog insures success; but the boy, minus the 
 dog, who thinks whistling such airs as " Zip Coon" or 
 " Yankee Doodle" helps him in stealing a march, chews 
 the cud of disappointment quite as often as that of 
 success. 
 
 Do not think because you have flushed half a dozen 
 birds almost simultaneously, from either tree or thicket, 
 that all have gone. Very often one or two remain to 
 startle you with their nerve- destroy ing whir when you 
 have turned your back upon the spot. 
 
 In flat, densely wooded localities, they afford rather 
 better sport than among mountains, for the reason that 
 they lie better to the dog; and the walking being easier, 
 one can hunt over more ground in a given time. 
 
 The color of the clothing worn by the grouse-hunter 
 is not so material as in wild fowl shooting, but gray 
 seems to occupy about the same place in the list of colors 
 as No. 6 shot among its kind. A light drab or cream- 
 colored suit of corduroy answers very nicely for all sorts 
 of shooting is noiseless and durable in briars, and resists 
 moderate moisture. Corduroy is preferable to mackin- 
 tosh, moleskin, or canvas for all-round work. 
 
 Carry your gun cocked, if alone; in company, do so 
 only when expecting a rise. When separated from your 
 companion, and on territory where you can see but a 
 short distance, never tire unless you know exactly where 
 he is, more especially if the ground be uneven. The 
 
104 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 low flight of the ruffed grouse makes such shooting 
 extremely dangerous. It will be found as hard to restore 
 your peace of mind when once you have shot out the eye 
 of a beloved companion as to ' ' buy with gold the old 
 associations." The men who fire at all moving objects, 
 patches of hair, tufts of feathers, or at unknown objects 
 in waving grass, are not desirable comrades. Let your 
 motto be: Never fire till you know what you are shoot- 
 ing at. By following this rule, I have missed killing 
 several deer and a bear also a man. 
 
 Naturalists unite in ascribing polygamy to the ruffed 
 grouse; and just here I wish to remark that it is unsafe 
 to disagree with all, or even one of them, for their state- 
 ments unlike their birds contain something more sub- 
 stantial than cotton. 
 
 Still, I .can find a little fault with the word as applied 
 to this grouse, and I can also theorize a little, without 
 disturbing very many feathers. Even "polygyny," 
 which seems to me a more suitable word, implies the 
 violation of a law, and is harsh and unsatisfactory when 
 applied to animate nature, which knows and follows 
 instinct alone. If those birds which pair anew each 
 spring comply with the unwritten law, it is surely 
 unjust to term them polygamous; and equally unkind to 
 apply the word to those females which seek the society 
 of a male a second time only when their first laying has 
 been destroyed. I would place the female ruffed grouse 
 in the latter class. 
 
 As I have taken but very few specimens in the sum- 
 mer, I can not speak by the right kind of experience 
 regarding barren hens, said to do much of the summer 
 drumming. Neither can I understand why they occur, 
 if polygamy be practiced, as the female is nearly always 
 within hearing distance of the drummer's call. 
 
 The belief that the male deserts the hen during incu- 
 
THE HUFFED GROUSE. 105 
 
 bation seems to be responsible, in part, for the assertion 
 that the males are impartial in their love-making; but if 
 the desertion be wholly the act of the female, through 
 fear that the cock will destroy her eggs, or chicks, for 
 the purpose of a new courtship, the argument loses its 
 force. I incline to this theory, from never having found 
 a male with the mother of chicks, and from the habit the 
 hen has of concealing her nest when leaving it in search 
 of food. 
 
 It is quite certain that mature birds of both sexes are 
 often, found with well-grown broods after the 1st of 
 September; and that, under favorable conditions, these 
 harmonious relations continue until the young seek 
 mates in the spring. If the mature birds thus found are 
 the parents of the brood, it would seem that something 
 beyond chance brings and keeps them together, and is 
 suggestive of a renewal of the former relationship. In 
 case of unavoidable separation, or more females than 
 males, new ties might, and probably would, be formed; 
 but the violation of Nature's law if such it can be called 
 on the part of the hen is more technical than real. 
 The great passion shown by the male during three months 
 of each year, and his apparent indifference at other 
 times, would seem to be prima facie evidence of a more 
 elastic virtue; still, unless an equal number of cocks and 
 hens could be cooped together, I should consider all 
 experiments touching this point unsatisfactory. 
 
 Mr. Battelle, before referred to, has had the following 
 experience: Twice he found one set of fertile and one of 
 sterile eggs in a coop of two hens and a cock, but each 
 time the sterile laying was begun within a week after the 
 male had been placed in the coop, while the fertile eggs 
 were laid two or three weeks later. Mr. Battelle's ex- 
 perience leads him to think the bird polygamous, or at 
 least polygynous, though I believe he still lacks positive 
 
106 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 proof. For the past five or six years he has kindly 
 given the result of each season's experiments to the pub- 
 lic through the medium of sportsmen's journals. Unfort- 
 unately, his efforts have been hampered by an insuffi- 
 ciency of birds; but if students of natural history will 
 help him in this particular, they will not only confer a 
 mutual benefit, but will favor future generations, as Mr. 
 Battelle expects to demonstrate that the ruffed grouse 
 may be wholly or partially domesticated. He predicts 
 that, eventually, they will occupy here the place of the 
 pheasant in England. 
 
 And now we come to the item upon which hinges the 
 dispute concerning the habits of the grouse, viz : the 
 similar appearance of the sexes. 
 
 All busy men, who now and then take a day afield, 
 have noticed it. Many have thought that a solution of 
 the problem involved a study of natural history, for 
 which they had not time, or that the knowledge, when 
 gained, would prove more interesting than useful, besides 
 being a topic in which brother sportsmen would take but 
 little interest. 
 
 In the determination of sex by external observation, 
 we first look at the ruff. If found with a metallic lustre, 
 reflecting green or blue tints in the sunlight, we have an 
 adult male; otherwise, a female or a young male. 
 
 The specimen we will describe has a brownish-black 
 ruff, without lustre, and has been taken in December. 
 We must now ascertain the difference between the adult 
 and immature bird. We examine the feathers, especially 
 on the back and sides, and find that the brown on the 
 tip of each shades into the lighter color instead of having 
 sharply defined edges. 
 
 It indicates a young bird; but we go on, and find the 
 following additional evidence: A large feather, pulled 
 from the wing, is half-filled with half-dried blood or 
 
THE KUFFED GEOUSE. 107 
 
 other liquid; the feet, bill, and end of breast-bone are 
 softer than those of maturity, and all the feathers, espe- 
 cially the large ones, are soft and easily bent. Unfortu- 
 nately, we have an immature bird which must be dissected; 
 still, as it is so nearly grown, we will measure and weigh 
 it, though the results may be confusing. The weight is 
 18| ounces scarcely decisive, for the adult female weighs 
 from 18 to 22, and the male from 21 to 25, or possibly 
 more. 
 
 We find the tail measures, from the point of the 
 u pope's nose" to end of central feathers, 5 inches. We 
 probably have a hen, as the adult measures from 4| to 5J, 
 the male from 6 to 7. 
 
 The adult female measures, in extreme length, from 
 15 to 17f inches, the male from 17f to 20. Our specimen 
 shows, under the tape-line, 16f. If mature, this would 
 be decisiv^, but now it is a trifle confusing. 
 
 The final measurement, the stretch of wings, is found 
 to be 21 inches, which proves nothing, though from the 
 fact that we believed we had a nearly grown bird, the 
 measurements indicate a hen. 
 
 We open the body, and there, resting upon the kid- 
 neys, is a small, whitish, granular object the ovary of 
 the female. 
 
 There is one more test, useful to breeders. Just over 
 the eye of the male, and concealed by short feathers, will 
 be found an orange-tinted spot, bright in the spring and 
 faint or lacking at other seasons. 
 
 The color of plumage is not a certain test, though I 
 believe the females, and all young, are a shade the darker. 
 
 Quite a difference of opinion exists as to the signifi- 
 cance of the break in the black terminal tail-band of 
 some specimens. My unsatisfactory study of this pecul- 
 iarity scarcely warrants an assertion, although I will 
 hazard the opinion that it is not found in birds three or 
 
108 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 four years old. Mr. Battelle also thinks the brown in the 
 ruff becomes dead black with age. 
 
 If these surmises are found to be correct, it would 
 seem that the bird does not reach perfection until at 
 least three years of age. 
 
 The slight foundation for my opinion regarding the 
 broken terminal band, reminds me of a great discovery 
 once made by two young mining friends, whom we will 
 call "Bill" and "Tom." They had sunk a shaft 125 
 feet deep, and had been rewarded with seventy feet of 
 water. 
 
 The easiest way to get it out was the question. 
 
 After a day of profound thought, Bill startled his 
 companion by remarking: " Tom, we will buy 300 feet of 
 hose, and siphon that water out." 
 
 " That's what we will," said Tom, brightening up. 
 
 But it was noticed that Tom was more than usually 
 thoughtful next day. Toward night he disheartened his 
 partner by saying: "Bill, ain't it almighty qnieer that 
 nobody ever thought of that before ? " 
 
 Whoever hunts this grouse on strange ground, does 
 so at a disadvantage. This is one reason why the country 
 boy, with the "bucking" musket, is often as successful 
 as the noted wing-shot from the city. The boy may not 
 know why birds are found at this or that particular spot 
 at 7 o' clock on a bright September morning, or why they 
 are found at another place at noon on a stormy December 
 day; but he knows where they will probably be found, 
 and that when flushed they will fly to another place well 
 known to him. 
 
 The skillful and observant hunter knows why it is, 
 but his knowledge of their habits often fails to reveal 
 their whereabouts, as we shall see. 
 
 He steps from the "8.30 a. m. train," at a small sta- 
 tion, on November 15th. He has no dog. The air is 
 
THE BUFFED GROUSE. 109 
 
 cold, and there are signs of a storm. The hunter looks 
 about him, and asks a boy the best place for partridges. 
 u There's lots of 'em over east," the boy says. "Over 
 east" the country is swampy, and appears to be covered 
 with alders and tamaracks. " That might be all right in 
 the winter," thinks the wise man. 
 
 He turns to the west. It is hilly, and dotted with 
 both evergreen and deciduous patches. He smiles, and 
 says, mentally: "Ah! we shall find them there; that boy 
 can't fool me." He enters a forty-acre tract of compar- 
 atively open woods, in the center of which he sees a 
 thicket. It is on high ground, contains a big pine-tree, a 
 moss-covered drumming-log, and is bordered on one side 
 with beech-trees. 
 
 " Just the place for them!" exclaims the sportsman; 
 "and," reflectively, " it's a little cool this morning, and 
 they may be there yet." 
 
 But they are not there; they have been gone nearly 
 an hour, and are searched for in vain upon the beech- 
 ridge. It is finally noticed that the beech-trees are 
 unfruitful, and the keen hunter turns to the left, where 
 he sees a patch of scrub-oaks. He does not know that 100 
 yards to the right, on lower and more open ground, stand 
 two thorn-apple trees, which produce nearly all the bird- 
 food upon this tract, and that a dozen grouse are squatted 
 there, watching him in mingled wonder and alarm. Had 
 our friend a capable dog, he would have found these 
 birds, as the inclination to follow the nearly cold trail 
 would have been humored, whereas the tyro would have 
 prevented the quartering of apparently barren ground. 
 
 An hour later, the best of men and dogs would have 
 missed this covey. 
 
 How about the boy with the musket; would he have 
 missed it? 
 
 Oh, no; he would have struck straight for the thicket, 
 
110 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and then for the thorn-apple trees, simply because he had 
 flushed ' ' pattridges ' ' from eacli place half a dozen times. 
 
 Our imaginary hero crosses a field, then passes 
 through another piece of woods which offers no especial 
 inducements to the grouse for a home. The ground is 
 nearly level; there are no thickets, no fallen trees, and 
 there is apparently no food; yet our friend has missed 
 a couple of birds, which lay on a little wintergreen- 
 covered knoll that he knew nothing of. He next enters 
 a hilly section traversed by a creek. Half-way up a hill 
 he notices a small busby depression, or bench. He judges 
 the place to be wet, and knowing that the bird he seeks 
 drinks but seldom at this season, is inclined to pass on. 
 Still, he hesitates, for a little earlier in the year he would 
 go straight to what is a favorite haunt. Then he thinks 
 the bushes may be haws, and moves in that direction. 
 His conjecture is right. 
 
 Out of eight birds flushed, he gets two with three 
 shots. 
 
 Knowing the habit of this grouse to fly toward the 
 base of a hill when flushed high up on its side, our sports- 
 man had approached from the side, thereby giving his 
 game a chance to follow its inclination, and being- 
 rewarded with side-shots on fairly open ground. 
 
 Near the bottom of the hill, four of the birds turn 
 sharply to the left, and settle in some bushes near the 
 creek. The other two cross the stream, and stop near a 
 large log. The four will probably fly up and across the 
 hill, if approached from any except the up-hill direction; 
 the other two are uncertain, or will probably fly straight 
 away. 
 
 The same tactics are followed as before, and one of 
 the four is captured. As the distance to the top of the 
 hill is about 100 yards, the hunter correctly divines 
 that the three will be found just over the top. He fol- 
 
THE HUFFED GROUSE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 lows, shoots twice at one bird, and misses. A cold wind 
 now arises, accompanied by snow. The sportsman un- 
 wisely leaves the birds he has marked down, thinking 
 to find more in his circuitous tramp to the station. He 
 
 RUFFED GROUSE. 
 
 no longer follows the ridges. The birds have done feed- 
 ing, and are to be found out of the wind, protected from 
 the snow by logs or oak- tops. Look as carefully as he 
 may, he is unable to start a bird. He notes the scarcity 
 of bird-food, and thinks perhaps the boy was right; he 
 will work around east of the station, and see. 
 
112 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 But first he will lunch. From one of his capacious 
 pockets, he produces two sandwiches and a small flask 
 of coffee. Experience has taught him that coffee on a 
 cold day is more beneficial than brandy; and though 
 he has heard that only "dudes " carry lunch, he believes 
 that all who start for a day' s shooting without breakfast 
 or lunch, because Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett may 
 have done so, will eventually repent, and wish they had 
 repented sooner. 
 
 Lunch disposed of, our hero circles to the right, and 
 crosses the railroad. Ordinarily, he would scour the 
 thickets parallel with the track, for birds which had 
 been in search of gravel, and had retired to pass in quiet 
 the midday hours; but on account of the storm, he 
 believes they have omitted this part of the programme, 
 and are to be found sheltered nearer their food ware- 
 houses. He finally reaches tlie low-lying tract east of 
 the station. His only consolation is the correctness of 
 his prediction that it would prove barren. But there is 
 a hill for every valley, and, beyond and to the right, he 
 sees the heavily wooded ground rising, and then evi- 
 dently descending to a still lower valley. 
 
 The snow ceases as he reaches the summit. It is 
 doubtful about the birds coming out to feed again, and 
 our friend knows it; he will therefore look for their 
 hiding-places. He glances down the hill, which faces 
 the south, and knows too late that he has found the fall 
 and winter home of the ruffed grouse. To the left, the 
 side-hill is dotted with blackberry thickets and scattering 
 pines. At the bottom, there are tangled coverts and grape- 
 vines, while beyond these are cedars, alders, and a brook. 
 To the right are deciduous trees, and hazel, thorn, and 
 crab-apple clumps. Many of the large trees have been 
 cut down, leaving dead tops in plenty. 
 
 "I'll bet I can kill five birds yet to-night," says our 
 
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 113 
 
 city friend; then lie looks at his watch, only to find that 
 he has just time enough to reach the station before the 
 train. He will come again, however, when his dog has 
 been returned from the country; but to-day he wishes 
 someone would kick him for having doubted the boy's 
 
 word. 
 
 To give the beginner an insight into the manner of 
 hunting this bird in September, I will briefly describe 
 a hunt once taken by two "Michiganders," Jim, a 
 farmer, and Ben, my office mate. 
 
 Jim lived a mile out of town. At the time of the 
 hunt I shall describe, he had just received " the best gun 
 in the world," and naturally was anxious to see how it 
 would behave on state occasions. 
 
 Ben worked steadily from morning till night at long 
 columns of figures. In July and August, Jim would 
 occasionally drop in and regale him with stories of 
 newly found broods, or the wonderful peformances of his 
 dog Don, until, in moments of abstraction, each figure 
 seemed a full-fledged grouse, which would in turn be 
 aimed at with the pen. Or, perhaps, when others were 
 taking their vacations, he would look wearily across the 
 alley at the heated brick walls, which would often open 
 under his dreamy gaze, and reveal sylvan retreats in the 
 Eagle Water region, or a white tent near a trout-stream, 
 in some little park of the Rocky Mountains, 
 
 " Where a vision fell, solemn and sweet." 
 
 Then the vision would vanish, and he would say: 
 "Not for me, not for me;" then, with his accustomed 
 energy: "Only wait till the 15th, and I'll show Jim that 
 it isn't all in the gun." 
 
 But the 15th of September found Ben at his desk. 
 Two days later, just as he had decided himself at liberty, 
 the door was vigorously opened, and Jim spoke in his 
 irresistible way: "I was up west yesterday, and found 
 
114 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 five or six nice bunches, and by to-morrow they'll be 
 back where I found 'em; can't you go?" 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you," said Ben, looking serious, and 
 shaking his head; "it all depends on one thing, and that 
 rests altogether with you." 
 
 "How so," returned Jim, thinking some great obsta- 
 cle in the way. "You know, Ben, I'll do anything or 
 everything to help you get away." 
 
 " Well, its just like this. I can't go unless you will 
 agree to to to have that old coffee-pot warm at 5 
 o'clock to-morrow morning." 
 
 We will pass by the undignified performance that 
 followed, and meet our heroes again as they cross the 
 field toward the woods at sunrise next morning. 
 
 The energetic, but dignified, old setter is trotting 
 straight for the woods and that reminds me that Ben and 
 Jim had decided, long before, that one dog, well broken, 
 suited their purpose better than two, or more, equally 
 good; also that partners were as necessary in grouse- 
 shooting as in whist, and that the methods were identi- 
 cal, i. e., only he won who remembered that his partner 
 had rights which the other was bound to respect, and 
 that nothing was gained by getting excited or in a 
 hurry. Through a good-natured rivalry, which existed 
 for years, they never lost sight of these points, nor that 
 the observance of these laws was responsible for a con- 
 tinuation of the friendship. 
 
 They also knew it to be safer and more companionable 
 to keep together, and ttiat with one strong dog enough 
 ground could be covered between sunrise and sunset to 
 satisfy anyone except a professional pedestrian. 
 
 Each had provided himself with forty carefully loaded 
 shells, hoping, as usual, that the events of the day might 
 be recorded in red letters. As they marched buoyantly 
 along, Ben asked: " Where shall we go first, Jim?" 
 
THE HUFFED GEOUSE. 115 
 
 "Well," said Jim, "I've got it all laid out. We will 
 leave those coveys I found the other day until the middle 
 of the forenoon and afternoon, because that was the time 
 I found 'ern; this morning we will look along that bridle- 
 trail of Mathias' for birds that come after gravel and 
 horse-droppings, and then cross over and look among the 
 blackberry-bushes along the railroad. Then we'll take 
 in three or four coveys I know of, and, about noon, get 
 around to the grape-vines by the creek, where they're 
 likely to come to drink to-day; then we'll take in the 
 others I found, and, along toward night, get down into 
 Secord's blackberry and huckleberry patch. Do you 
 know any better scheme?'' 
 
 " No," replied Ben; "that's about the route we made 
 our record on last year. By the way, wasn't I a couple 
 of birds ahead that day?" 
 
 " Not much! we came out even; but I'll see it don't 
 happen again. I want to show you to-day that that old 
 crow-bar is 'way behind the times." 
 
 Ben replied by touching his companion's shoulder, 
 and pointing to Don, who had suddenly stiffened to a 
 point in the open woods they had just entered. Then, 
 in a low voice: " I believe that's a stray bird, and he will 
 make for that raspberry-patch in the corner. You go 
 to the right, and I'll walk up on the left till I flush 
 him." 
 
 There were two reports close together, a delightful 
 thud, and two small feathers drifted earthward. 
 
 "Whose was that?" asked Ben, smiling in a way 
 intended to be both consoling and decisive. 
 
 "Guess I'll have to give that to the crow-bar. I 
 pulled a second too soon, and caught that sapling out 
 yonder," said Jim, with his usual good-nature. 
 
 Half an hour later, the two sportsmen indulged in a 
 very expressive pantomime, while old Don was cautiously 
 
116 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 locating the nearest bird of a scattered covey, on com- 
 paratively open ground. 
 
 As a show of humility seemed proper, in view of his 
 late success, Ben asked: " Where will these go, Jim?" 
 
 "Probably straight away," came the answer; " there's 
 plenty of room and cover, so you take one side, and I 
 will the other; but keep your eyes open, for we are likely 
 to raise one anywhere." 
 
 Some poor shooting followed. Seven shots brought 
 but three birds to bag, while the next covey found gave 
 eight shots, in three flushings, and only two birds. It 
 was now 9 o'clock. One of Jim's located coveys, being in 
 adjoining woods, was sought for, but failed to materialize. 
 
 "Well," said Jim, in response to another premature 
 outburst of humility, "they probably haven't settled 
 yet for the day, for I don't believe they've been dis- 
 turbed, so we'll take a bee-line for their nearest food, and 
 save some of ' em the trouble of walking clear home. ' ' . 
 
 "Ah! great head that of yours, Jim. Ever have it 
 examined for bugs?" 
 
 "Never did," said Jim, laconically; "but you'll be| 
 scratching yours about 4 o'clock, and wondering how you; 
 are three behind instead of two ahead." 
 
 And so it proved. 
 
 The prophecy regarding the absent covey also came 
 true, and resulted in the bagging of four grouse. Two 
 were taken from a covey found along the creek at noon, 
 seven from two early afternoon coveys, and three from 
 the huckleberry -patch at the end of their circuit. 
 
 Just as the rays of the setting sun were making 
 rubies of the glass in Jim's chamber window, the two 
 tired sportsmen emerged from the woods back of the 
 house. 
 
 "That ain't much of a house," said Jim, apologetic- 
 ally, pointing at the modest little cottage, with its flam- 
 
THE BUFFED GROUSE. 
 
 117 
 
 ing carbuncle near the roof; " but when I am tired and 
 hungry, and old Sol paints it up in that style, it looks 
 better to me than any I know of." 
 
 " Very true, Jim; that is the sentiment of the patriot 
 and statesman. Always feel that way toward the old 
 place, and perhaps well, perhaps I'll let you beat me 
 again sometime." 
 
 "I'm always ready to have you try," said Jim, as 
 they parted at the turn of the road, each hoping the 
 opportunity might soon come. 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING IN THE UNITED 
 STATES. 
 
 BY JOHN Gr. SMITH, 
 President of the Iowa State Sportsmen's Association. 
 
 wild duck may be found in almost 
 every part of the United States; 
 and during their nights from 
 the South to the North and 
 from the North to the South, 
 sportsmen, and especially the sports- 
 men who are fond of shooting ducks, think 
 of little else, or care for little else, but their guns 
 and the ducks. 
 Many of the wild ducks leave the South sometime 
 in the latter part of February or the first part of 
 March. Some of the varieties stay there till April. If 
 the season is quite early, the mallards will work their 
 way slowly north, and sometimes arrive in Northern Iowa 
 in February. Some years ago I killed six mallard-ducks 
 on the Des Moines River, in Kossuth County, Iowa, the 
 6th of February. Usually their flight is in the month of 
 March. 
 
 I do not think the mallard-ducks generally make 
 very long flights. They will stop where there are many 
 sloughs. They do not care to be in the large lakes, as 
 there is no food for them in those places; but in the 
 sloughs and cane-brakes, where the water is shallow, and 
 where the wild grass roots are beginning to sprout, the 
 mallard-ducks find their home. They like it very much 
 
 (119) 
 
120 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 if they are in the neighborhood of a large corn-field, 
 where they can go morning and evening for breakfast 
 and supper, and will often go many miles to feed in 
 them. 
 
 The green-wing teal leaves the South about the same 
 time as the mallard, or soon after. They make short 
 flights, dropping down often to feed in the sloughs. 
 
 Next following the 
 green-wing teal, come 
 the pin-tails, dusky- 
 ducks, plain and hood- 
 ed mergansers, blue- 
 bills, American widg- 
 eons, butter-balls, small 
 gray ducks, scaup- 
 ducks, golden-eyes, red- 
 heads, canvas-backs, 
 ruddy-ducks, and 
 wood-ducks; -and, last 
 of all, the blue-wing 
 teal leave the South 
 about the 1st of April 
 for their northern 
 haunts. Their flights 
 are short, and made 
 mostly in the night. 
 They feed in the sloughs and small streams on their way 
 north, and generally arrive at their breeding-grounds the 
 last of April or the first of May. 
 
 The mergansers, blue-bills, red-heads, canvas-backs, 
 butter-balls, and ruddy-ducks usually leave the South in 
 ^March. 
 
 They make long flights and their passage from south 
 to north is made in a very short time. I do not think 
 they stop more than two or three times on the way to 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 121 
 
 their "breeding-grounds." On their way north they 
 drop into the large lakes and rivers to feed. These may 
 be classed as the inland deep-water ducks. Their flight 
 is very rapid, and I have no doubt but that they often fly 
 more than ninety miles an hour. 
 
 The pin-tails, American widgeons, small gray ducks, 
 golden-eyes, and broad-bills mix with the mallards, teal, 
 and " deep-water ducks," and may be found in most of 
 the sloughs and " inland waters." 
 
 The beautiful wood-duck is more of a family by itself. 
 Their breeding-grounds may be found, wherever there is 
 timber along a stream, all the way from the South to 
 British America. Their flight is made in pairs, and always 
 at night. It is not rapid, and they do not fly far without 
 dropping down to feed. 
 
 The dusky-duck is seldom found in the West, and is 
 called by Western gunners the "black mallard." Its 
 flight and feed are much the same as the mallards, and 
 when killed in the West is most always found with the 
 mallards. 
 
 The great breeding-grounds for wild ducks are to be 
 found in British America, although many thousands of 
 them breed in the United States. Minnesota, North and 
 South Dakota, Northern Iowa, Northern Illinois, North- 
 ern Indiana, Michigan, and parts of Wisconsin furnish 
 the chief breeding-grounds in the United States, although 
 some wild ducks breed in almost every State. I recollect, 
 when I was a boy, a gentleman found a brood of blue- 
 wing teal within five miles of Boston. I think there 
 were ten of the young ones. Wood-ducks, dusky-ducks, 
 and some others breed in many of the swamps in New 
 England. 
 
 All of the wild ducks that breed are mated when they 
 come north, and they commence work on their nests 
 almost as soon as they arrive at their breeding-grounds. 
 
122 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 I think they use the same breeding-grounds year after 
 year, unless they are very much disturbed. 
 
 Wild ducks make their nests on the musk-rat houses, 
 or in the grass not far from the small sloughs, and, in a 
 country where they are not disturbed, build their nests 
 oftentimes quite close together. 
 
 The female lays from ten to fifteen eggs, and when 
 the ducks are not disturbed, every egg is sure to hatch. 
 As soon as the young ducks are out of the eggs, the 
 mother takes them to the water, and in about ten weeks 
 they are able to fly a little. 
 
 After the wild ducks reach their breeding-grounds, 
 they are very tame, and care but little for man. They 
 seem to know that any man that is a man will not 
 trouble them when breeding. Many times I have passed 
 within six feet of a mallard-duck on her nest, and she 
 would not move. 
 
 The mallard is generally first of the wild ducks to 
 bring forth its young. The time, in most seasons, is about 
 the middle of May. I do not think that the young mal- 
 lard-ducks, teal, broad-bills, gray ducks, and pin-tails 
 develop as quickly as the young deep-water ducks, 
 such as the sheldrake, blue-bills, red-heads, canvas- 
 backs, scaup-ducks, butter-balls, golden-eyes, and ruddy- 
 ducks, all of which go north to breed. 
 
 The food of the mallards consists of young grass and 
 roots, except in the fall and spring, when they are in 
 the neighborhood of corn or grain fields, and when the 
 wild rice is ripe, and falls on the water. They are very 
 fond of wild rice, and I am satisfied that all wild ducks 
 will go long distances to find a rice-pond. 
 
 As soon as the young mallards can fly well, the old 
 birds take them to the rice-ponds in the North, where 
 they remain till they commence their flight south. The 
 habits of all the shoal-water ducks are much the same as 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 123 
 
 4 
 
 those of the mallards, except that they seldom go to 
 the corn or grain fields for feed. 
 
 Neither the red-heads nor any of the deep-water 
 ducks ever leave the water to feed; yet they often feed 
 close to the shore, where the water is not deep. They are 
 very fond of being in the lakes where the wild celery 
 grows, and where the mud-hens are so plentiful that they 
 seem to be in one another's way. Mud-hens are great 
 feeders, and wherever they are very numerous, there is 
 most sure to be good duck -shooting. 
 
 The best places to hunt mallard-ducks are in the rice- 
 marshes, or, ' ' later in the season, after the rice is gone 
 and the farmers have gathered their corn," in the large 
 corn-fields which are to be found all over the West. If, 
 about the 15th or 20th of September, the hunter can find 
 a large rice-marsh, or, what is better, several of them 
 connected, where there is a good crop of rice, he is sure 
 to have fine shooting. The mallards are easily killed at 
 that time, and are apt to be in fine condition. The 
 hunter can station himself between two of the marshes, 
 or ponds, and have someone go around and stir up the 
 ducks. He will have many good shots at other ducks 
 besides mallards, as most of the wild ducks are fond of 
 wild rice. The blue- wing teal are very fond of it, and 
 may be found in the rice-marshes in large numbers. 
 
 The hunter will need a good retrieving dog, one that 
 will keep a sharp lookout, as most of the ducks killed 
 will drop in the long rushes and grass. After the hunter, 
 or, if there are two or three shooting together, after 
 each has stationed himself, the one who is to stir up the 
 ducks starts out among the marshes. 
 
 Now the hunter must keep his eyes about him, for he 
 does not know from which direction the ducks will come. 
 When he is on the lookout, here comes a pair of mallards. 
 They do not fly very fast, as they want to drop down to 
 
124 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 feed. The hunter is in a good cover of long grass. The 
 frost has not touched it yet. He can let the ducks come 
 quite close to him. I need not give the old duck-shooter 
 any instructions he has "been there" too many times; 
 but the novice wants to be careful, and not move too 
 quickly. Let the first duck get nearly over yon. Bring 
 the gun quickly to your shoulder, glance along the 
 barrels, and if the duck is not more than twenty-five 
 to thirty yards away, lead him from six inches to one 
 foot; touch the trigger, and, as soon as possible, take 
 aim at the other duck. It will, when you shoot the first 
 one, go towering up into the air, and you can shoot 
 directly at it. If you have held your gun as I have told 
 you, you have killed both birds. Let the dog go after 
 them as quickly as possible, as there may be more ducks 
 flying toward you. When you have shot at the first 
 duck, never stop to see whether you have killed it or not, but 
 shoot directly at the other duck. Load your gun at once, 
 and be on the lookout for more birds. Your dog having 
 retrieved the birds, make him lie down beside you. You 
 soon see another bunch of ducks coming. Keep down. 
 They look quite close. You think you will shoot. You 
 bring your gun to your shoulder. The ducks go towering 
 up. Yon shoot, but discover you have shot too far. 
 Ducks look large when coming directly toward one. In a 
 wild rice marsh most of the ducks will come near enough 
 if you will let them. 
 
 While you are mourning over your bad judgment in 
 shooting too quickly, your companions start up a large 
 flock of blue-wing teal from the marsh below you. They 
 shoot, and on the birds come toward you, at the rate of 
 eighty or ninety miles an hour. They are just above the 
 tops of the reeds. How they do come! Now be careful! 
 When they are close enough, shoot at the first bird, and 
 lead it three or four feet. You will be surprised to see 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 125 
 
 some of the last birds of the flock fall. Select one, and 
 shoot the second barrel as quickly as you can, or the 
 birds will be out of range. 
 
 Mallards and teal will seldom leave a rice-marsh so 
 long as there is feed. Once, in company with my brother 
 and two gentlemen from New York, I shot mallard-ducks 
 and teal in the rice-marshes at the foot of Bancroft Lake, 
 in Northern Iowa, three days, and the birds were just as 
 plentiful when we left as when we arrived. They were 
 there by thousands, and it was impossible to drive them 
 away. I believe I could have killed 1,000 ducks in ten 
 days. 
 
 If the hunter likes to walk, he can have quite a good 
 deal of sport jumping ducks from the small sloughs and 
 ponds. In the montli of September, before the grass is 
 dead, the hunter can get close to the ducks, and, when 
 they jump, he must shoot directly at them. They are 
 very easy to kill at that time, as they are almost a stand- 
 ing mark. 
 
 Oftentimes, in the month of October, splendid mal- 
 lard-duck shooting may be had in the buckwheat-fields. 
 Mallard-ducks are very fond of buckwheat, and will fly 
 long distances, morning and evening, to feed on the new- 
 grown grain. If you know where there is a buckwheat- 
 field, and the mallards have begun to feed there, you will 
 have to be on hand at the field before day -break, for 
 mallards are early birds. I have often known them to 
 come to a buckwheat-field when it was so dark that I 
 could not see them more than fifteen yards away. You 
 will most likely be able to find cover near the edge of the 
 field; but if you can not find cover, you will have to 
 bring a spade along and dig a hole, which will take you 
 but a few moments. Spread the soil around, and cover 
 it over with some old straw, so that the ducks will not 
 notice the fresh earth. It is a good thing to be ready 
 
126 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 when the ducks come. Many good shots are lost by the 
 hunters not being on hand when the first birds come to 
 the field. 
 
 Now you have the hole ready, throw a little straw 
 into the bottom, so that you will not have to stand in the 
 dirt. Get into the hole, and keep a good lookout, as, 
 early in the morning, it is impossible to tell from which 
 direction the ducks will come. They will be likely to 
 come in quite large flocks, and are apt to bunch quite 
 close to you. Now, mark! there is a bunch. They are 
 not more than five or six yards high. Have your gun to 
 your shoulder. They bunch together. Pour both barrels 
 into the thick bunch as quickly as possible. Load 
 quickly, and step out of the hole and gather your ducks. 
 Take your gun with you, as you may have another shot 
 before you find all the dead ducks. 
 
 Just at day-break the ducks are so eager for food that 
 they will not notice you. Set up the dead ducks, placing 
 a stick in the ground to hold their heads up. Now get 
 back into the hole and look out for another flock. If it 
 should happen to be a cloudy, windy morning, your 
 shooting will be likely to last till 10 or 11 o'clock; but 
 if the sun shines, it will be over before 9. 
 
 About the time the sun begins to show itself, keep a 
 sharp lookout for a few Canada geese. They, too, are 
 fond of buckwheat. You will, of course, have a few shells 
 with you loaded with BBB or O shot. Hark! u Honk, 
 honk, honk ! " Now get down close in the hole; change 
 your shells; the geese will soon be here. Let them come 
 within twenty yards of you before you shoot. Shoot 
 directly at the leader's bill, and then pull at the next one. 
 You have shot the first one dead, but only winged the 
 other slightly. He flaps the other wing, and calls. Load 
 quickly. Keep close. The other geese have turned to 
 him. Now they are close enough, give it to them, and 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 127 
 
 sit back in the hole and load again. They want to come 
 back to that wounded goose. Here they come ! Make 
 sure of your shots, as this will probably be your last 
 chance at that flock. About three rounds is all they will 
 stand. I have many times killed five or six out of a flock, 
 when they came to a field, and I got a winged goose with 
 the first shot. Now gather up your birds, and look out 
 for more ducks. 
 
 When the flight of ducks has ceased, gather your 
 birds, but be sure to be back again by 3 in the after- 
 noon. 
 
 As soon as you get back to the buckwheat-field in the 
 afternoon, go at once to the hole where you shot in the 
 morning. You will not have to wait long before the ducks 
 come to feed. You will have to be very careful now, as 
 the ducks are more shy than in the morning, and, besides, 
 many of them have heard your gun, and are on the watch. 
 Do not shoot unless you are sure the ducks are near 
 enough, as long, wild shots serve only to frighten the 
 ducks away. You will be likely to have very good shoot- 
 ing in the afternoon, but after that it is of no use to go to 
 that field for about ten days. By that time the ducks 
 will be over their fright, and you will have more sport 
 with them. 
 
 Shooting mallard-ducks in corn-fields is great sport. 
 After the farmers have gathered the corn, the ducks often 
 come to the fields in great numbers. There is always a 
 great deal of corn scattered over the ground, which makes 
 fine feed for them. When once they get a taste of it, the v 
 will feed in the corn-fields, morning and evening, as long 
 as they stay in the country. If they are shot at very 
 much in one field, they will go to another. They are 
 bound to have corn for breakfast and supper. 
 
 The hunter will need a good " retrieving dog," as, 
 when he shoots his ducks, many of them \vill drop 
 
128 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 among the corn-stalks, and it is almost impossible to find 
 them without the aid of a dog. Nearly every winged 
 bird will get away. 
 
 When you find that the mallard-ducks are feeding in 
 the corn-fields, go out before daylight in the morning. 
 You will not need a blind, as you can get among the 
 corn-stalks. Your shooting will be about the same as at 
 the buckwheat-fields. Should the day be a cold and 
 rough one, and should there be plenty of mallards in the 
 country, your shooting may last all day. Be sure to 
 have plenty of shells and a luncheon with you, as I know 
 of nothing so provoking as to be where there are plenty 
 of ducks, and get out of shells. 
 
 I had some experience of that kind three years ago 
 the day after Thanksgiving. My brother and I went to 
 a pond early in the morning, when the ducks had gone 
 out to the corn-fields to feed. All the ponds in the coun- 
 try except this one were frozen over, and the ducks 
 came there for water. We put out half a dozen mallard 
 decoys, and sat down on the edge of our light duck-boat. 
 Soon the ducks began to return two, four, five, or six at 
 a time. I never saw such mallard- shooting before or 
 since. In two hours we killed over 100 splendid mallard- 
 ducks, and all shot on the wing at single shots. We got 
 out of shells, were ten miles from home, and the ducks 
 were coming just as plentifully as ever. At that time I 
 would have given $10 for another 100 shells. We had 
 expected to have thirty or forty shots, and had taken 
 only a few more than 100 shells with us. 
 
 Good duck-shooting may be had in streams and small 
 lakes; but here the hunter will need a good duck-boat. 
 He must, in order to be successful, have a boat that sets 
 very low in the water, or one large enough to be trimmed 
 with brush and dry grass. I have a boat that I like very 
 much to use in shallow water, or where the grass and 
 
(129) 
 
130 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 reeds are plentiful. I have crossed some quite large lakes 
 in it when the wind was high; but none save an expert 
 boatman should be out in a large lake when the waves 
 are running high, on account of the danger of running 
 the boat under. The boat is all decked over, except the 
 place where I sit. It is made pointed at both ends; is 
 thirteen feet long and thirty-two inches wide. The sides 
 are five inches high. The weight of this boat is thirty- 
 five pounds, and it will run well in four inches of water. 
 I paddle it most of the time with two short paddles, but 
 carry a long one with me, so that I can have a change if 
 I have a long distance to go. When I am in this boat, 
 and in a good duck neighborhood, I have a strong line 
 attached to each paddle, so that if a duck starts up I can 
 drop the paddles in the water, and not be in danger of 
 losing them. 
 
 On the large lakes and rivers the sportsman will need 
 a larger boat. It should be large enough to carry two 
 men and a dog, and forty or fifty decoys, with comfort. 
 It should be made so that the hunter can shoot in any 
 direction from the boat, and run no risk of upsetting it. 
 It should be made with a scull-hole, so that when the 
 hunter is bearing down on a flock of ducks in open water 
 the ducks can not see the motion of the oar. Such a 
 boat is very handy when the hunter discovers the ducks 
 dropping down in some bay where he can get good cover 
 and put out his decoys. 
 
 I have had a good deal of sport by taking a team, 
 loading on my large duck-boat, and going up our river 
 ten or twelve miles, putting the boat on the river, trim- 
 ming it with a little dry grass, and floating down. The 
 ducks do not notice one until within range. 
 
 By many duck-shooters, shooting over decoys is con- 
 sidered the best of all duck-shooting; and I am one of 
 those who think it is fine sport. 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 131 
 
 In order to have success in shooting over decoys, the 
 hunter must use good judgment in putting out his 
 decoys. Look over your land 'well before you set them 
 out; they must be set so that the ducks will notice them, 
 and at the same time not be scared away by them. Do 
 not place them too close together, but set them so that 
 they will show well from all directions. 
 
 After you have found a good place to set out the 
 decoys, in a situation where you can make a blind, put 
 them out about twelve or fifteen feet apart. If you 
 expect to shoot mallards alone, six or eight decoys are 
 enough, but if you expect to shoot deep-water ducks, 
 you may put out fifty. I do not think there is any dan- 
 ger of putting out too many. Deep-water ducks like a 
 great deal of company. When you find the ducks have 
 come, you will need to be at your ground before day- 
 break, so that when the day dawns you will be all ready 
 to put out the decoys. Put them out as f a,st as possible 
 after you commence. It is better to have someone to 
 manage your boat for you, then you can set them very 
 rapidly. As soon as the decoys are out, get into the 
 blind and load your gun, as you will wish to be ready 
 for the first duck. 
 
 Here comes a mallard, quacking as she comes along. 
 She has seen the decoys. If it is too dark for you to 
 shoot her on the wing, you can let her light, as she will 
 be sure to. If you do not wish to have her light, shoot 
 when she is settling over the decoys. Shoot directly at 
 her, as she is making but very little headway. If you 
 are in a place where there is but little or no current, and 
 but little wind, let the ducks lie, as you will need to 
 be out of sight and ready when other ducks come. 
 Soon after day-break is the best time for decoy shooting. 
 
 But here comes a bunch of blue-bills. How they do 
 fly! They have not seen the decoys yet. If you can 
 
132 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 imitate a blue-bill, do so just a little when they are just 
 out of gunshot, passing by. Now they see the decoys, 
 and turn back. Wait till they bunch over the decoys, 
 and then shoot. Now be quick ! Shoot all the winged 
 birds before they dive. I never like to have wounded 
 birds get away. 
 
 As soon as you have killed the wounded birds, look 
 out for more ducks. It is time for them to fly thick 
 and fast. 
 
 Here comes a nice pair of red-heads. Let them come 
 close, as you will wish to make a nice double. They are 
 over the decoys; shoot the first one, and then take a good 
 aim at the other before you shoot. You must get a red- 
 head in the center of your charge if you wish to kill 
 him. A wounded red-head is soon under the water, and 
 the chances are that you will not see him again. 
 
 While you are waiting, along comes a small bunch of 
 canvas-backs. They have seen the decoys. Let them 
 come close. If you shoot too soon, you will be likely to 
 see them fly away, with perhaps a wounded bird leaving 
 the bunch. Then you will be provoked to think you shot 
 too far. Canvas-backs are very easy to decoy, and the 
 shooter should let them come close. 
 
 While you mourn over the loss of the canvas-backs, 
 you will probably see two or three ducks high up in the 
 air. They have seen the decoys, but they hardly know 
 whether to come to them or not ; but at last they de- 
 cide to come a little closer, and you will notice that they 
 are American widgeons. If you get them within forty 
 yards of you, you had better shoot, as the chances are 
 that they will come no nearer. ' They may fly around 
 fifteen or twenty minutes before they come within that 
 distance. 
 
 If it be a cloudy day when you are out, you may 
 have good shooting most of the day; but if the day be 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 133 
 
 pleasant, the ducks will not fly much after 9 o'clock. 
 Sometimes the ducks fly well after 2 or 3 o' clock in the 
 afternoon, and some good shooting may be had. 
 
 Soon after the first of October comes the finest of all 
 duck-shooting shooting on a pass. If there is any 
 place where a shooter enjoys himself, it is on a good duck- 
 pass, on a cool October day, with company enough to 
 make it interesting such a pass as there was at Spirit 
 Lake, or at Ruthven, ten years ago, where the ducks 
 flew day after day for five or six weeks. 
 
 Pass-shooting is the most difficult of all duck-shoot- 
 ing. Most of the ducks fly very fast when they are over 
 the land, and the shooter who kills three ducks out of 
 five on a pass does fine work. It is the place to test a 
 gun. The gun must be a strong shooter, or it will be of 
 no use, as most of the ducks are killed fifty or sixty 
 yards away. Many a sportsman who thought he was a 
 fair shot has been surprised at his shooting on a pass. 
 Shot after shot, and no ducks fall And why is it \ The 
 greatest trouble is, he has shot behind the ducks. He 
 has not learned to judge of the distance or the speed of 
 the fast-flying ducks. He can hardly be made to believe 
 that the ducks are flying from seventy to one hundred 
 miles an hour. With a cold north wind, and the ducks 
 flying with it, it is difficult for the oldest duck-shooters 
 to estimate their speed. 
 
 The sportsman on a duck-pass will need a No. 1 
 retrieving dog a dog that is not afraid of cold ice-water, 
 a quick swimmer, one that is able to catch a wounded 
 duck should it fall into the water. 
 
 When the shooter brings down his duck, the dog 
 should go after it at once, as many ducks that drop in 
 cold water may be only slightly wounded, and if the dog 
 does not get hold of them quickly, will recover sufficiently 
 to dive and get away. 
 
134 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The cold north winds are very severe on the duck-dog, 
 and it takes a race of dogs with great courage and strength 
 to stand the work. The dog may have to go into the 
 cold water more than 100 times a day, and then be 
 obliged to stand or sit still when he is on the land. If 
 the dog could run around and warm himself, it would be 
 different; but he must keep close when not after his birds, 
 or he will frighten the passing birds away. 
 
 A race of dogs has been bred on the shores of Chesa- 
 peake Bay which are very superior duck-dogs. No cold 
 water, ice, or snow can daunt them. They will go any- 
 where after wounded or dead ducks. The cold water is 
 almost home to them. I have used them three years, and 
 found them the best duck-dogs that I ever shot over. 
 They have a fine nose, and can trace a wounded duck 
 through the grass where it would seem almost impossible 
 for them to find their bird. They are quick, active, and 
 always ready for work, and yet they are very docile and 
 kind, and so tender-mouthed that they will scarcely 
 ruffle a feather on a duck. They carry the largest goose 
 or swan with ease, and are always so delighted with 
 their work that it is a great pleasure to see them per- 
 form. 
 
 If the sportsman has never shot ducks on a pass, he 
 should not lose the first chance that is offered to have a 
 day or two of that kind of work. He will find it "royal 
 sport," and although he may count up a good many 
 misses, and only a few kills, yet he will be satisfied that 
 he has had the best of all shooting. 
 
 The sportsman on a duck-pass should have a 10-gauge 
 gun, of about 10 or 10J pounds weight. His shells should 
 be loaded with 4 drams of powder and 1-J ounces 
 of shot. I think most of the shells ought to be loaded 
 with No. 6 shot, but if the ducks fly high, say fifty or 
 sixty yards away, he will require No. 3 or 4. 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 135 
 
 He should be on the pass at day-break, as some of his 
 best shots will be early in the morning. In order to have 
 the ducks fly well, there should be a strong wind. If 
 there are several shooters on the pass, and the ducks are 
 working south, and there is a north wind, he will hear 
 some one of them say, "Mark north!" Now be on the 
 lookout! 
 
 Here the ducks come. They are coming directly over 
 him, about fifty yards high, and flying very fast. He 
 shoots, but no ducks fall. Here comes another lot. He 
 shoots again, but they all go on. He fires shot after shot, 
 but gets no ducks. What is the trouble? He has shot 
 from ten to twenty feet behind the ducks. 
 
 Watch that "gray -haired shooter," just below him 
 on the pass. See how the ducks fall when he shoots. 
 Almost everyone of them is killed in the air. He has 
 held his gun right. 
 
 There is a pair of ducks going toward him. Now 
 watch. He brings his gun to his shoulder, carries it 
 from three to ten feet ahead of the first duck, "according 
 to the speed at which the ducks are flying, ' ' touches the 
 trigger, and, quick as lightning, pulls on the other. They 
 are killed in the air. He is not troubled much with crip- 
 pled ducks. 
 
 The sportsman should bear in mind that one shot put 
 in front of the wings is worth four put three inches 
 behind the wings. Where one sportsman shoots ahead 
 of a duck, twenty shoot behind. 
 
 Pass-shooting is different from all other kinds of 
 duck-shooting, for the sportsman will find that he will 
 oftentimes have the best shooting in the middle of the 
 day. Ducks like to trade back and forth, where there 
 are large lots of them bedded in the lakes. 
 
 The best day's duck-shooting that I ever had did not 
 begin till 10 o'clock in the forenoon. It was at Elbow 
 
136 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 Lake, Ruthveri, Iowa. My old friend, Frank Mcoulin, 
 and myself, got up at 3 o'clock in- the morning, to take 
 the early train on the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul 
 Railway for Ruth v en, thirty-five miles west of where we 
 live. We went to our depot, and sat there three long 
 hours waiting for a " freight train. " It came at last, but 
 we did not get to Ruthven till after 9 o'clock. We went 
 down to the lake, and found but few ducks there. The 
 wind was southeast, and blowing very strong. We sat 
 down on the pass, and concluded that shooting would not 
 be very good that day. We looked up toward Lost 
 Island Lake, which is situated about three or four miles 
 northwest of Elbow Lake. We noticed some ducks in 
 the air. Soon a stray flock came down against the wind. 
 They went over Frank, and he shot a pair of canvas- 
 backs. He is a sure shot, and any duck that comes 
 within range of his gun is almost sure to fall. 
 
 Other flocks followed, and soon almost a stream of 
 ducks was pouring into Elbow Lake. The wind blew so 
 hard that they flew very low. Canvas-backs, red- heads, 
 and blue-bills, came in in thousands. The lake was full 
 of wild celery, the favorite food of the deep-water ducks. 
 There were times that day when I saw more ducks than 
 I ever saw at one time before. I shot into one flock of 
 canvas-backs, and seven of the handsome birds fell with 
 the first barrel. We had two fine retrieving dogs with 
 us, and we gave them all they could do for five hours. 
 
 Between 2 and 3 o'clock in the afternoon, Frank got 
 a shell stuck in his gun, and could not move it. We 
 worked at it over half an hour, and finally Frank had to 
 go to town to get the shell taken out. 
 
 Just before he started it began to rain, and I told him 
 to send down a team for the ducks, as I do not care much 
 to shoot in the rain. I did not shoot much after Frank 
 went to town, but gathered the ducks and counted them. 
 
INLAND DUCK-SHOOTING. 137 
 
 We had in all 250, and over seventy of them were canvas- 
 backs, the balance being red-heads and blue-bills. 
 
 I once had very fine shooting at the Spirit Lake Pass, 
 in company with my brother, Mr. Mcoulin, a gentleman 
 from Dubuque, Iowa, and one from Burlington, Yt. I 
 never saw two men more delighted than were the gentle- 
 men from Dubuque and Burlington. They had never 
 seen such shooting before. Both were very poor shots, 
 but they had just as much sport as anyone. I think it 
 cost them forty shells for each duck they killed. They 
 were fair shots in the field, but the pass-ducks were too 
 fast for them. 
 
 There are many different opinions regarding duck- 
 guns. Some sportsmen think that a 12-gauge is large 
 enough for any duck; but that has not been my experi- 
 ence. I prefer a 10-gauge gun for deep-water ducks, 
 and it must be well loaded. I think a 12-gauge gun 
 will do for mallards, teal, and wood-ducks; but when the 
 sportsman has to kill most of his ducks outside of forty 
 yards, he will need a 10-pound, 10-gauge gun a gun 
 that will take 4i drams of good powder and not recoil. 
 
 The shot to use for deep-water ducks is from No. 3 to 
 6; other ducks, No. 6 to 8. I would use from 3 to 3% 
 drams of powder in a 12-gauge gun, and from 4 to 
 4J in a 10-gauge gun. Put two or three good wads over 
 the powder, and one over the shot. I use 1-J ounces of 
 shot, but 1 or 1J ounces may be used, and will shoot 
 well. 
 
 The duck- shooter at a pass, or in a blind, should 
 always dress warmly, but his dress should not be cum- 
 bersome. He should wear two good flannel shirts, good, 
 heavy woolen drawers, thick Woolen stockings, good, 
 stout woolen trousers and vest, and over his vest he 
 should wear a dog-skin shooting-coat. That will keep 
 all the wind away from his body. If the morning be 
 
138 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 very cold, put on a woolen coat, and over all a canvas 
 or corduroy shooting-coat, with plenty of pockets for 
 shells, etc. 
 
 Always have a small screw-driver and a shell -extractor 
 in your shooting-coat pocket. You may have trouble 
 with your gun, and have to take it apart. Carry an extra 
 firing-pin, as you may break one. Wear an old light- 
 colored cap or hat; a cap or hat that looks like dry grass 
 is what the sportsman needs. Ducks do not like black 
 clothes^ nor a great black hat. 
 
 If you are shooting where the pass is dry, use leather 
 boots or shoes, but where it is wet, use rubber hip-boots. 
 Keep the feet dry, if possible. 
 
 If the shooter has no shooting-coat except a dark-col- 
 ored one, he can make one out of an old coffee-sack. 
 Cut a hole in the bottom of the sack for the head, and 
 one for each arm, and you have a coat of good color for 
 duck -shooting. It does not look quite as fine as a well- 
 made shooting- coat, but the ducks do not care for style. 
 
 
 In speechless admiration, his eyes with rapture gloat 
 
 Upon his horde of trophies, the mallards in his boat. 
 
 A sudden doubt confronts him how bear them from the shore 
 
 Unto the distant station, two miles away or morel 
 
BOB WHITE. 
 
 BY AMORY R. STARR ("JACOB STAFF"). 
 
 F all North American game birds, no one is 
 so well known to all true sportsmen, or so 
 deeply seated in their affections, as the 
 subject of this chapter; and, alas! no one 
 is so thoroughly misnamed. The name 
 - "quail" is most generally used, and 
 is still further growing in favor. Never- 
 theless, it is a decided error so to call the 
 bird. Universal custom may be pleaded to 
 justify the use of this name, but the bird is not a quail, 
 despite the arguments of Herbert, Hawes, and later 
 writers. It is useless to discuss at length the difference 
 between the European quail and the American bird; this 
 ground has been repeatedly covered. Suffice it to say, 
 that the European quail has dark flesh, and is strictly 
 migratory and polygamous, while the American bird has 
 white flesh, and is non-migratory and . monogamous, and 
 in these three respects resembles the English partridge. 
 In size alone, Bob White resembles the quail more nearly 
 than the partridge; and this led the Puritans of New Eng- 
 land so to misname our bird. The cavaliers of Virginia 
 and Maryland were better sportsmen than the Puritans, 
 being generally drawn from the landed proprietors and 
 rural population of England. They observed more closely 
 the habits and characteristics of all game, and they called 
 the bird a partridge. Unfortunately, however, the con- 
 tributors to sportsmen' s journals, as a rule, lived in the 
 
 (139) 
 
140 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 part of the country where the name " quail" was in gen- 
 eral use, and they so called the bird in their writings, and 
 fortified their position by arguments more or less falla- 
 cious; and here the power of the press to disseminate 
 misinformation as well as information became painfully 
 apparent. Moreover, the West and Northwest being 
 settled from the North, the term " quail" followed civ- 
 ilization in those directions, until now, I believe, fully 
 
 four-fifths of those who 
 shoot on the wing call 
 this bird a quail. For 
 all that, the use of this 
 name is as improper as 
 it is for us in the South 
 to call the black bass a 
 trout; still, however, it 
 smacks of affectation to 
 call the bird by any other 
 title than the misnomer 
 in popular use. 
 
 While in this quan- 
 dary, I turned to an 
 article originally pub- 
 lished in the Century 
 Magazine, and now form- 
 ing one of not only the most entertaining, but also most 
 instructive, chapters in " Sports with Rod and Gun." It 
 is from the pen of Alfred M. Mayer. In this article the 
 writer says: c ' Iii the North and East he is called quail, in 
 the South and West he is partridge, while everywhere he 
 is known as Bob White. Let us then call him as he calls 
 himself, and we will not be berated for our ignorance of 
 natural history." I had before been favorably impressed 
 with the above, but it seemed to me rather like using a 
 pretty pet name. Just at that moment a white-cheeked 
 
BOB WHITE. 141 
 
 little fellow on my orchard fence, standing guard over 
 his wife and home, said: "Bob White!" and, as if eager 
 to emphasize the name, repeated: ' ' Bob, Bob White!' ' A 
 mocking-bird on the swaying branch of an immense pin- 
 oak reiterated: u Bob White! Bob White!" It seemed to 
 me a way out of the difficulty. The bird so called him- 
 self, the most versatile of all Nature's conversationalists 
 indorsed the name, and I, too, would, like the mocking- 
 bird, become an imitator, and in this article follow the 
 suggestion of Mr. Mayer. 
 
 I am further fortified in this position by the action of 
 the American Ornithological Union, in their " Check List 
 of American Birds," where they reject the name quail, 
 and place the bird in the subfamily Perdicinae, or par- 
 tridges, a summary of their classification being as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 Order Gallinae gallinaceous birds. 
 
 Suborder Phasiani pheasants, grouse, partridges, 
 quails, etc. 
 
 Family Tetraonidae grouse, partridges, etc. 
 
 Subfamily Perdicinae partridges. 
 
 Genus Colinus. 
 
 Species Colinus mrginianus Bob White. 
 
 Subspecies Colinus mrginianus floridanus Florida 
 Bob White. 
 
 Colinus mrginianus texanus Texan Bob White. 
 
 There seems to be little or no difference between the 
 Virginia, the Florida, and the Texas Bob Whites except 
 their habitat and color, the Florida bird being the darkest 
 and the Texas bird the lightest of the three. The Vir- 
 ginia Bob White is also, probably, the largest bird, but the 
 size of each varies somewhat with the character of the 
 food, it being said that birds which are found in a coun- 
 try devoted to small grains are larger than those found 
 elsewhere. 
 
142 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The description of Bob White as given by Wilson is 
 minute and accurate. It is as follows: 
 
 "Nine inches long and fourteen inches in extent; the 
 bill is black; line over the eye, down the neck, and whole 
 chin, pure white, bounded by a band of black, which 
 descends and spreads broadly over the throat; the eye is 
 dark hazel; crown, neck, and upper part of breast, red- 
 brown; sides of the neck, spotted with white and black 
 on a reddish-brown ground; back, scapulars, and lesser 
 coverts, red-brown, intermixed with ash, and sprinkled 
 with black; tertials, edged with yellowish- white; wings, 
 plain dusky; lower part of the breast and belly, pale 
 yellowish- white, beautifully marked with numerous curv- 
 ing spots or arrow-heads of black; tail, ash, sprinkled 
 with reddish-brown; legs, very pale ash." 
 
 He does not mention their weight, which may be 
 stated as being from six to 8J- ounces, the latter, however, 
 being rare. Seven or 7J ounces is, I think, about the 
 average weight for well-grown, well-fed birds. 
 
 The habitat of Bob White in the United States and 
 Canada may be given as follows: Beginning at and 
 including Southern New Hampshire; thence down the 
 Atlantic Coast to the Everglades of Florida; thence west- 
 ward with the Gulf of Mexico to the mouth of the Rio 
 Grande, and up that stream to the twenty -fourth merid- 
 ian, which may be taken as the western boundary line, 
 although it is gradually extending westward, especially 
 in Nebraska and Dakota, some having been found even 
 in Wyoming, and they have been successfully trans- 
 planted into Colorado. The forty-fifth parallel appears 
 to be about their northern boundary line in the extreme 
 Northwest. It then bears southward toward the Great 
 Lakes, including Southern Minnesota, Wisconsin, and 
 Michigan, crossing into Canada near the lower end of Lake 
 Huron, and continuing eastward through the Province 
 
BOB WHITE. 143 
 
 of Ontario and the State of New York to the beginning. 
 Some birds are found beyond these limits, but they are 
 too rare to be specially sought for by sportsmen. In 
 Ontario they do not appear to be found so far north as 
 formerly, while in Dakota they are spreading to the 
 north as well as to the west. They have been occasionally 
 transplanted into Maine, and being liberated in the 
 spring, good broods would be reared; but few would sur- 
 vive the following winter, being exterminated more by 
 the deep snows than by the excessive cold. 
 
 Bob Whites are found in Mexico, in the States 
 of Coahuila, Nuevo Leon, and Tamaulipas, and even 
 farther south, being said by good authorities to extend 
 down to the Balize. They are also abundant in Cuba, 
 though I have never heard of them in any of the other 
 West India Islands. The Cuban bird is, by some natu- 
 ralists, made a different subspecies. The following de- 
 scription and remarks I received from Dr. H. McHatton, 
 of Macon, Ga., who for many years was a planter and 
 keen sportsman in Cuba: " The Cuban Bob Whites gen- 
 erally pair from April 1st to April 15th; the young 
 furnish good shooting about October 1st. The broods 
 are large, averaging eighteen or twenty. They abound 
 in all cultivated parts of the island, their favorite cover 
 being sugar-cane and hedges, and their favorite food 
 all varieties of grass-seed, especially caldo, santo, and 
 lechosa. They are very numerous, and increase rapidly, 
 and but for heavy storms would overrun the island. 
 While the shooting is done mostly before 10 o'clock a.m. 
 and after 4 o'clock p.m., it is not unusual for an average 
 brace of dogs to find fifteen or twenty coveys in that time. 
 
 "Cuba, for several reasons, is probably the best quail- 
 hunting country in America; the climate is all that could 
 be desired; food is abundant all the time; there are very 
 few snakes, no carnivorous animals, except an occasional 
 
144 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 stray domestic cat; literally no shooting over dogs, no 
 netting, and very little trapping, the climate and the 
 laws of the land being well calculated to prevent market- 
 hunting. The Cuban bird is, in some respects, different 
 from ours, bearing a close resemblance to the bird of the 
 pine-barrens of Georgia, being smaller than our local 
 bird, and of a deeper color, especially noticeable in the 
 male. He is strikingly red so deep in this color that no 
 one fails to notice it. In all other respects he is the same 
 old Bob White. The hunting is done principally in the 
 morning. I usually stopped at 9, and never hunted 
 later than 10 a. m. In the Partido de Cabezas, where I 
 lived, the number of birds killed depended on the num- 
 ber I could use. In the fall, the best hunting is on the 
 cattle-ranches and old fields. By January the cane on 
 the plantations is pretty well cut off, and in February 
 and March the hunting there is simply unequaled, there 
 being just enough cover for the birds to lie well, and 
 nothing to obstruct the shooting. There is one method 
 of hunting, and quite a destructive one it is, in vogue 
 among the guajiros (peasants). As I have never seen it 
 in any other place, it may prove of interest. Nearly all 
 the plantations are divided by hedges, and these, in that 
 tropical climate, soon become impenetrable thickets of 
 briars and vines; the birds, of course, are found in abun- 
 dance in reach of this cover. The guajiro has ablack-and- 
 tan dog, or common fice, trained to run into the coveys 
 and bark. If the birds are near a hedge, they tree instead 
 of lighting on the ground. The dog gets under them, and 
 keeps up a continuous barking. The guajiro, armed with 
 a pole ten or twelve feet long, with a small wire snare at 
 the end, will often clean up an entire covey in a very few 
 minutes." 
 
 Some time since I prepared numerous questions about 
 Bob Whites, which I had printed in circular form and 
 
BOB WHITE. 145 
 
 sent out to several hundred sportsmen in the United States 
 and British Possessions. I did this because I desired to 
 obtain the opinions of practical sportsmen on the subject, 
 to eke out the information which I had acquired through 
 my own observation as to the habits of Bob White. As 
 the greater number of those applied to were utter 
 strangers to me, it was rather a presumptuous proceed- 
 ing, but I relied upon that bond of sympathy which 
 exists between all true sportsmen, and my faith in the 
 brotherhood was not misplaced. The answers came in 
 from every direction, and nearly all showed a desire to 
 communicate accurate and trustworthy information. I 
 beg to reiterate here, to each and all, the thanks which I 
 returned as the answers were received. Two hundred 
 and seventy-six sportsmen responded. The answers to 
 some of the questions I have tabulated, and taken in 
 some places the average, in others giving the diiferent 
 views, pro and con, on various disputed points. Many 
 would leave one or more questions unanswered, or would 
 not answer positively, consequently the footings I give 
 do not show the total number of persons from whom I 
 received answers. The summary is as follows: The num- 
 ber reared in an average brood is thirteen. One hundred 
 and twenty-eight who answer say that two broods are 
 frequently reared by a pair of birds in one season, while 
 eighty-eight deny it. One hundred and eighty credit the 
 cock with assisting the hen in setting, while fifty do not. 
 Twenty-six say that Bob White migrates, one hundred 
 and forty-five deny it, and forty-nine say that he does so 
 to a limited extent. Ninety -five believe that he has the 
 power to withhold his scent at will, seventy-seven say 
 not, and thirty give what I believe is the true explana- 
 tion, as hereinafter mentioned. Seventy-six prefer the 
 pointer, one hundred and fourteen the setter, and many 
 
 like both. Where the kind of setter is mentioned, it is 
 10 
 
146 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 nearly always the English; some few prefer the Irish, 
 and two or three the black -and- tan, or so-called Gordon. 
 One hundred and thirty-eight believe that Bob Whites 
 are decreasing, sixty-seven say increasing, and twenty 
 believe that he is just holding his own in numbers. The 
 average gun and charge is a twelve-gauge, weighing seven 
 and one-half pounds, with thirty-inch barrels, either 
 cylinder or slightly choked, loaded with three and one- 
 half drams of powder, and one and one-eighth ounces 
 of shot. The average number of coveys found in a day 
 by an average brace of dogs is nine, out of which an 
 average shot bags twenty birds, killing 53 per cent, of 
 his shots. 
 
 The time when Bob Whites disband their coveys, and 
 separate into pairs, depends largely on the weather. If 
 it has been mild and pleasant, they of course mate much 
 earlier than when it is cold and inclement. I have on 
 several occasions seen coveys break into pairs, and then, 
 upon the weather becoming cold and stormy, reassemble 
 into coveys. I am of the opinion that they select their 
 mates sometime before they separate from the covey. 
 May 1st appears to be about the usual time for pairing 
 in the North, and the 20th of April in the extreme 
 South. This year (1889) we had a remarkably early 
 spring. I have watched the birds carefully, and as a 
 rule they paired about April 15th, some remaining in 
 coveys a fortnight later. 
 
 The Bob Whites build their nests on the ground, in 
 some slight depression, among weeds, grass, or stubble, 
 avoiding bare ground on the one hand, and dense and 
 heavy undergrowth and cover on the other. The nest is 
 meagrely lined, if at all, and therein the hens lay from ten 
 to eighteen eggs the smaller number being probably laid 
 by birds in their first season, or by those of advanced years 
 and decreasing fecundity. There are occasions when 
 
BOB WHITE. 147 
 
 more birds than one will lay in the same nest, as is done 
 by the domestic guinea-hen and some other birds. I have 
 been told by close observers that in such cases there was 
 but one male, which was acting a Mormon's part; but 
 of this I can not speak of my own knowledge. I am confi- 
 dent, however, that more than one hen will lay in the 
 same nest. The eggs are pure white, and a blunt oval 
 in shape. The period of incubation is variously given, 
 but it is most probably twenty-one days. 
 
 It has been a mooted question whether the cock assists 
 the hen in sitting on the eggs. I have several times seen 
 the cock-bird on the nest, and there are those in whom I 
 have the utmost confidence who state that they have 
 repeatedly seen it. One especially close observer, and a 
 trustworthy man, informs me that he watched several 
 nests, and that in each and every case the hen-bird sat 
 during the night. Early in the morning she would leave 
 the nest in care of the cock. He would sit on it for an 
 hour or two, until the hen returned from search of food, 
 then she would sit till the latter part of the afternoon, 
 when he would again relieve her for a similar period, she 
 returning to the nest a little before sundown. I do not 
 know that this routine is invariably adopted, but that the 
 cock -bird does assist the hen in hatching the eggs, I have 
 not the least doubt. When the weather is very warm, 
 both birds will sometimes vacate the nest for an hour or 
 two at noon. 
 
 The young birds, when hatched, are tiny things, but 
 Nature has thrown many safeguards around them for 
 their protection. A wonderful power of concealment, the 
 vigilance of their parents, and the instinct, or rather 
 reasoning power, which causes the hen to act as if she were 
 crippled, and thereby draw the intruder away from her 
 infant brood, are among the most beautiful of Nature's 
 provisions for the protection of the weak and helpless. 
 
148 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The time at wliicli the young are large enough to 
 afford sport varies greatly, being regulated, of course, by 
 the period at which their parents mated. They are 
 occasionally large enough by the first of September, 
 frequently so at the beginning of October, but I think 
 that probably none should be shot until November 1st, 
 for while I, on one occasion, saw a covey of young birds 
 on April 1st which were quite large and able to fly well, I 
 have, on the other hand, seen many broods late in October 
 of which I doubted the ability to survive the loss of their 
 parents. The opening of the season should be postponed 
 until all, or nearly all, are not only large enough to take 
 care of themselves, but have sufficient strength of wing to 
 test the marksman's skill, and a sufficient accumulation of 
 flesh to tempt the epicure. Nothing is more detestable 
 than going out early in the season to butcher fluttering 
 " cheepers," and thereby gratify the miserable desire to 
 make a big bag. Anybody can do this if he is willing to 
 make his dog suffer from the heat, and degrade his own 
 manhood; it is no test of sportsmanship. 
 
 The food of Bob Whites depends largely upon the 
 locality which they frequent and the season of the year. 
 In the North, buckwheat seems to be their favorite food; 
 in the South, the corn-field pea. All small grains are 
 eagerly sought for Indian corn, the seed of sorghum, and 
 of many weeds. The small varieties of mast they swal- 
 low whole, and I have found in the crops of many birds 
 parts of large acorns, which they had either broken up 
 themselves or found broken by hogs or other agency. 
 They are largely insectivorous. In the South, sometimes, 
 in the early fall, they feed upon the cotton-worm, when 
 those pests are abundant, to such an extent as to give an 
 unpleasant flavor to the flesh. There is no bird which 
 does the farmer less harm and more good than the Bob 
 White. Whatever grain he takes, it is not missed, while 
 
BOB WHITE. 149 
 
 he destroys innumerable noxious insects and weed-seeds. 
 It is said that he is very fond of the tiny seeds of the Japan 
 clover, which has of late years spread over our section of 
 the country ; but I have never been able to verify this by 
 my own observation. In the spring, when the mast is 
 gone and seeds have generally decayed or sprouted, the 
 Bob White eats various young weeds. The favorite cover 
 of Bob White is stubble, weed-fields, broom-sedge, and 
 grass. When flushed or frightened, they fly to the 
 thickets, especially the brush along streams, and are 
 generally found within a few hundred yards of some 
 such coverts, which causes many to believe that they look 
 upon water as a matter of prime necessity ; this I am 
 somewhat inclined to doubt, for the following reason: 
 In September, 1884, I went on a bear-hunt to what is 
 known as the Nueces Canon, which runs through Uvalde 
 and other counties in the southwestern portion of Texas. 
 It was during a severe drought. Water was to be found 
 only on the Nueces River and a few of its tributaries, and 
 while the cattle had eaten all the grass within several 
 miles of the stream along part of our road, in other places 
 we found it quite abundant, because the cattle would not 
 go so far from water to graze upon it, and yet in those very 
 places I saw more Bob Whites than I ever saw before or 
 since. They were just as abundant miles from water as 
 they were upon the banks of the stream. The country 
 was so dry and elevated that there was no dew. We 
 could leave our guns out in the open air all night, and 
 they would not gather a particle of rust. The only solu- 
 tion I could give of this, was either that the birds could 
 do without water or that they must quench their thirst 
 from the "prickly pears" (fruit of the cacti) which abound 
 in that section. My limited time, and my desire to secure 
 larger, not nobler, game, prevented me from making a 
 close investigation into this. 
 
150 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 I believe that the number of birds reared in a brood 
 is overestimated by many, who place it as high as 
 eighteen or twenty. In the first place, the number of 
 eggs found in a nest will not justify this, if you 
 allow for the probable Joss between the hatching and the 
 maturing of the broods; moreover, if you will go out 
 early in the season, when the coveys have not been 
 reduced in number, and flush a covey where you can watch 
 them closely, you will soon be able to satisfy yourself 
 that a dozen is a liberal estimate for an average covey, 
 and from this the two parents are to be deducted. 
 
 There has been much discussion as to whether or not 
 a pair of birds rear more than one brood in a season. 
 Many believe and stoutly assert that they rear two, and 
 sometimes three. I doubt the correctness of this conclu- 
 sion except in rare and exceptional cases. If the nest is 
 destroyed, they will frequently lay again, but not other- 
 wise. Many base their opinion that a second brood is 
 reared upon the fact that birds of different sizes are found 
 in the same covey. We have all seen this, but I believe, 
 if we had watched closely, we would have generally found 
 at least three parent birds among them. Last season I 
 watched closely all coveys containing both large and 
 small birds in such cases I never shoot into them and 
 almost without exception I could see three or four birds 
 which I thought were a year or more older than the rest 
 of the covey. The fact that some birds are hatched early 
 in June, and others late in October, will not sustain the 
 supposition of those who believe that two broods are 
 reared by one pair. In hunting deer we frequently find 
 fawns well able to care for themselves early in July, and 
 again we find them small and helpless as late as Novem- 
 ber, and yet we know that it is a physical impossibility 
 for deer to breed twice in one summer. It is simply a 
 natural phenomenon which appears in all animate creation. 
 
BOB WHITE. 151 
 
 The Bob Whites which have been transplanted into 
 Colorado, I am informed, do certainly breed twice, and it 
 may be also true for Florida, but I do not believe that it 
 will apply to the great proportion of the territory where 
 the birds are found. At my ranch, I have a small field 
 which is separated by several miles of dense woods from 
 any other open land frequented by Bob Whites. The 
 birds on this place are well protected in the breeding- 
 season, and the nests carefully located. These pairs rear 
 only one brood each. Last year the high water destroyed 
 several nests; some of these birds nested again, but not 
 all of them. Knowing the number of nests, and watch- 
 ing all the coveys reared on the place, I am positive that 
 no pair reared more than one brood. There was one large 
 covey of young which ^varied greatly in size. I flushed 
 it repeatedly, and there were at least three old birds, two 
 of them being hens. While my own observation leads 
 me to believe that only one brood is reared in each season 
 by a pair, I hesitate to assert this positively, for the con- 
 trary view is held by so many whose opportunities for 
 knowing the facts are equally as good as my own. Dog- 
 matic assertions should in all such matters be carefully 
 avoided. 
 
 Another disputed question is whether or not Bob White 
 is a migratory bird. If we except what is called the ' ' run- 
 ning season ' ' in some of the Middle States, Bob Whites 
 are certainly non-migratory. Overflows, forest lires, and 
 scarcity of food will occasionally drive them from their 
 accustomed haunts, but they rarely go farther than a few 
 miles. We can not speak of them as migratory in the 
 sense that the snipe, woodcock, plover, wild fowl, and 
 other birds are migratory. The seasons neither time their 
 movements nor control the direction of them; it might 
 as well be said that a man migrates to his office for busi- 
 ness, to the restaurant for his luncheon, to the theatre 
 
152 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 for amusement, and to his own fireside for home comfort 
 and enjoyment. That entertaining but most inaccurate 
 writer, Herbert, in his anxiety to miscall the bird a quail, 
 used his utmost endeavors to prove that it was migratory. 
 In this section, the birds frequently leave the fields in 
 October or November, when the grain and weed-seeds 
 appear to be exhausted, and stay in the woods, especially 
 when there is a good mast. If the mast is an utter failure, 
 they go to the woods only in bitterly cold weather, and 
 not always then. Under no circumstances do they go 
 more than a mile or two from where they were reared, 
 and in January or February they return. Where your 
 dogs found a covey in October, you may expect to find 
 them again in February. Some writers have claimed that 
 while Bob Whites were always found in particular local- 
 ities, this did not prove the birds to be non-migratory; 
 for, they claimed, new coveys were continually taking 
 the place of those which preceded them in a general 
 movement in some particular direction. The incorrect- 
 ness of this opinion is demonstrated by the fact that cer- 
 tain coveys have peculiarities, and that the birds found 
 at that particular place will, during the entire season and 
 for successive seasons, act in the same manner; for 
 instance, I have known coveys which, when flushed, 
 would fly into trees and perch there, and this they would 
 do time and again, and year after year, thereby demon- 
 strating that they were the same birds which were always 
 found at that particular spot. 
 
 Many claim that Bob Whites have the power of with- 
 holding their scent at will. This is an error, and here 
 again we find Herbert using his undoubted talents in a 
 misdirection. To the casual observer, it would appear 
 that they have this power, but a closer investigation will 
 enable one better to understand the phenomenon. If you 
 will take a musty, moth-eaten fur rug and move it across 
 
BOB WHITE. 153 
 
 the room, it will give out an unpleasant odor; but if you 
 take it into the open air, shake it violently for several 
 minutes, then wrap it up into a small compass and put it 
 under some article of furniture in the same room, your 
 olfactories will not be able to detect its presence. It is 
 so with Bob Whites; when flushed, their rapid motion 
 through the air dissipates the scent, and sometimes they 
 will plunge into thick grass or cover, press themselves 
 closely against the ground, fold their wings tightly to 
 their bodies, and appear hardly to breathe; then, until 
 they move, it is difficult for the dogs to smell them. But 
 these instances are rare; as a general rule, when the bird 
 alights, he moves enough to give forth scent. Herbert, 
 and others, who advise novices to hold up their dogs for 
 a considerable space of time, are misled. In some cases 
 it will be well, but far oftener it will cause useless delay. 
 If your dogs are good, and the day be an average one for 
 scent, mark your birds down and go promptly to them. 
 If you delay too long, the birds will run together again, 
 and you will merely get another covey rise. That the 
 Bob White does this because he is frightened and wishes 
 to conceal himself from the eye of the hunter, not from 
 the nose of the dog, I believe, for two reasons. First, if 
 they had this power and knowledge, we should have to 
 steal upon them unaware to secure a point; and,- secondly, 
 we find this phenomenon most frequent where the birds 
 have been flushed and scattered by hawks, whose keen 
 sight, not scenting powers, they dread. 
 
 No men know better than our field-trial handlers 
 what a bird-dog can do, and none are better informed 
 about Bob Whites; and anyone who has ever judged at 
 field trials, will readily testify to the vexatious, but 
 rather excusable, manner in which these handlers will 
 rush their dogs to secure points on birds just flushed and 
 scattered, in order to earn thereby valuable prizes, and 
 
154 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to add to the reputation of their dogs. Dogs with poor 
 noses are largely responsible for the idea that Bob 
 Whites can withhold their scent at will. When Harry 
 Archer said that these birds close the pores of their skins, 
 and thereby withhold the scent, he should have referred 
 to his dog's nose as being closed. 
 
 The future of our game animals and birds causes the 
 thoughtful sportsman much anxiety. Whether we look 
 backward or forward, the result is the same. The buffalo 
 is practically extinct; the elk can be reached by but few, 
 and deer and wild turkeys are now unknown in sections 
 where they were once superabundant. The annual flights 
 of wild fowl are yearly less and less. From the answers 
 received to my inquiries, it appears that Bob Whites are 
 also, as a general rule, decreasing alarmingly in num- 
 bers, and this is especially to be regretted; for, from the 
 nature and habits of the birds, they can be made to 
 increase, even in densely settled farming districts; but to 
 do this is not a matter of a day nor a year. Good game 
 laws are, of course, most essential; but game laws are 
 mere dead letters unless they are supported by public 
 sentiment, and not only actively enforced by prominent 
 sportsmen, but also closely observed by them. This is 
 what I mean: I know many sportsmen who would not 
 think of shooting Bob Whites out of season, who are 
 earnest in their efforts to protect them, and yet will, on 
 occasions, violate the law for the protection of some 
 other kind of game, thereby destroying whatever influ- 
 ence they may have for good. The sportsman should 
 observe all game laws; he should learn and obey the laws 
 of the land, -no matter how unjust and unwise he may 
 think some particular clauses to be, for if he violates 
 one, the market-hunter and bag-maker will violate them 
 all; and he should observe even still more closely the 
 laws of Dame Nature, and under no circumstances molest 
 
U55) 
 
156 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the breeding and undeveloped game. There is a wide 
 discrepancy of opinion as to what period should be 
 embraced in the closed season for Bob Whites. It must 
 depend to some extent upon the locality, and also upon 
 their abundance, and even upon the number of shooters 
 who pursue them. Where they are plentiful, and there 
 are but few who hunt them, nearly all the non-breeding 
 period can be made an open season, beginning with the 
 time when the young birds are old enough to furnish 
 sport, and ending with the commencement of the mating - 
 season say from the 1st of October until the 1st of 
 April. This is the law in my State, and in this immediate 
 vicinity Bob Whites are not decreasing to any marked 
 extent; still the open season is too long. The heat and 
 heavy cover, and the immaturity of many of the birds, 
 make it better that the season should open November 
 1st. It should not extend beyond March 15th, and it 
 would perhaps be well, in this latitude, to close it March 
 1st that is, let the open season be the months of Novem- 
 ber, December, January, and February. This w r ould 
 give only four months' shooting, but it w r ould enable us, 
 like well-conducted banks, to accumulate a reserve fund, 
 rather than, like reckless spendthrifts, to overdraw our 
 accounts and become bankrupt. Where birds have 
 become scarce, and the sportsmen are very numerous, it 
 is necessary that the open season be short. The reports I 
 have received from Indiana go to show that Bob Whites 
 have rather increased in that State, owing in part to the 
 mild winters, and partly to a well-enforced game law, 
 which has only from October 15th to December 20th as 
 an open season. In extreme cases, the absolute protec- 
 tion of Bob Whites for several years has been found most 
 beneficial. This appears to be the case in the Province 
 of Ontario. From persistent shooting and hard winters, 
 the birds had become too scarce to furnish sport. They 
 
BOB WHITE. 157 
 
 were protected for three years, and I am informed that 
 last season they were plentiful, and sport was excellent. 
 
 The exact features of the law should be adapted to 
 the wants of the State which enacts it, and due attention 
 must be paid to all the rights, and even to some of the 
 prejudices, of the community. Game laws are too often 
 considered as intended to benefit the town and c ' dude ' ' 
 sportsmen, and as inimical to the farmer. This is to be 
 deplored. Proper game laws, well executed, are more 
 beneficial to the farmers and the farmer sportsmen than to 
 any other class. It enables them to realize a source of rev- 
 enue from the game found on their farms, if they so desire, 
 and it secures to the farmer sportsmen game near at hand 
 a most desirable thing for them, for they, as a rule, do 
 not visit distant sections in the pursuit of game. The law 
 which enables a man to post his property and prevent 
 trespassing is most desirable; for, while game birds are the 
 property of no one, still the owner of inclosed premises 
 should have the right to say who may hunt and fish 
 thereon. It seems to me that a gentleman would as soon 
 intrude in another's parlor as in his field, and suchinstru- 
 sions should be met alike in both cases. There are but 
 few farmers who object to the proper persons hunting on 
 their lands. 
 
 Non-export laws are excellent. The absolute prohibi- 
 tion of shooting Bob Whites for the market is desirable. 
 The destruction of their eggs and netting or trapping them 
 should be prohibited at all seasons of the year. These 
 and other provisions can be inserted, care being taken, 
 however, not to make the law obnoxious. The penalty 
 should not be too heavy. If you put it at $5 or $10 for 
 ordinary shooting out of season, you can get local courts 
 and juries to convict; and this penalty, if imposed and 
 collected, will be amply sufficient, especially where the 
 ever-present court costs are attached. If you make the 
 
158 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 penalty too heavy, you practically kill the law. It is a 
 good idea to provide that the fine shall go to the public 
 school fund of the nearest municipal subdivision to which 
 it can be legally applied. It will enable the prosecuting 
 attorney to paint the game-butcher in dark colors, while, 
 on the other hand, he can hold tip before the jury the 
 bright-eyed little children who will be benefited by the 
 fine assessed. Sportsmen should impress upon their law- 
 makers the necessity for game laws. The ambitious 
 young aspirant for the legislature is ever open to argu- 
 ments of this sort. Sportsmen, as a rule, are active, 
 intelligent, and influential men, and they can do much in 
 this line. I don't mean that the sportsmen shall organ- 
 ize a sportsmen's political party that is not necessary; 
 but look after your candidates in nominating conventions 
 and primary elections. In a certain county, there was 
 an officer who had for years paid undue attention to the 
 views of certain poachers. He was otherwise an excellent 
 man, but he was not educated up to the proper standard 
 on the subject of game protection. The sportsmen proper 
 had generally supported him with their votes and influ- 
 ence, but finally they wearied of his diplomacy, and he 
 was speedily convinced that the votes of a score of 
 poachers were not equivalent to the active, intelligent 
 opposition he would meet from the sportsmen of his 
 county, some of whom could control alone more than a 
 score of votes. Game protection is practical, and we 
 should look at it as practical men, not as sentimentalists. 
 If we throw the proper safeguards around our game birds, 
 they will be with us for many years to come a constant 
 source of delight and pleasure. Rewards offered for the 
 destruction of vermin and birds of prey, would conduce 
 greatly to the protection of our game birds; but our 
 legislatures are slow to adopt such measures. Sports- 
 men's clubs can, however, do much good in this Direction, 
 
BOB WHITE. 159 
 
 not only by offering such rewards as they can afford to 
 pay, but by having side-hunts, in which the object shall 
 not be to disgrace themselves by striving to see who can 
 most worthily wear the title of game-butcher, but by 
 each endeavoring to be foremost in the destruction of 
 furred, feathered, and scaled pot-hunters. 
 
 In the foregoing remarks, I have treated of the habits 
 of Bob Whites as I have found them, and as they have 
 been reported to me by intelligent, practical sportsmen, 
 but I have spoken only indirectly of the pursuit of them 
 as game birds, and the proper means and methods for 
 doing so. The choice you will make here will depend 
 very largely upon the kind of man you are. I write this 
 for sportsmen, not for the garne-butcher, whose idea of a 
 successful day's sport is the number of birds bagged, 
 whose gun is prized simply in proportion to its capacity 
 for exterminating game, and who esteems his dog merely 
 for the number of birds he can find, point, and retrieve, 
 regardless of the manner in which it is done. To this 
 miscalled sportsman I have nothing to say, but I address 
 the true sportsman, the one who enjoys a day's sport 
 not so much for the destruction of life as for the pleasure 
 he derives from each and every incident connected with 
 it. This is the kind of man one should select as a com- 
 panion for a day's shooting on Bob Whites. Let him be 
 a man who observes closely, compares and analyzes the 
 habits and characteristics of game birds, and of every- 
 thing that pertains to sportsmanship; not a dull, dry 
 fellow, but one in whose nature there is something of the 
 poet; who is a mental, moral, and physical epicure; who 
 can enjoy the ranging of his dog, the clean execution of 
 his gun, the swift flight of the bird, its wondrous instincts 
 for self-preservation, his companion's skill and success, 
 and everything connected with sportsmanship, with an 
 intense satisfaction, which he feels and appreciates at the 
 
160 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 moment, as does the epicure who presses some savory 
 viand to his palate, or the connoisseur of wine, as he 
 leisurely enjoys the rich bouquet and fruity flavor of some 
 ancient vintage; or even as the strong, vigorous man who 
 feasts his eyes on the delicate beauty and refined grace of 
 purest womanhood. This is the spirit with which the 
 sportsman should enter into his pleasures. Secure such a 
 man for your companion if you can, and strive hard that 
 he may have such a one in you. 
 
 The next essential is not the gun, but the dog. The 
 gun is merely a machine or insensate instrument in your 
 hands, but the dog is more. He ribt only contributes to 
 your sport, but he enjoys it himself. A good dog is more 
 than a servant; he is a pleasant companion, a tried and 
 trusted friend. For the pursuit of Bob Whites, sports- 
 men are divided in their choice. Many prefer the 
 pointer, others the setter, while some are admirers equally 
 of both. I, like others, have my preference, but I 
 believe that the best of either strain are of about equal 
 merit, and are good enough for any man. In selecting 
 a bird-dog, the prime requisites are, of course, intelli- 
 gence, disposition, nose, endurance, speed, and-courage; 
 but there is another quality which he should possess to a 
 high degree, and that is the one commonly called u style" 
 a quality peculiar to the dog that is graceful in motion 
 and handsome on point; whose drawing on game is in 
 itself a display of beauty, and which, while working 
 single birds, will spring from point to point in a quick, 
 accurate manner; who retrieves with an appearance of 
 absolute pleasure, not going after the dead birds like a 
 lazy boy sent on a disagreeable errand. This trait can 
 be had in either the pointer or the setter. He may not 
 give any more points than an ugly brute, who, full of bird 
 sense, goes with wonderful accuracy from covey to covey, 
 and trots around among the scattered birds in a slouch- 
 
BOB WHITE. 161 
 
 ing, tramp-like manner; he may not even give so many 
 points, but an hour with such a dog is worth a week over 
 the other. The Zulu savage and the Indian buck prize 
 their wives largely for their capacity for manual labor and 
 their coarser physical powers, but the educated man of 
 to-day wishes something more than a mere beast of burden 
 for his household companion. Civilization has developed 
 his greed and egotism until he thinks himself worthy of 
 that which is noblest on earth a beautiful, refined, and 
 educated woman. So the true sportsman should be with 
 his dog. This kind of dog is difficult to obtain, but by 
 careful selection it is obtainable. 
 
 Look well to the qualities of your dog's ancestors, as 
 they exhibited them in the field. Probably you can not 
 see many of them yourself; look, then, to the records of 
 our field trials, which have done more to develop the good 
 qualities of our bird-dogs than any other one thing; 
 but don't look to the bench-show records, for there you 
 will get but little information which is useful, and much 
 that is worse than useless. If you can do so, breed and 
 train your dog yourself he will then be more a part 
 and parcel of you; but if you can not, procure him from 
 some breeder of reputation and reliability, and have him 
 well and thoroughly trained; then keep him so. Care- 
 fully correct every sin, whether of omission or commis- 
 sion, with gentle but positive firmness. Don't get into a 
 tempest of passion, and be guilty of brutally mistreating 
 your dog, but correct all faults until the habit of obedi- 
 ence gets firmly fixed. Give your dog all the experience 
 possible, as without it, no matter how fine his natural 
 qualities, and how thoroughly he may have been drilled 
 in the yard, he will not be a first-class field-dog. See, too, 
 that his physical condition is perfect. Nothing irks the 
 true sportsman more than to see some ignoramus expect- 
 ing first-class work of a good dog, which is either in bad 
 11 
 
162 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 health, or else overloaded with fat and in soft flesh. 
 Last, but by no means least, get your dog's confidence 
 and affection, and let him have your own. Such a dog as 
 I have described is well worthy of it more so, perhaps, 
 than some of the men in whose society you take pleasure. 
 Until your dog is thoroughly educated and trained, let the 
 number of birds bagged be a matter of secondary impor- 
 tance. No sportsman is likely to have a thoroughly 
 trained dog unless he can enjoy leaving his gun at home, 
 and with whip and whistle work his dogs, while some 
 friend does the shooting. 
 
 After 37 our dog is thoroughly trained, with the habit 
 of obedience firmly fixed (I again use the expression, for 
 it seems to me to express exactly the idea which I wish 
 to convey), you can enjoy yourself fully in pursuit of 
 Bob Whites, undisturbed by the many petty vexations 
 which are entailed upon a sportsman by the use of half- 
 trained dogs. A man can hardly overestimate the good 
 qualities of a first-class field-dog, but there are men who 
 fail properly to appreciate our canine friends. In my 
 kennel-yard there is a modest little tomb, covered by the 
 twining vines of the honey-suckle, which also coil 
 around a marble monument, upon which is chiseled the 
 name of a faithful pointer, whose remains are buried 
 beneath it. This tribute of respect to a dumb animal 
 occasionally elicits expressions of surprise from some of 
 those who see it. It is a matter of regret to me, that I 
 can not read to them a poem which I read many years ago, 
 and enjoyed intensely, but which I have never been able 
 to find again. It was to me full of pathos. A man of 
 strange appearance, travel- stained and worn, entered the 
 studio of a famous Grecian sculptor. He was accom- 
 panied by a noble dog, which, like his master, showed 
 the effects of age and want. The stranger, drawing from 
 his ragged vestments a precious stone, graven with a 
 
BOB WHITE. 163 
 
 device of Eastern royalty, asked the sculptor if he would 
 take it as a fee for carving a statue of the dog. The 
 great man scornfully replied that he would not degrade 
 his genius to perpetuate the memory of a beast. The 
 visitor then told his tale. It was of kingly birth and 
 wealth, of rebellion and bitter treachery. He told how 
 his subjects had revolted, his friends had betrayed, and 
 even the wife of his bosom had deserted him, but how, 
 through all, the faithful dog stood by his master; and he 
 closed his pathetic appeal with these words: 
 
 " Ay! stranger, but a dog, a beast; 
 But of all earth's creatures not the least." 
 
 The sculptor bowed his head, and made due apology. 
 He declined to take the jewel, but in his city, for many 
 centuries, could be seen the choicest product of his 
 chisel a faithful likeness of the noble dog. 
 
 In selecting a gun, I would use the advice of Polonius 
 to his son about dress. Let it be as "costly as your 
 purse can buy," with justice to your other wants and 
 necessities; adapt it, also, to your strength and skill. No 
 gun for field-shooting should weigh over eight pounds, 
 and from that down to five and a half, according to the 
 gauge. I would earnestly recommend the hammerless, 
 on the ground of both convenience and safety. During 
 one hunting-season, I noticed all the various accounts of 
 hunters who were injured by the accidental discharge of 
 guns, and where sufficient particulars were given, it was 
 evident that fully three-fourths of such accidents would 
 not have happened had the gun been a hammerless. If 
 you can afford but one gun, and shoot wild fowl to any 
 great extent, you may find it necessary to use a ten-gauge 
 gun on Bob Whites, but don't put your duck charges in 
 it. It is not giving the little fellows a fair show. Re- 
 duce your ammunition somewhat, shoot in a sportsman- 
 like manner, and don't permit some unreasonable bigot 
 
164 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to call you a boor and butcher because your weapon is so 
 much larger than his little sixteen-gauge. Still, I think 
 that the twelve-gauge is as large as should be used on 
 Bob Whites. If you are an exquisite shot, you can get 
 down as low as a twenty-gauge; that altogether depends 
 upon the individual and his tastes. The gun most gen- 
 erally used is good enough, being a seven and a half 
 pound twelve-gauge. The barrels should be cylinder, or 
 only slightly choked. There is a world of nonsense writ- 
 ten about the shooting qualities of guns. The guns of 
 all standard makes shoot about alike. The greater 
 superiority of the finer guns is not in their shooting quali- 
 ties, but because they are more handsome to look at, 
 handle better, and are much more durable. Get a gun 
 that suits you fairly well, and then stick to it. Chang- 
 ing guns is like changing friends a risky business. 
 In Bob White shooting, for such a gun as I have 
 mentioned, a charge of three and a half drams of 
 powder and one or one and one-eighth ounces of shot 
 will generally do well; but guns apparently the same 
 will shoot better with different charges. Test your gun 
 thoroughly for pattern and penetration at a rack- target; 
 find out the proper charge, and then stick to that. The 
 smokeless niter powders are especially desirable in field- 
 shooting. The size of shot should be from No. 10 to 
 No. 8; or, rather, No. 8 shot will do the season through 
 as well as any. Some prefer the chilled, others the 
 soft. I could never see any particular difference in 
 their killing powers. The other portion of a sports- 
 man's outfit I will not discuss. Everyone knows what 
 suits him best, and a little experience will teach him 
 what he really needs. Let the lunch-bag be well filled, 
 and the whisky-bottle conspicuously absent. The man- 
 ner of hunting Bob Whites or shooting them, if you 
 prefer it differs widely in various sections. In the 
 
BOB WHITE. 165 
 
 North and East, where the fields are small and the fences 
 difficult to let down, the sportsmen generally go on foot; 
 in the South and West, the hunters usually ride until 
 the coveys are found, and then dismount to work up the 
 scattered birds. This requires the highest type of dog. 
 He is expected to range farther and faster, and conse- 
 quently to have more endurance, than is necessary in a 
 dog which must keep within sight of a man on foot. He 
 must also be better trained, for he is at one moment re- 
 quired to range far out in search of coveys, and the next 
 he is called to work the ground closely for scattered birds. 
 I do not wish, however, to be understood as saying that 
 the dogs of the South and West are superior to those of 
 the East; being of the same blood, their natural qualities 
 are practically the same; but dogs hunted by mounted 
 sportsmen are not only required to cover more ground, 
 but should also be better trained, as they are not so 
 directly under their handler's control. For this very 
 reason, however, they are frequently not so well trained. 
 They do admirable covey work, but are less steady to 
 wing and shot, and less inclined to work ground closely 
 for scattered birds. 
 
 Bob Whites roost at night in a circle, with their heads 
 outward, as if to guard against surprise in every direc- 
 tion. Early in the morning, if the weather is pleasant, 
 they start out to feed, and it is a pleasure to watch a 
 feeding covey, and see the contented industry, and I might 
 almost say the jolly good-nature, with which they search 
 for food. Toward noon their appetites are satisfied, and 
 they will seek some comfortable place for a midday rest. 
 If the day be cold and bleak, they will stop on some sunny 
 southern exposure. If it be hot and sultry, they will 
 seek some cool and shady place. Later in the day they 
 will again start forth to forage, and, if undisturbed, will 
 generally return to their last night's roosting : place. 
 
166 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 They occasionally, but by no means always, take wing 
 and liy to the place where they propose to spend the 
 night. This, I believe, is generally done when they have 
 been recently disturbed by foxes or other animals, which 
 trail them up by scent. 
 
 Some sportsmen prefer to shoot alone, but a pleasant 
 companion, while he may diminish your bag, should more 
 than double your sport. With rare exceptions, the days 
 when I have shot alone are now overlooked and forgot- 
 ten, while those spent afield with some chosen friend are 
 treasured up as precious reminiscences, to gladden my 
 heart as I glance back along the mile-stones of the past. 
 On the other hand, some of my most exasperating recol- 
 lections are of days of so-called sport, where four or five 
 endeavored to shoot together. In shooting, as in love- 
 making, "two is company, but three is a crowd." For 
 this section, I consider the acme of pleasant sport to be 
 had by two friends, well mounted and equipped, with a 
 brace of well- trained, experienced dogs of fine natural 
 qualities, attended by an intelligent, active servant, also 
 well mounted, whose duty it is to carry the bulk of the 
 ammunition, the game and luncheon, to let down fences, 
 mark down birds, and lead up the horses when desirable. 
 This is rather a lazy method, but the man who pursues it 
 from sunrise till dark will have an abundance of exercise; 
 but while this is my preference, I have great respect for 
 the athlete who on foot keeps up with his good dogs 
 throughout the day. It is merely a matter of taste, 
 after all. 
 
 I would here suggest that every sportsman keep a diary 
 in which to enter briefly or at length, as he may prefer, 
 an account of each day's sport. He will find it a useful 
 reference and a source of pleasure. It will make him 
 more accurate in his knowledge of the habits of game 
 birds and animals, and benefit him in many other respects. 
 
BOB WHITE. 167 
 
 He should, however, avoid making himself a servant to 
 his diary, and should also, if possible, keep his record 
 accurate and correct. Exaggeration about matters pertain- 
 ing to field-sports seems to be a weakness peculiar to man, 
 but a sportsman's diary should be as truthful as human 
 nature will permit; otherwise it possesses but little real 
 value. 
 
 There is a wide difference of opinion among practical 
 sportsmen as to the proper manner of aiming at moving 
 garne. I do not know why this is. It may be that with 
 some there is more thorough sympathy and closer connec- 
 tion between the will-power and the nervous system than 
 there is with others. The former resemble the present 
 percussion fire-arms, and discharge their guns simulta- 
 neously with aiming; while the latter resemble the old 
 flint-lock pieces, and require more time between the fixing 
 of their aim and firing. The former will advocate the 
 holding on theory, the latter will believe in holding ahead, 
 when, in fact, their shooting is practically the same. Not 
 long since, I went on board a steamboat chartered by a 
 fishing-party. Among the party were two gentlemen' who 
 are by many considered to be the best duck-shots in 
 North Louisiana. The proper method of aiming at ducks 
 was discussed. One of these gentlemen was an extreme 
 advocate of holding ahead, while the other, with equal 
 earnestness, insisted that one should hold on, or nearly 
 on, the game. Of course the gun should be so pointed 
 that the line taken by the shot and that traveled by the 
 bird will intersect each other. If the bird is flying either 
 directly to or from you, and getting higher, aim above it. 
 If getting lower, aim beneath it. If crossing to the right 
 or left, aim in front just how much will depend upon 
 the shooter, and experience only can educate him. No 
 quantity of book-reading can give him this information 
 and skill. I would advise the beginner to avoid snap- 
 
168 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 shooting, and to take only the plain and open shots; to 
 take notice how he aims, and observe closely the result. 
 He should, on the other hand, avoid shooting too slowly. 
 As his skill increases, let him undertake to make the more 
 difficult shots with increased quickness, until it is with 
 him automatic to calculate while raising his gun the dis- 
 tance to the bird, and the direction and speed of its night, 
 and to aim so that the center of his charge will strike it 
 down with reasonable certainty; then he will have the 
 right to consider himself an expert in all Sports Pteri- 
 plegistic, so far as marksmanship is concerned. 
 
 The distance at which Bob Whites are killed, and the 
 percentage of successful shots, are, I believe, both gen- 
 erally overestimated by sportsmen. Fully two-thirds, if 
 not three-fourths, of the birds bagged are killed under 
 thirty yards. Nearly all the others are brought down 
 under forty yards. Those who kill frequently at sixty 
 and eighty yards, do it in their rocking-Qhairs or on 
 paper; they don't do it in the field. As to the percent- 
 age of the killing shots, where the sportsman takes all 
 reasonable chances, shooting in the brush as well as in 
 the open, I believe that 40 per cent, is a fair average. 
 Those of us who have shot a great deal, occasionally make 
 some wonderful scores; these we remember, and rate our 
 skill by them. We forget our "off" days, when we 
 would make a half-dozen consecutive misses. It is with 
 ease that I can recall my runs of fifteen or twenty birds 
 killed clean without a miss, but it requires considerable 
 mental effort to remember the days when my repeated 
 misses made even my good dogs wear an expression of 
 vexation and disgust. 
 
 Of all field-sports, the shooting of Bob Whites is the 
 most refined, and the surroundings pertain most closely 
 to civilization. The wild-fowler stands alone amid bleak 
 surroundings; the snipe-shooter must plod his way 
 
BOB WHITE. 169 
 
 through marsh and ooze; the deer-hunter, in the forest, 
 listens for the fierce cry of the savage pack, which he 
 hopes will bring the flying deer to his stand; he who 
 seeks the bear, must follow him through swamps and 
 morass, or through chaparral and canon but it is not so 
 with those who would bag Bob Whites. There the sur- 
 roundings are fields and farms. Intense excitement may 
 be wanting, but there are unbounded opportunities for 
 great pleasure and enjoyment, provided we but educate 
 ourselves to appreciate them ; and we should endeavor to 
 assist in educating others, especially the rising genera- 
 tion, who, with active limbs and bright, keen eyes, are to 
 take our places when age and infirmity will cause the 
 fields to know us no more. The boy has no hero worship 
 more devout than for the man whom he believes to be a 
 thorough sportsman. Let us try to be worthy of it, and 
 to inculcate, by act 'as well as by precept, the principles 
 of true sportsmanship in the lads around us. Let us teach 
 them to look for pleasurable excitement to field-sports, 
 rather than to the gambling-hell, the dance-hall, and the 
 saloon. If we do this much, we shall not have lived in 
 vain; and to accomplish this, I know of no better means 
 than the proper pursuit of that gallant gentleman, our 
 little friend Bob White. 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 
 
 (170) 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, SPRUCE GROUSE, 
 AND PTARMIGANS. 
 
 BY WALTER M. WOLFE (" SHOSHONE "). 
 
 OME years ago, a party of sportsmen en- 
 camped one evening on the bank of a 
 famous trout-stream in Southern Idaho. 
 For two days they had traveled northward 
 across the desert, wasting ammunition 
 upon sage -hens that were so highly flavored with the rank 
 young shoots of artemisia as to be absolutely unpal- 
 atable, and upon jack-rabbits that were also left to the 
 coyotes; but now they were in game-land, on a grassy 
 plateau, beside clear waters fringed with bear-berries and 
 quaking aspens, and all recollections of dust, fatigue, and 
 thirst were lost in anticipation of the morrow. 
 
 Daylight found us stirring, and, after a cup of coffee, 
 we started, with approved tackle, to woo the speckled 
 trout. Of course guns were left in camp; our dependence 
 was upon rod and rifle. Scarcely had we gone 100 
 yards from the tent, when from the thicket in front 
 of us came a whir, and a flock of grouse arose straight 
 in air, and then glided swiftly away, with so slight a 
 motion of the wings that they seemed propelled by some 
 invisible power. The manner of flight, and the loud 
 u cuk, cuk, cuk," were proofs positive that we had some- 
 thing new in the game line, and, as the birds dropped 
 within 200 yards, it took but a few minutes to get 
 the breech-loaders and reach the spot we had marked. 
 When within twenty yards of them they flushed, and we 
 
 (171) 
 
172 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 secured three of the covey. By the time we had brought 
 our birds to camp, I had learned three lessons to load 
 with No. 8 shot instead of with No. 6, to let the birds get 
 well under way before shooting, and, last, but not least, 
 to waste no time in searching for a lost or wounded bird. 
 If no dogs are with the party, the most careful marking 
 will be fruitless. 
 
 The preparation of the birds for the frying-pan gave 
 us an opportunity to study their distinguishing charac- 
 
 teristics. Longer than the pinnated grouse, they are 
 much less compact, and they lack the pointed neck- 
 feathers of the prairie fowl. The tail is long, wedge- 
 shaped, and contains eighteen feathers, the central pair 
 being elongated a full inch beyond the rest. The dense 
 feathering of the tarsi, extending onto the toes, the stout 
 bill, the papillous, naked skin above the eye, bordered 
 externally by feathers, are important marks in the deter- 
 mination of the species. The plumage is unique. Above, 
 a light brown (buff rather than rusty) always predomi- 
 nates over black markings, in bars rather than in spots. 
 The scapulars are marked by broad, elliptical, central spots 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 173 
 
 of white, and there are similar roundish spots upon the 
 wing-coverts. The head and neck are a brownish buff, 
 which shades into pure white on the breast. On the 
 throat are dusky spots, which, on the breast, become rich 
 brown, V-shaped lines the conspicuous and distinctive 
 markings of the bird. The feathering of the feet is a 
 pale gray. It took a shorter time to pick the birds than 
 to describe them, and with the drawing came another 
 surprise. Not a tint of sage could be detected, and the 
 crop was full of rose-fruit, wild currants, bear-berries, 
 and other mountain delicacies, thereby proving them to 
 have been dainty feeders. The flesh was light-colored, 
 tender, juicy, and we considered it the choicest of our 
 Rocky Mountain game birds. Such was my introduction 
 to the ' ' white-belly, " " willow grouse, ' ' and ' ' spotted 
 chicken" of the cow-boy and the mountaineer, the sharp- 
 tailed grouse of the sportsman, and the PediocaetespJiasi- 
 anellus columbianus of the naturalist. The name willow 
 grouse is also applied to the ptarmigans, though they are 
 generally known as white or mountain quail. Similar 
 to the male, but smaller, and -with tail-feathers shorter, 
 is the female. 
 
 The Columbian sharp-tailed grouse is common in the 
 region north of Great Salt Lake and west of the Black 
 Hills. East of the mountains, its place is taken by the 
 prairie sharp-tailed grouse, the rusty color of the latter 
 being the principal specific difference. The sharp-tail of 
 the mountains belongs to the region of the quaking aspens, 
 of purple bear-berries, and of white mountain columbine; 
 to the beautiful valleys that are to be found at an altitude 
 of 6,000 feet, between the sage-brush and the pines, 
 between the home of the cock-of-the-plains and the haunts 
 of the ptarmigans. 
 
 With the first signs of spring, long before the leaves 
 appear or the grass is green, the birds fly from the thickets 
 
174 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of pine and cedar where they have passed the winter, and 
 come down to the streams, near which they will live until 
 cold weather again drives them into winter quarters. 
 They do not arrive in families, but in groups the young 
 males first, then, one by one, the old cocks, heroes of 
 many a battle, and last, the females. No chaperon ever 
 assigned quarters to a camping-party with a greater sense 
 of propriety than is observed by the old hens in selecting 
 a roosting and feeding place for themselves and for the 
 tender pullets. All courtship must be carried on in an 
 open manner, and there must be no peeping behind the 
 scenes, so, for a few days, the sexes remain apart; but, 
 with the warm "chinook," the males tire of their life of 
 celibacy. The papillous membrane over the eye becomes 
 inflamed, and the hens look forth in admiration as their 
 lords strut around the grove in hopes of drawing some 
 mate from the seclusion of the bower; but this method 
 of securing a partner is f utile, so the oft-described dance 
 of the grouse comes next upon the programme. In their 
 parades, the males have tramped a smooth place a few 
 yards square, and this they convert into a ball-room. At 
 first only the old birds take part in the exercise. Their 
 neck-feathers are expanded, and, with wings trailed, yet 
 constantly vibrating, they commence with stately measure, 
 now on this side of the circle, now on that, yet always 
 within sight of the object of their devotion. Often they 
 pretend to fight, but their belligerent attitude is assumed 
 only for effect. When one tires, he gives a satisfied cluck, 
 and goes among the hens to secure compliments upon his 
 Chesterfieldian appearance, and then, having satisfied 
 his egotistical emotions, returns to the floor. All this 
 time the younger males survey the stamping-ground with 
 envious eyes. At length, one of the more daring makes 
 a break for a prominent position, and proceeds to emulate 
 his elders. Such an intrusion is not tolerated without a 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 175 
 
 fight, but if the youngster proves game, and stands his 
 ground, he is soon admitted as an equal, and bows to his 
 confreres and to the admiring pullets with as much 
 dignity as though he were an old hand at the business. 
 Only the cowards are kept out of the charmed ring, and 
 these, I believe, go without a mate until another spring; 
 but, like all other good things, the time of courtship 
 must come to an end. One by one the dancers stop their 
 evolutions, one by one they go to the females, and each 
 walks a few times about his inamorata; then, together, 
 the pair leaves the band, and, like Hiawatha and Minne- 
 haha, walks slowly through the forest to make a new 
 home. The dance may last for several days, as all do not 
 participate at one time; but at its close the breeding- 
 season has fairly commenced, and the few males who 
 have not secured mates remain by themselves until 
 the fall pack. Sharp-tailed grouse are rarely, if ever, 
 gregarious, and the male proves a faithful and helpful 
 husband. 
 
 As the female feels the maternal instinct, and the time 
 of incubation approaches, she selects a place for a nest 
 not in the grove of quaking aspens, not among the lordly 
 pines, nor yet among the tall, rank grasses of the upland 
 valleys, but in some thicket of wild roses, in some clump 
 of purple-blossomed arctostaphyllos, where the low-hung 
 foliage forms a perfect screen, she lays her eggs. The 
 place of her choice is not far from a stream. While she 
 is upon the nest the male is never far distant. He is a 
 warrior- sentinel, and, while I do not know that he ever 
 relieves her in her duty, he not infrequently brings her 
 some dainty morsel that he has picked up on his rambles. 
 The nest is a rude affair, constructed of coarse grasses and 
 dried leaves scratched together, sometimes in a slight 
 depression, but more frequently upon the level ground. 
 From twelve to fifteen eggs are deposited. They are 
 
176 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 olive-green in color, speckled with a rich dark-brown. 
 In size they are slightly larger than the eggs of the prairie 
 chicken, and are longer, proportionally, than are those 
 of the ruffed grouse. 
 
 Late in April in the southern Snake River country, and 
 by the middle of May or the first of June north of the 
 Cceur d' Alene, the young brood is hatched, and at this 
 time a coolness arises upon the part of the male. He does 
 not desert the hen until the young are able to fly, but he 
 remains at a respectful distance. The downy young are 
 a bright buff y yellow, the upper parts tinged reddish, and 
 coarsely marbled with black; the fore part of the head all 
 around is immaculate, and a small black spot is apparent 
 on the middle of the crown. Before they are able to fly, 
 the mother resorts to every artifice to ' prevent the dis- 
 covery of her brood. In her tricks she closely resembles 
 the partridge. As best suits her purpose, she sulks 
 through the bushes or rises and flies away with a loud 
 whir, and then, when danger is past, she rejoins her 
 offspring, and calls them together with cluck and action 
 of the barn-yard fowl. As they grow older, the rusty 
 plumage of the back becomes a darker brown, spotted and 
 barred with black and conspicuously streaked with white, 
 and the lower parts change to a dull white, spotted with 
 dusky. Not until after their first moult do the clear-cut, 
 V-shaped markings become prominent. 
 
 During May, June, and July, the chicks thrive and 
 fatten. From their mother they acquire a fearless dis- 
 position, that prompts them, when disturbed, to draw 
 themselves close to the ground rather than to seek safety 
 in flight; and so closely do they resemble in hue the 
 mountain vegetation, that it takes sharp eyes to discover 
 them when once the buffy down of infancy is lost. The 
 female, while incubating, will suffer herself to be almost 
 trodden upon before she will leave her nest, and were it 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 177 
 
 not for her sparkling eyes, she would seldom, if ever, be 
 discovered. 
 
 Were sportsmen' s ethics in the mountains what they 
 should be, the birds would not be hunted before the 
 middle of August, at which time, if the reader will, we 
 shall take a trip for them. Our weapons must be a gun 
 for grouse, a rifle for deer, bears, and other large game, 
 and rods suitable for trout or salmon, according as we 
 camp by brook, river, or lake. For this early shooting 
 a light 16-gauge breech-loader is just the thing, and the 
 shells should be loaded with 3J drams of powder and an 
 ounce of No. 10 shot. Heavier charges and No. 8, or 
 even No. 6, shot will do late in the autumn; but in sum- 
 mer shooting the birds will make only short flights, and 
 they will never rise until they are compelled to do so. 
 The straight rise and straight-away flight give the sports- 
 man ample opportunity for covering them, and his 
 trouble will be that he peppers the young and tender 
 fowl so full of pellets that they are difficult to pluck and 
 clean, and are much more liable to spoil. 
 
 Sharp-tailed grouse being one of the principal objects 
 of our expedition, we must have a team of good pointers 
 dogs that will range freely, and that, when a bird has 
 dropped, will not quickly give up the search for it. In 
 these altitudes, a setter is much more apt to get out of 
 condition than is a pointer; and the long, arid deserts 
 that must be traversed, from stream to stream, tell upon 
 the constitution of a water-loving dog. 
 
 No matter whether our route be from the south or the 
 east, we must cross a hot, dusty, sage-covered desert in 
 coming into Southern Idaho a region that tries the tem- 
 pers of the best of friends; but game-land is just ahead, 
 and the green tints and white patches that cover the 
 mountain-sides become hourly more distinct, and at last, 
 
 late in the hot summer afternoon, we reach our destination. 
 12 
 
178 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 It is a level park, four or five acres in extent, covered 
 with rich grasses that reach the backs of our horses. 
 About three sides of the camping-ground is a brook, clear 
 as crystal, save where it dashes into white spray amid 
 rocks and riffles, and cold as the snow-banks whence it 
 springs. The fourth side is a bluff, and beyond this the 
 plateau stretches away to the mountains. The brook is 
 girt with willows and other shrubbery, and upon it open 
 canons, where the trembling aspen grows and where the 
 black- tailed deer rests during the heat of the day. Peaks, 
 capped with eternal snow, seem almost within rifle-shot, 
 and just below the snow-line are forests of pine. Horses 
 are soon hobbled or picketed, the tent is set up, a string 
 of trout is caught; then supper and bed-time crowd on 
 apace, and hardly have we fallen into a good sound sleep 
 ere another morning is upon us, and we arise with the 
 matin-song of the warblers. Lest our occupations 
 become monotonous, we divide, after breakfast, into 
 three parties one with rifles to go up among the quaking 
 aspens, another to explore the stream with rod and reel, 
 arid the third, with guns and dogs, to beat the thickets 
 for birds. During our stay here it will be a poor repast 
 at which we do not sit down to broiled venison steak, 
 fried grouse, speckled trout, with an occasional teal or 
 widgeon, and to sauces of wild currants or gooseberries, 
 stewed "sar vice-berries," and sweet black-caps; but it 
 is hardly time to discuss supper, as we start out after 
 breakfast, ready for the work of the day, lightly clad in 
 suits of canvas. We wear thick-soled, laced shoes in 
 preference to boots, as we have no climbing. The grouse 
 will fly up and down stream, but not across the bluffs on 
 either side. Unless they scatter in the aspens, our path 
 will be as level as a floor. Crossing the brook, our dogs 
 range well, and we follow at an easy pace. Suddenly 
 they catch the scent, wheel, and slowly advance toward a 
 
SHARP-TAILED GKOUSE, ETC. 179 
 
 dense thicket, where they stiffen to "a dead point. There 
 is no hurry. The birds are young, and this is their first 
 interview with dog or man. They do not run or try to 
 hide just squat composedly, as though believing that we 
 could overlook them; but, alas! their cunning is fatal. 
 We get close to them before they are flushed, and then, 
 as they sail away, give them the contents of four barrels. 
 It takes but a glance to mark them down, as their flight 
 is unwavering. The dogs will get the dead; let us look 
 after the cripples. There is one that is winged; it no 
 longer resorts to its old tactics, but hurries away, as fast 
 as its legs will carry it, to the shelter of some tussock. 
 Another is crawling under some leaves, and its brown 
 back is so deceptive that we look twice before we can be 
 sure of our eyes. 
 
 Five birds are bagged, and now we hear the cluck of 
 the mother as she calls her brood about her. Once more 
 we advance. This time they are more wary, but still we 
 get within thirty yards before they rise; and now the 
 dogs have a stronger scent, which they follow for some 
 distance. They flush a covey of males, who are in the 
 vicinity of the females and chickens, though they do not 
 associate with them. They are more easily disturbed, 
 rise higher, and fly faster than did the others, though 
 they are not difficult to hit, nor do they carry away the 
 lead when they are wounded. A very slight injury brings 
 them to the ground, and the only trouble is that, when 
 winged, they go farther than do the young to find a 
 place of concealment. 
 
 There would be no sense in killing more birds than 
 we can dispose of in camp, so we let a dozen suffice, and 
 return to camp before the fishermen have fairly begun 
 their work. 
 
 Such is hunting the sharp-tailed grouse; and just so 
 numerous and so tame will they be found in all these 
 
180 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 upland valleys. Up to this time their food has been of 
 the most tempting and delicate kind, and this makes 
 them a treat for the epicure; but, unfortunately, they are 
 very tender birds, and, no matter how carefully packed, 
 will not bear transportation as well as do most similar 
 species. 
 
 With September, berries and green shoots fail, and 
 then they eat cedar -berries, pine-nuts, and other articles 
 of similar flavor, until their flesh reminds one of spruce 
 gum; but this taste is not disagreeable, nor do they ever 
 become so saturated with the rank essential oils that are 
 to be found in their winter food as do the sage-hens. 
 
 Snow falls early in these mountains, and, with the 
 first squall, there is another change in their mode of life. 
 All the birds, old and young, male and female, assemble 
 in large packs, and select some place for passing the 
 winter. They do not come x f rom different sections in a 
 migratory wave, but those families that have spent the 
 summer here and there along some stream, all assemble 
 near its head- waters and choose a camping-ground. This 
 is generally among the evergreens, where they can find 
 food and shelter beneath the decumbent branches. The 
 winter plumage now appears, and, though the birds grow 
 exceedingly wild, they will not allow themselves to be 
 separated when once the pack has been formed. The males 
 appear much more gray in winter than in summer, and 
 so nearly are the Y-shaped markings obliterated that the 
 male and the female seem to belong to different species, 
 especially as the sexes, when in the pack, do not mingle, 
 but each keeps its own side of the yard. During the 
 winter season they roost upon the pine-branches, and on 
 very cold days, unless a storm is threatening, prefer not 
 to leave their perches. At this time the usually wary 
 bird may be shot from the boughs, and sometimes three 
 or four shots may be fired before the flock flies away. 
 
SHAKP-TAILED GKOUSE, ETC. 181 
 
 Such instances are, however, very rare. They are usually 
 off with the first sign of danger, but they will not go so 
 far that they can not easily return to the same perch that 
 they left. The pot-hunter can now secure all the birds 
 he can carry by driving them away from the yard, and 
 then concealing himself in a thicket. The birds will 
 return at dusk, if not before, and all night long the 
 hunter may blaze away among the trees, and thus secure 
 a large bag. After dark the grouse will scarcely change 
 position, only move from limb to limb as they are dis- 
 turbed by flashes from below, or by the fall of some slain 
 companion from a higher branch. This murderous 
 method is worthy of an Indian, but not of any sports- 
 man. 
 
 In common with Pedioccetes phasianellus campestris 
 of the prairies, the sharp- tail of the mountains burrows 
 in the snow, and can travel quite rapidly beneath its 
 surface when it imagines itself in danger from an enemy. 
 In the same way, if the thicket does not afford sufficient 
 protection from a storm, it buries itself until the bliz- 
 zard is over. Once in awhile, a sudden freeze forms such 
 a crust over the soft snow that the birds are imprisoned; 
 they will then make long tunnels, in hope of escape, 
 though sometimes they perish in the attempt. 
 
 The prairie sharp -tail is found in our northern tier of 
 States and Territories, between Lake Superior and the 
 eastern slope of the Rocky Mountains. It may be found 
 in Western Nebraska and in Eastern Wyoming and Colo- 
 rado, as far south as the New Mexico line; but as the 
 prairie chicken increases with the advent of the farmer, 
 so does the sharp-tail disappear; and as the well- watered 
 valleys where it thrives are the first lands to be home- 
 steaded by the settler, it is now a rarity, excepting in 
 Eastern Montana and Dakota. The rusty or ochraceous 
 ground-color of the upper parts is the most apparent 
 
182 ' UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 specific difference, and the eggs of the prairie sharp-tail 
 are a trifle shorter than are those of her mountain sister. 
 It can not be supposed that during the whole of our 
 excursion we devote ourselves to the sharp-tail. Guides 
 and cow-boys have told us strange tales about the ' ' fool- 
 hen," that lives among the pine and spruce, above the 
 white-leaved poplars, close to the snow-belt. If such a 
 bird exists, we must find it, and hence a hunt for the 
 
 SPRUCE GROUSE. 
 
 This bird belongs to the genus Dendragapus, which 
 is well represented in the Northern United States and 
 throughout British America. The Dendragapi are divided 
 into two families. The first of these is distinguished by 
 a tail of twenty feathers, and the sides of the neck are, 
 in the male, with distinct inflatable air-sacs. Jts mem- 
 bers live in the Far West, and are the dusky grouse, with 
 the varieties known as the sooty grouse and Richardson's 
 grouse. The members of the second family have but six- 
 teen tail-feathers, and the males have no apparent air- 
 sac on the side of the neck. To it belongs the Canada 
 grouse, or spruce partridge, of the Northeast, and Frank- 
 lin' s grouse of Northern Montana, Idaho, and the Cas- 
 cade Ranges. Throughout the West these species are 
 known, indiscriminately, as spruce grouse, pine grouse, 
 black grouse, mountain grouse, gray grouse, hill-cock, 
 and fool-hen, the last term being the one most commonly 
 in use. All varieties of the dusky grouse resemble the 
 typical Dendragapus obscurus in appearance and habit. 
 Above, they are a dusky gray or dull blackish (a blue- 
 black in the sooty grouse), usually more or less mottled, 
 especially on the wings; tail, black, generally with a 
 broad terminal band of gray; lower parts, chiefly a plain 
 slate-gray, more or less varied with white on the flanks. 
 The female is distinguished by faint buffy or brownish 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 183 
 
 shades upon the upper parts, and the downy young differ 
 from all other grouse in their pale, chestnut-brown color, 
 mottled with black, forming six irregular stripes down 
 the rump. As the spruce grouse commonly rears two 
 broods in a season, the young of the first brood will be 
 found to have attained almost their full growth by the 
 middle of August. Where shall we look for them? They 
 wander more from day to day than do the sharp-tails. 
 In the morning and at evening, the young birds may be 
 found near some mountain brook. They are now free 
 from parental care, and, during August and September, 
 afford first-rate sport, and act like game birds. They lie 
 well to the dogs, but will not allow the shooter to walk 
 over them 'before they can be flushed. Flying swiftly, 
 but not far, they afford good wing- shots. They are, 
 moreover, in best condition for the table. Again, the 
 brood will not allow itself to be scattered for any length 
 of time. Their days are spent away up among the pines. 
 An hour or two before sunset, they come down to the 
 stream to drink, and remain in the underbrush all night, 
 returning to the mountains soon after sunrise. They 
 travel on the wing, and sportsmen who lie in wait for 
 them- at the opens which they are obliged to cross are 
 usually rewarded with good bags. 
 
 For hunting them we shall load with 1-J ounces of No. 
 8 shot; and high hunting-boots will be a convenience, as 
 we may have streams to wade. We shall certainly have 
 to clamber over rocks, and make our way through thick- 
 ets, before we find them at their midday meal; but in 
 this exhilarating atmosphere such tramps are not hard 
 work, and as we climb higher and higher, and, now and 
 again, turn to get views of the green hills, with snow- 
 clad crests, of timber-lined canons opening upon the 
 desert of a pearly haze a boundless sea, upon w r hose 
 breast the distant purple peaks seem inverted like islands 
 
184 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 in mid-ocean, and where every mirage pictures a tropical 
 oasis we forget our quest, and are lost in admiration of 
 the scene. The sportsman who will not draw vigor and 
 inspiration from such a view has no business in this 
 country. He may be a piece of walking mechanism, but 
 he lacks a soul. Up we go! The smoke of the camp-fire 
 fades in the distance. Clouds float about us, and at 
 length, as conquerors, we tread the carpet of fragrant 
 pine-needles. Not here, where trees are far apart, but in 
 some dense thicket, where the stunted conifers try in 
 vain to lift their heads among their stately elders, will 
 we find the objects of our search. Perchance our pointers 
 will be of little service. No already they catch a scent, 
 but do not seem to be able to locate it. Probably it is 
 from some old bird that is perched in a tree. There is a 
 low clump where we may be successful. The dogs come 
 up against the wind, and stand. How the chickens look 
 at us, and ruffle up their neck-feathers as though longing 
 for a fight! Get ready, for there is no telling how soon 
 they will fly. Up they rise, circling as they go, and then 
 dart noiselessly for a tree, where they will remain long 
 enough for us to get a sitting shot. Notice how closely 
 they resemble the brown excrescences on the weather- 
 beaten trunk, and then pick out the lowest bird, and 
 shoot up, so as not to frighten them. That was soon 
 done. The bag is heavier now. Let us retrace our steps 
 for an instant to find the bird whose scent the dogs lost. 
 It is probably some moulting male, that seeks retirement 
 at this season. The moulting season lasts from July 
 until September, and Franklin's grouse moults earlier 
 than does its dusky brother. 
 
 We soon tire of walking up and down hill upon the 
 slippery needles, so we shall go down to a coppice -guarded 
 spring and discuss our lunch; but if you are a stranger 
 in the mountains, and are interested in natural history, I 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 185 
 
 would advise you to keep ears attent and eyes open. 
 Down in the tall grass, what is the clucking that we hear? 
 Steal softly up, and see the hen with her second brood. 
 Ah! she spies us, but does not appear alarmed on that 
 account. The little ones crouch down, and eye us sus- 
 piciously, while the old lady continues her clucking 
 and scratching as composedly as though we were miles 
 away. Approaching nearer, she ruffles her feathers, and 
 acts like a barn-yard fowl under similar circumstances. 
 Can they be domesticated? Yes; the dusky grouse 
 breeds in confinement, and could the hen be constantly 
 surrounded by her brood, she would never think of flying 
 away. The young birds are frequently captured and 
 tamed by the cow-boys, but when the cattle move down 
 from the mountains in the autumn, the young birds are 
 generally fried, or are turned loose to return to their old 
 haunts. Here, in a grassy tussock, is a nest containing 
 seven eggs, creamy, and sprinkled with a chocolate brown. 
 At least fifteen eggs would have been found had we 
 located the nest in the early spring. 
 
 Early in April is heard the ventriloquistic love-call of 
 the amorous male. It is made by the gular air-sacs, and 
 is of a softer tone than the boom of the pinnated grouse. 
 It is preceded by a prolonged whir. At this time the 
 cock presents a striking appearance. His air-sacs are a 
 bright orange, plumage metallic in lustre, and he spreads 
 a gorgeous, fan-like tail upon some lofty bough, preferring 
 a pedestal to the vulgar ground. To these charms, rather 
 than to ball-room accomplishments, does he trust, and, 
 while not quarrelsome, he will, in wooing season, fight 
 longer and harder than will the sharp-tail. After the 
 broods break up, they never form a winter pack, as do 
 the sharp -tails. Their habits of feeding keep them soli- 
 tary, and in the depth of winter they are much more 
 wary than at any other time. They will remain for days 
 
186 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 on a pine-tree, getting both food and moisture from the 
 lance-like leaves. When disturbed, they do not rise, but 
 drop almost to the ground, and then glide away in silence, 
 their flight at this time being wonderfully swift. They 
 do not deserve the name "fool-hen," which comes from 
 the refusal of the female to desert her chicks and from 
 the unwillingness of the moulting male to vacate his 
 perch. 
 
 The sooty grouse, locally known as the blue grouse, 
 is found throughout the mountain region north and west 
 of the falls of the Yellowstone River. It is the common 
 grouse of the coast ranges between the Columbia River 
 and Alaska. This bird does not love to travel. If he 
 leaves an open valley on the approach of winter, he does 
 not, as many imagine, desert the country; he simply 
 seeks the top of some tall fir or pine tree, where, for 
 months, his diet consists entirely of buds, tender twigs, 
 and needles. Although the sooty grouse lives at a high 
 altitude and in a cold country, it is partial to sunlight 
 and warmth, and, in almost every case, will be found on 
 the hill-side having a southern exposure, and sheltered 
 from piercing blasts of the north wind. Neither does it 
 prefer the seclusion of a forest and the gloom of heavy 
 timber. It requires a clearing, or else scattered pine or 
 tamarack trees at the edge of the dense timber. This 
 bird does not u pack" in winter, and I doubt if, as a 
 rule, families remain together during cold weather. A 
 pair will be found, or a female with a late brood, but the 
 sooty grouse is by noineans inclined to be social. They 
 succeed in concealing themselves more effectively than 
 do most of their congeners. Instinct teaches them to 
 perch amid the most dense foliage, and if they are discov- 
 ered seated upon a naked branch, they crouch lengthwise 
 upon it, and so succeed in concealing themselves from 
 aught but the closest observation. I have never found 
 
SHAKP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 187 
 
 the nest of the sooty grouse among quaking aspen tim- 
 ber or among the willows and tall grasses near an upland 
 brook. The favorite spot is beneath the wide-spreading 
 roots of a hill-side pine, and 1 have found one nest remote 
 from heavy timber, beneath a mountain mahogany. 
 While the sharp-tail prefers grassy slopes, the blue 
 grouse haunts the rocks. The males, especially, look for 
 rocky points during the season of incubation, and one 
 and another will perch upon a commanding pinnacle, 
 and while ostensibly acting as a sentinel, will court the 
 admiration of all observers. As a rule, nine to twelve 
 eggs are found in a set, and the period of incubation is 
 eighteen days. The young chicks remain with their hen 
 for a week or two, in close proximity to the place where 
 they were hatched, and when they get sufficiently strong 
 to make a short flight, their mother takes them down to 
 the willow-fringed stream. Their food, at this tim e, is much 
 like that of the sharp- tailed grouse, though they are 
 rather more partial to insects, and will wander away from 
 the thickets to some grass-grown park in search of grass- 
 hoppers. Later in the season, their food consists of ber- 
 ries, and they are especially fond of the seeds of the 
 helianthus. While with the young, the note of the hen 
 is very much like the cackling of a common barn -yard 
 fowl. 
 
 August comes, and now the tyliee cullaw-cullaw (the 
 chief-bird of the Indians) is in prime condition, and equally 
 interesting to gourmand and sportsman. Two months 
 later the flesh will begin to assume a resinous flavor, and 
 by the 1st of January par-boiling with onions will fail 
 to take away the taste of spruce gum. Rare sport it is, 
 in the bracing morning atmosphere of early autumn, to 
 shoulder a twelve-gauge gun, and with a good dog beat up 
 the thickets about a mountain brook, or skirt the heavier 
 pine timber of the uplands. Hunt the coolest places, is 
 
188 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the rule, and in the heat of the day you will have the best 
 luck almost at the water's edge. In fact, if you are after 
 trout, you will often want to temporarily exchange the 
 split bamboo for a gun, and if you are after grouse, you 
 wall long for your rod, that you may try some specially 
 inviting pool or riffle, upon which you come most unex- 
 pectedly. The birds never outgrow their disposition to 
 hide, and the smallest tussock or clump of leaves serves 
 their purpose. They lie well to the dog, and without a 
 dog you will almost step upon them before becoming 
 aware of their proximity; but when they rise, there is 
 nothing to equal their swift, strong, straight-away flight. 
 If a brood is carefully marked down, they may all be 
 brought to bag, as nothing but a rock wall will make them 
 vary their line of direction. In spring, and until the 
 young are able to fly, the Indians of the Northwest have 
 a superstitious horror of killing or eating a sooty grouse. 
 Why the bird should, at this particular season, be espe- 
 cially sacred to the Great Spirit, I can not tell, but it is 
 certain that the Indian believes that ill-luck and disaster 
 will follow the slayer of a newly mated or breeding ' 'chief - 
 bird;" but once the game season opens, their conscien- 
 tious scruples vanish in an instant, and any means of 
 extermination, fair or foul, are legitimate with them. 
 Some of the coast Indians dry the birds in the sun, or 
 smoke them for a season, and, while the flesh is never 
 thoroughly cured, as is venison, an Indian's stomach can 
 stand a meal from this half-prepared pemican long after 
 it is too "high" for a civilized tourist. The sportsman 
 in going for grouse can not find all kinds in any one loca- 
 tion. If he takes the Union Pacific route, he will find 
 himself in the region of the Columbian sharp-tailed grouse. 
 If he travel over the northern route, very few sharp-tails, 
 but plenty of sooty and dusky grouse, will find their way 
 to his bag as he moves westward from the main chain of 
 
SHARP-TAILED GROUSE, ETC. 189 
 
 the Rocky Mountains, and, nearing the coast, Franklin's 
 grouse will become abundant. The Canadian line would 
 give him plenty of sport with ptarmigans. Franklin' s 
 grouse lives at a lower altitude than does the dusky 
 grouse, and prefers a sandy, pine-barren region. To this 
 species the term " fool-hen " may be properly applied, for 
 it will almost put its head in a noose, and, when disturbed, 
 it does not trust to its wings, but sneaks through the 
 underbrush or runs to cover as fast as its legs can carry 
 it. The males are occasionally gregarious, but a polyg- 
 amous family is the exception and not the rule. 
 
 The specific difference between this bird and other 
 Western members of the genus Dendragapus is found in 
 the tail, which has but sixteen feathers, and in the absence 
 of the air-sac on the side of the neck. Both sexes are 
 barred above with black and grayish, but beneath, there 
 is a great difference. In the male, black predominates, 
 barred with white, while the ground-color in the female 
 is a rusty white or buff, barred with black. In the male, 
 the tail is black to the extreme tip ; in the female, the tail- 
 feathers are tipped with a narrow band of white. The 
 eggs are buff, spotted with dark-brown, and are consider- 
 ably smaller than those of the sooty grouse. 
 
 Franklin's grouse is more easily domesticated than are 
 any other birds of the family. Often cow-boys and sheep- 
 men, who summer in the grass-covered upland valleys, 
 bring in a nest of young chicks to the camp. The little 
 strangers soon get over their natural timidity. They do 
 not attempt to hide, nor yet to escape, so there is no use 
 in clipping their wings, and they readily learn to recognize 
 and seek the hand that feeds them. 
 
 I once attempted to form a "happy family." I built 
 a little stockade of willows just outside my cabin, and, as 
 a nucleus for an aviary, put therein a pair of burrowing 
 owls about two weeks old. My next acquisition was a 
 
190 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 pair of young grouse. As the owls slept all day and the 
 chickens slept all night, peace reigned supreme. At even- 
 ing, when I returned to camp, after the day's ride over 
 the range, and fed my pets, they would all eat from 
 my fingers, and the only sign of a quarrel would be when 
 three of the birds would unite to rob the lucky fourth of 
 some especially tempting morsel; but, in a most unfort- 
 unate hour, I discovered a pair of Western red-tailed 
 hawks up the canon. They were circling above a nest 
 in an old pine- tree, and I instantly made up my mind that 
 another ornithological prize was mine. I threw the bridle 
 over the horse's head, and commenced to climb, and a 
 hard forty-foot pull it was, but I met with no serious 
 trouble until almost within reach of the nest. "Then 
 the trouble began to brew." It did not brew long. It 
 naturally burst, and those old hawks fanned my back 
 with their powerful wings, and flew into my face with 
 such fury that I was about ready to slide down as grace- 
 fully as possible. My wrists still bear the scars received 
 from the talons of the mother bird. But my blood was 
 up. I could hear the young hissing in the nest just 
 above my head, so I made a last effort, obtained a foot- 
 hold, and being in position to fight, soon had the melan- 
 choly and irate parents flapping twenty feet above me. 
 The young birds were as large as full-grown prairie fowl, 
 and well able to fly if they had possessed sufficient sense 
 to leave the nest. As it was, they fought most viciously, 
 but my handkerchief bound one and a piece of string the 
 other, and the success of the expedition was assured. The 
 old hawks followed me back to the cabin, though they 
 were content to remain at a respectful distance. I clipped 
 the wings of the captives, and put them in durance vile. 
 Chicks and owls gave them a wide berth, and I thought 
 I discerned signs of an approaching storm, so I gave 
 them a hearty meal, to which the hawks did full justice, 
 
SHARP-TAILED GKOUSE, ETC. 191 
 
 and then settled themselves for an after-dinner nap. I 
 offered them food again at night, but the red-tails seemed 
 still satisfied with the memories of their noonday repast. 
 All ate heartily the next morning, and I rode away think- 
 ing the aviary the success of the season; but alas for 
 the best laid plans of mice and men ! I came home at 
 night, and no grouse were to be found. Feathers and 
 bones told the tale. My little owls in the corner were 
 hissing in a terrified manner, and those treacherous hawks, 
 with bloody beaks and breasts, were dozing as tranquilly 
 as doves. It was a time for the display of justice, not of 
 wrath, so I searched the cabin for the oldest, strongest 
 pipe that ever afforded solace to a cow-boy, and upon my 
 knife-blade I scraped a few grains of the black, moist 
 nicotine; then I reached into the cage, and caught Master 
 Hawk by both legs before he had time to scratch, and, 
 as he opened his mouth to protest against such unwar- 
 rantable impudence, drew the blade across his tongue, 
 pulled out my watch, and took notes. In fifteen seconds 
 he acted as though he had taken a powerful emetic; then 
 he commenced to tremble violently, and in fifty seconds 
 was upon his back gasping. Then his eyes began to glaze 
 and his legs to stiffen, and in two minutes from the time 
 of taking the dose he was a dead bird. His companion 
 traveled the same road. That night the lonely owls bur- 
 rowed their way out, and so ended my experience as a 
 professional collector .of live-stock. The dusky grouse, 
 sooty grouse, and Franklin's grouse can, I believe, be 
 successfully introduced into the mountain regions of the 
 East, north of the Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. The 
 Green Mountains, the Adirondacks, and the peaks of 
 Maine would prove most home-like resorts for Frank- 
 lin's grouse, and its sooty brother, that does not like to 
 wander, would soon become contented with the rocky 
 slopes of the Blue Ridge. They can obtain almost the 
 
192 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 same food in the East that they have in the West, and the 
 experiment of transplanting these game birds into regions 
 where the ruffed grouse is almost extinct is worth trying. 
 As Eastern fishermen whip the salmon-pools of Quebec 
 and Nova Scotia, so the opening of the great inter-mount- 
 ain and coast range region by the Canadian Pacific Rail- 
 way should give our American sportsmen the desire to 
 wander more widely, and become better acquainted with 
 the grouse and other game birds of the Northwest, which 
 are as well worthy their attention as are the woodcock, 
 quail, snipe and partridge of the Atlantic seaboard. 
 
 PTARMIGANS. 
 
 The ptarmigan belongs to British America and to 
 Alaska, although it is found in the United States among 
 the higher Sierra, Rocky, and Cascade Ranges. As Doc- 
 tor Grinnell says: u Their tracks in the snow and their 
 feathers are more often seen than the birds themselves." 
 But two species are to be found in this country. One, 
 the black-tailed or willow ptarmigan (Lag opus], is a 
 rare winter immigrant, coming down from the Far 
 North to the heights of the Adirondacks and of Maine. 
 In these regions it may be found in mid -winter in packs, 
 but by March it has taken its departure for its Arctic 
 home. The second species is found upon the Alpine 
 summits of the Rocky Mountains, thence westward to 
 the higher ranges of Oregon, Washington,- and British 
 Columbia. It is the white-tailed ptarmigan, white 
 or mountain quail, and is known to science as Lago- 
 pus leucurus. The fact that their habitat, except 
 when they are feeding, is above the timber-line, makes 
 them, although neither wild nor wary, a rare bird for the 
 sportsman to bag; but the trouble that one must neces- 
 sarily take to secure them does not pay in a region where 
 spruce and sharp-tailed grouse are abundant. It is a 
 
SHAEP-TAILED GKOUSE, ETC. 
 
 193 
 
 very singular fact that, excepting in winter, no two 
 si3ortsmen will give the same description of the white- 
 tailed ptarmigan. This is because the bird, from March 
 to September, is in a continual moult. In winter, the 
 only distinction in plumage between the two species is to 
 be found in the black tail and primaries of the willow 
 ptarmigan. The white-tailed ptarmigan 
 is the smallest of its genus. In size, it 
 is between the common quail and ruif ed 
 grouse; in shape, it agrees with the 
 partridge, especially as to head and 
 tail. The toes are partially feathered 
 in summer, and in winter are com- 
 pletely covered with a fine white down. 
 Four times in each 
 year does the bird 
 change its appear- 
 ance. In winter it is a 
 pure white, and so 
 thick is the covering 
 of feathers that it ap-| 
 pears to be quite a| 
 good-sized chicken, 
 but when killed it is 
 found to be a very 
 small wild fowl. In 
 July, although it may be in tirst-rate condition, it may 
 appear quite poor. The upper parts of the male are a yel- 
 lowish gray, coarsely blurred with black, and the breast is 
 a dirty white, cross-barred with black. The whole appear- 
 ance is as though the ptarmigan needed a bath to show 
 off his true colors; but this is not the case, for he 
 indulges in a snow-bath several times each day, taking 
 to a dry, northerly snow-bank as naturally as does a 
 domestic fowl to a dusty road. The female looks very 
 
 13 
 
194 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 much like the male, but is smaller. The spring and 
 autumn moults give the male a more uniform coat of 
 reddish-gray, in which are irregular black patches, and 
 the head and neck are more regularly barred. . At this 
 season the female is somewhat more tawny than is the 
 male, and she always moults before he does. These 
 changing colors most wonderfully adapt themselves to 
 the storm-beaten rocks among which the birds are found 
 in summer; to the snows where they make their winter 
 home. The nest is made of mosses or lichens, and is gen- 
 erally sheltered by some overhanging rock. In it are 
 deposited ten or twelve eggs buff, sprinkled with a lus- 
 trous black. While upon the nest the female will not 
 leave the eggs for any enemy, nor will the male hesitate 
 to do battle in behalf of his mate, and this devotion and 
 bravery are exhibited until the young brood leaves its 
 parents. 
 
 In the latter part of the summer, the best time for 
 hunting them, the white- tailed ptarmigans will be found 
 in small coveys at the upper timber-line, where there are 
 a few stunted pines and heather, within easy distance of 
 snow on one side, and of twigs and berries on the other. 
 They are very tame, and, if alarmed, will fly but a few 
 yards, hence a very light charge of powder and shot 
 will suffice for their destruction; but I doubt if dogs are 
 an assistance in hunting them. Generally they cluck so 
 loudly that there is no trouble in finding their location. 
 If we fire into the flock for the purpose of alarming them, 
 they will run to cover rather than take to flight. If the 
 snow is of any depth, they will burrow in it, and so, 
 almost instantly, sink out of sight. Their burrows are 
 quite deep, and in this respect they differ from the tun- 
 nels of the sharp-tailed grouse. As, in autumn, the 
 snow-line descends the mountain, 1 the ptarmigan goes 
 with it. The lower he goes the more wild does he become, 
 
SHAKP-TAILED GKOUSE, ETC. 195 
 
 so that in winter it is almost impossible to get a shot at 
 him. The flesh, too, has a piny flavor, and is very bit- 
 ter. Owing to the shyness of the bird, and to its method 
 of flight, the hunter at this season should load as though 
 his campaign were to be for ducks, and should never use 
 shot finer than No. 6. 
 
 With the mountain goat, the ptarmigan is one of the 
 trophies of those sportsmen who isolate themselves from 
 even camp-fire comforts, and who are willing alone to 
 climb the lofty peaks and cross the barren ridges that 
 form the mighty continental divide; and he who has 
 filled his bag with ptarmigans has, in this country, at 
 least, nothing in the bird line left to satisfy his ambitious 
 ardor. 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 
 
 BY E. HOUGH, 
 
 Of "Forest and Stream" 
 
 LOVER- SHOOTING, as a sport, yearly 
 assumes a greater importance and attracts a 
 more general attention. Writers of the first 
 and second quarters of the century have 
 recorded that this bird, then plentiful to 
 the last degree all through the mid-continent, was not 
 pursued by the sportsman, on account of its insignifi- 
 cance, and was in danger only from market-shooters, who 
 killed it for sale. To-day, the scarcity of the grouse, the 
 quail, and other formerly abundant birds is causing 
 shooters who love the breezy uplands to cast about them 
 for new or practicable sport; and since the plover may 
 be said to fit a vacant season in the shooting-year, there 
 is a considerable and an additional interest taken in it as a 
 game bird. As a pastime, plover-shooting can not be called 
 wild, laborious, difficult, or dangerous, and it is there- 
 fore lacking in much that appeals to the hardy hunter's 
 nature; yet it has some peculiar and not uninteresting 
 features of its own a certain individual fascination, quite 
 capable of winning its own blind followers and devotees, 
 and that all-abiding and all-worthy charm of any sport 
 or occupation which calls us away from the desky and 
 dusty city, out into the wide fields and under the clear 
 sky. 
 
 I did never like a lawyer's brief, with long "Whereas" 
 and "Therefore," nor did I ever fancy a book full of 
 
 (197) 
 
198 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 learned disquisition. The unnamed flowers are the 
 sweetest, the unclassified bird has the sweetest note of 
 the air, and the unclassifying writer or reader the freest 
 sweep of the wing, be that of fact or fancy. The sports- 
 man, however, is naturally half naturalist. This is what 
 Audubon says for us about our bird: 
 
 " Family CTiaradriince plovers. Bill, short, straight, 
 subcylindrical, and obtusely pointed; upper mandible, 
 with dorsal line straight for one-half its length, after- 
 ward, convex; nasal groove, bare, extended along two- 
 thirds the length of the bill. Head, moderate size, rather 
 compressed, rounded in front. Eyes, large. Neck, rather 
 short. Body, ovate, rather full. Plumage, soft, blended, 
 somewhat compact above. Wings, long, pointed, with 
 the first quill longest. Tail, of moderate length, some- 
 what rounded, or with middle feathers projecting; of 
 twelve feathers. Nest, on ground, shallow; eggs, gen- 
 erally four, large, pyriform, spotted. Young, densely 
 covered with down, and able to walk immediately after 
 birth." 
 
 In the above description, it is probable that the 
 average sportsman will remember, out of his own experi- 
 ence, only the rounded head, the large eye, the short 
 neck, and the "ovate, rather full" body, noticeable as 
 salient form-features in the species of plover familiar to 
 himself. When it comes to the matter of coloration, 
 there is wide divergence in the plover types, and in many 
 cases the scientific description will not call to mind any 
 bird familiar to the inland or Western shooter. Audubon 
 gives seven species of the genus Charadrius, which may 
 be briefly mentioned as the black-bellied plover, the 
 golden plover, the Rocky Mountain plover, the killdeer 
 plover, the Wilson's plover, the American ring plover, 
 and the piping plover. With the exception of the golden 
 plover, none of these birds is of such habits, or such 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 199 
 
 habitat, as to deserve our attention herein. We will bear 
 the golden plover in mind. 
 
 When we have gone through all the species which the 
 scientists permit us to call plovers, we shall not yet have 
 found the bird which, of all plovers, or so-called plovers, 
 is perhaps the most generally known the "upland 
 plover." I doubt not that many a shooter who has 
 looked down upon the brown, striated back of this beauti- 
 ful bird, as it lay before him on the grass, has thought 
 how like it looked to the jacksnipe; it will perhaps sur- 
 prise him to know, however, that, according to the scien- 
 tists, the upland plover is not a plover at all, but a snipe! 
 This, although everybody knows that our bird keeps as 
 far away from water as it possibly can! We must, how- 
 ever, meekly submit to our friends the scientists, and 
 read as below: 
 
 Family Scolopacince snipes. Genus 1, Tringa; 
 species Bartramia. ' ' Bartramian sandpiper ' ' ( Audu- 
 bon). ' ' Bartram' s tatler ' ' (Baird, Brewer, and Ridgway). 
 Bartramia longicanda (Less.). 
 
 We have now located our second plover, and may call 
 it, if we wish to be prim about it, the Bartramian sand- 
 piper, or Bartram' s tatler. After this, we may, if we 
 wish, forget all about Mr. Bartram' s connection with 
 our bird, or our bird' s connection with the snipe family, 
 and pass on to the more practical consideration of our 
 narrowed theme, which will have to do with the two 
 birds which the upland shooter most often meets, and 
 which will afford him the best sport at plover-shooting. 
 
 THE GOLDEN PLOVER (CTiaradrius marmoratus}. 
 This, the more important of our two birds, is doubtless 
 familiar to most upland shooters of the West and South, 
 and certainly, if one has ever seen it, he will not readily 
 forget the fact, for it is a singularly beautiful and stylish 
 bird. The clean-cut lines of the head and neck, the deep 
 
200 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 black of the breast, and the golden mottle of the back are 
 the main remembrances one brings away from the side of 
 a flock of golden plovers as they stalk, tall and erect, or 
 run swiftly across a field. Seen at a distance, the birds 
 look nearly as large as pigeons, and their appearance is 
 alert, wary, and truly game-like. On the ground, swift, 
 bright and self-possessed; on the wing, rapid, erratic 
 now sweeping close along the ground in long and loose 
 array, and now glancing with a hundred golden gleams 
 as they turn in serried rank against the shafts of the 
 morning sun they are fit subjects for the artist's pencil, 
 and worthy incentives for the sportsman's enthusiasm. 
 They are birds of the fair, warm fields, of the blue sky, of 
 the gentle breath of spring or early fall. They come first 
 when the frost has left the air, when the grass is growing 
 green, and when the leaves on the hedges are bigger than 
 a squirrel's ear. They come again in the fall, when sum- 
 mer has just finished the rounding out of her golden 
 work, and before the chill winds have laid their blight 
 upon the land. Golden with the promise of the spring, 
 and golden with the fruition of the summer. I know not 
 why we should not love and cherish them, and hold them 
 very worthy of good place and proper sportsman's 
 handling. 
 
 The golden plover is preeminently a migratory bird, 
 and wide, indeed, is the range it covers with the sweep 
 of its bold and sinewy wing. Its loose and scattered 
 bands are often seen far out at sea, and it still seems per- 
 fectly at home and perfectly confident. It goes to the 
 Bahamas and to Bermuda, is found in the West Indies, 
 in Central and South America, and even in Paraguay and 
 Chili. It is seen at Sitka and the Northwest Coast, and 
 indeed over most of the British Possessions. It breeds 
 far to the north, on the Arctic Coast, or on the islands of 
 the Arctic Sea. We who hear its "whit! whit- whit! " 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 201 
 
 in May, do not stop to reflect on the long journey ahead 
 of our cheerful traveler; yet by June the young birds 
 are hatched, and by August or September we may see 
 the armies going south, seeking, it may be, the pampas 
 of South America, or some unknown Andean plains 
 untouched by foot of man. The migration to the North 
 is just at the heels of winter, and the birds reach us in 
 Indiana and Illinois just after the duck season has closed, 
 and when the jacksnipe are first beginning to grow scarcer. 
 Their time depends much upon the season, but the 1st of 
 May can be roughly called their date. Usually they 
 appear in good numbers along in April. They pass on 
 north gradually, and as warm weather comes on, they 
 disappear, after affording the shooter perhaps three, four, 
 or even six weeks of sport. Before the birds have left 
 the latitude of the States named, they have paired, and 
 the females are often heavy with eggs. It is unquestion- 
 ably wrong to shoot them then, but as we have not any 
 laws adequately protecting them, that must be a question 
 for each shooter's own conscience. May all our con- 
 sciences grow tender. 
 
 In the fall flight, the birds do not look as they did 
 when going north. They have lost their brave black 
 breast-plate, and have taken on a paler and more mot- 
 tled color. This is noticeable not only in the young birds, 
 but also in the old ones. The brilliant black of the 
 breast is peculiar to the breeding-season, and the bird is 
 far more beautiful in spring-time, when it has on the 
 livery of love. We should respect this livery, and let 
 the little creatures love on and rear their families in 
 peace. That is all there is to life, and there is in all 
 Nature a sympathetic voice of protest against intrusion 
 or destruction then. 
 
 There are three ways of shooting the golden plover, 
 the latter of which alone is to be held effective and 
 
202 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 sportsmanlike by flight-shooting, by stalking with a 
 team, and by shooting over decoys. Flight-shooting in 
 the North rarely affords any sport, unless by mere acci- 
 dent. On rare occasions, the gunner may find a fly-way 
 along some low swale or strip of green country, lying in 
 the path of the moving bands of birds, but this is so 
 infrequent an occurrence that it barely deserves mention. 
 The commonest way of shooting the golden plover, in 
 Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska and Dakota, is 
 by means of a team. The birds can rarely be approached 
 closely enough on foot, but they do not so readily take 
 fright at a vehicle or at horses or cattle. When, there- 
 fore, a flock has been discovered feeding upon some green 
 field, strip of meadow, or wide stretch of prairie, the 
 shooter, or shooters for several may indulge in this 
 sport together drive quietly and slowly in that direction, 
 not advancing too directly upon the flock, but aiming to 
 skirt the edge. The birds will lower their heads and dart 
 along the ground, pause, lean and listen, and perhaps 
 half -spread their wings, but unless much hunted they 
 will usually allow a wagon to be driven within fifty or 
 sixty yards of them; then away they go, skimming the 
 ground swiftly for a little way, then rising and heading 
 off for another feeding-ground, whither that hunter who 
 is best acquainted with the country will next head the 
 party. As the birds begin to stretch their wings over 
 their heads, and to show the uneasiness which precedes 
 the flight, the shooters at once descend upon the side of 
 the vehicle opposite the flock, and walk in as closely as 
 possible, perhaps taking a smart run of a few steps just 
 before firing. No true sportsman, of course, will think 
 of firing at these birds upon the ground. The discharge 
 is apt to be quite fatal enough, as the birds cross and 
 huddle in the act of rising, and the No. 8' s or T swill 
 make sad havoc in the gleaming golden ranks. It is not 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 203 
 
 unusual for one gun to kill from 100 to 150 gold en plover a 
 day, in this style of shooting, on the prairies and fields of 
 Northern Illinois. It is not a sort of sport demanding 
 any especial skill, and is too apt to be followed by a 
 rabble of pot-hunters, boys, greenhorns, and all the 
 unspeakable mob who hang on the skirts of decent gun- 
 nery. Followed rightly, it is fairly successful early in 
 the season, though never so much so on the golden plover 
 as on the upland plover. At its best form, and in the 
 hands of gentlemen, it is capable of being a bright, 
 breezy, cheerful, and not unwholesome sort of shooting. 
 It may be varied by stalking on horseback, or by the use 
 of a led horse. Sometimes a good caller will bring a flock 
 around for a second shot at this style of shooting. This 
 is most apt to happen when a cripple or two are left 
 standing or running. Like the curlew, the golden plover 
 is loath to leave a comrade in distress, and decoys readily 
 to the note of such a comrade. 
 
 The only artistic and truly sportsmanlike form of 
 sport at the golden plover, however, is in shooting over 
 decoys, to which the birds are called in by an imitation 
 of their whistle. This form of sport is not well under- 
 stood, and is not practiced by very many sportsmen, 
 although doubtless it will soon become more general. It 
 is by all means the most successful and the most interest- 
 ing way to hunt the golden plover. It is the method 
 followed by the most skillful market-hunters. 
 
 In this form of sport, the general principles of decoy- 
 shooting obtain, and the old duck-shooter will be the first 
 to take up the idea well. The main difficulty, of course, 
 is to learn the country where the birds are feeding, and 
 to map out the fly-ways between the feeding-grounds. 
 When such a fly- way has once been .established, the 
 shooter who finds it will not be forced to change his blind 
 so often as the duck-shooter, and he will have to deal 
 
204 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 with a bird far less wary than the cunning wild fowl. 
 When, therefore, he has gained a knowledge of the local 
 trading of the birds, and found their crossing-points, he 
 may comfortably seat himself, and not bother about a 
 possible change of the flight. He may, perhaps, shoot a 
 week out of one blind, and kill as many birds the last 
 day as the first. If he spends his time chasing around 
 over the prairies, he probably will not get half so many 
 in the total bag. 
 
 It should be borne in mind that the decoys must not 
 go down upon the feeding -ground, but upon a passage- 
 way between two feeding-grounds. Such a passage-way 
 can be determined only by a study of the flight. The 
 golden plover feeds on small insects, grasshoppers, sur- 
 face worms, tender vegetation, and the seeds of grasses 
 and certain herbs. A field of sprouting oats, a green 
 meadow, or a last year' s plowing is apt to be frequented 
 by them. If disturbed on such a ground, they fly to the 
 nearest similar ground they have discovered, which may 
 be half a mile or two miles away. A good bit of meadow 
 lying between the two feeding-grounds, in a place promi- 
 nent enough to be readily seen from a distance, will be a 
 likely place to put out the decoys. The birds will not 
 observe any very definite line in going and coining, for 
 they are not so methodical as wild geese, but they will 
 pass near enough to be reached by the shooter's call -note. 
 It may be necessary to move once or twice until the right 
 spot has been obtained, where the birds most often pass 
 over when pursued from their feed. After that, you will 
 let someone else do the pursuing, while you do the 
 watching and the shooting. The golden plover is unlike 
 the wild duck in the matter of decoying. It is an old 
 saying among duck-shooters that " you can't drive ducks 
 to decoys." To some extent, you can drive golden plover 
 so, for they are a very gullible bird, affectionate, constant, 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 205 
 
 and sociable to a degree. They decoy not only once, but 
 often two or three times, to the false flock and the 
 deceitful whistle, until sometimes the greater part of 
 their numbers shall lie dead upon the grass. It is there- 
 fore the main desire of the blind- shooter that something 
 shall keep the birds stirred up. They have no regular 
 movements when left undisturbed, although in some 
 erratic moment a whole flock may take a notion to rise 
 and pass over to some other distant spot. 
 
 The blind of the plover- shooter need be no very 
 elaborate affair. A fringed pit is good, but if the shooter 
 can find some ditch or hollow into which he can crawl, 
 he will find a thin barrier of grass or weeds sufficient, 
 provided he keeps still. The duck-shooter will under- 
 stand this perfectly. It is the motionless shooter in the thin 
 blind who gets the birds. A heavy blind is not desirable. 
 
 Plover decoys are sold on the market. One can 
 secure as large a flock as he desires, but if he has half a 
 dozen decoys he need not feel afraid, if he knows how to 
 call the birds. It is the call that does the business. A 
 passing flock of plover, over half a mile away, will swing 
 about on hearing a call, and will then fairly hunt for 
 the decoys until they find them. The best possible decoys 
 are the wing-tipped live birds, which the shooter, if he 
 be heartless as the market-shooters are, will always pre- 
 serve and tie out among his flock. These, by their 
 motions and their cries, will bring the wild flock in 
 again and again. Much better than the wooden or tin 
 decoys are the dead birds, set up on sticks, much as 
 the duck-shooter sets out his dead ducks for decoys. 
 You will see the market-hunter put out his dead birds 
 so, until he may have fifty or a hundred scattered about 
 him. 
 
 Let no one gather the idea that plover- shooting over 
 decoys is a simple thing, which any fellow can do. It is 
 
206 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the easiest thing in the world to make a mistake in set 
 ting out the decoys which shall cost you half your birds. 
 You do not want the wind to blow across your blind to 
 the decoys, or across the decoys toward your blind. The 
 decoys must be at one side of the blind. Suppose the 
 wind is blowing from the east to the west, you put out 
 your decoys to the north of your blind, and not to the 
 east or west. 
 
 The decoys should be set out in a longish line, rather 
 wedge-shaped, point down the wind, and all at easy gun- 
 range not too close. Hearing the call, the birds swing, 
 cross over, and come up-wind to alight among the decoys, 
 drawing to the encouraging low "whit, whit" of the 
 gunner. By no means shoot when the birds are crossing, 
 or skimming the ground on any side but the decoy side. 
 They will swing and draw in obliquely toward the blind, 
 and the fire should be reserved till then, if the most mur- 
 derous effect is what is desired. Even when the point of 
 the flock is well within range, do not fire at the leading 
 birds; aim at the middle oblique of the flock; the charge 
 will then rake the flock. As the remnant double up and 
 rise, the second barrel, held till the right time, goes 
 far toward completing the work. The flock passes on, 
 depleted. The low, deceitful, bewildering whistle still 
 assails their ears, and they see still the likeness of their 
 friends standing unmoved amid the confusion. Again 
 they swing, their own notes now half -frightened and half- 
 plaintive. If you have the heart for further slaughter, 
 your chance has come again. Twenty, thirty, or forty 
 birds may fall to your gun from one flock. If you got 
 only six or eight, your friend, and possible companion, 
 the market-hunter, would laugh at you. Two hundred 
 in a day, 1,000 in a week you can do this in Northern 
 Illinois, even to-day, if you have the natural heart for 
 butchery. 
 
PLOVEE-SHOOTING. 207 
 
 But in order to be thus successful, you must be an 
 expert plover-shooter, and to be an expert, you must be 
 able to call the birds. You may buy a plover-call, and 
 from it produce a fairly accurate note; but the trouble 
 about this is that you can not hear it at any great dis- 
 tance, which latter is just what you want. The best 
 market-shooters do not use any call, but put their fingers 
 in their mouths and give a shrill whistle. I do not think 
 I exaggerate when I say that a flock of plover can thus 
 be called nearly a mile down-wind. The note is a keen 
 "whit! wheet-wheet! whit!" repeated at about equal 
 intervals. It can only be gained by constant practice in 
 the field, and the proficiency with which one can execute 
 the call is about the measure of his success at golden 
 plover shooting. 
 
 There lives in Chicago an Italian about forty years of 
 age, who keeps a little fruit-store on Wabash Avenue, 
 and is known in the game market and among Chicago 
 shooters as "Italian Joe,'' or sometimes as " Plover Joe." 
 He hunts for the market, and except a little shooting 
 at woodcock, he never hunts anything but plover. He 
 shoots over decoys, and is possessed of a rare judgment, 
 which makes him invariably successful. He is the best 
 plover- hunter of Chicago, and I presume there is not one 
 in the United States who could surpass him. His whistle 
 is the most perfect imitation of the golden plover's call- 
 note I ever heard. Back in the rear of his little shop, on 
 a warm summer day, he repeated the plover-call again 
 and again as we sat talking, and the loud, clear note 
 rang out through the open door, and pierced the jumbled 
 din of the noisy street, till people turned and listened. 
 Then Joe's eyes grew far-away in their look, and, as the 
 rumble of the city claimed its own, I presume Joe 
 dreamed of unsmoked skies and fields well paved with 
 green. 
 
208 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 My Italian friend gave me one hint that shooters may 
 well notice. He claimed that in the fall, when the birds 
 are so very fat, No. 7 is a better shot to use than No. 8, 
 as the latter shot is hardly heavy enough to pierce the 
 heavy layer of fat which fairly swaddles the birds at that 
 season of the year. In the spring, No. 8 is the correct 
 shot, unless one is trying to walk upon the birds, or to 
 shoot them from a vehicle after they have grown wild. 
 
 For the upland plover, my market-shooter expressed 
 an unqualified contempt, partly because it brings so little 
 in the market, and partly because it can not be worked 
 with decoys. Neither did he care for the " May plover," 
 6 ' prairie plover, " " gray plover, " or " sand-snipe, " 
 whose dense flocks sometimes wheel in over the decoys 
 and leave heavy tribute behind them. We also can 
 afford to leave this latter little bird out of our consid- 
 eration as a game bird, and now pass on to our second 
 plover, not so good a game bird as the golden plover, 
 but perhaps even more widely known. 
 
 THE UPLAND PLOVER (Bartramia longicanda. Less.). 
 This bird is called ' ' grass plover ' ' in Texas and most 
 of the South, and in the Southwest. It is called " papa- 
 botte" in New Orleans, where it is much prized as a 
 delicacy. It has different local names in the North, some- 
 times being known as the " yellow-leg," which is wrong, 
 as confusing it with the yellow-shanked tatler, and 
 besides as being not descriptive. It is sometimes loosely 
 called "prairie runner," "spring plover," or "tilt-up." 
 The name of "upland plover," however, is one very 
 widely known for it, and will instantly bring the bird to 
 mind for every upland shooter in Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, 
 Kansas, Nebraska, Dakota, and the entire West and mid- 
 continent generally. 
 
 If the golden plover is a bold traveler, the upland 
 plover is yet more so. Few birds are more widely 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 209 
 
 scattered. It is found pretty much all over the United 
 States, as far north as the plains of the Saskatchewan, 
 and as far south as Mexico, Central America, and the 
 pampas of South America. A few specimens of it have 
 been killed in England; one specimen was killed near 
 Sydney, Australia; one was taken on the Island of Malta, 
 in the Mediterranean Sea, and it sometimes visits the 
 Island of Trinidad. It has been known to breed so far 
 north as Fort Yukon, also in the mountains of Lower 
 Mackenzie, and in the Gens de Large Mountains, 200 miles 
 northeast of the Yukon. It is occasionally found in the 
 sparser districts of New England, and once bred plenti- 
 fully on Long Island and throughout Pennsylvania. It 
 fairly swarms at times on the lower table-lands of Utah 
 and Colorado, and overruns Kansas and Nebraska in large 
 flocks. It breeds very largely in Northern Illinois and 
 Southern Wisconsin to-day, and the bulk of the flight 
 does not go any farther north than that. It leaves South- 
 western Texas from the 1st to the 10th of May, and re-ap- 
 pears there in July, passing thence on south by Septem- 
 ber or October. It appears in the North with the first 
 warm weather of settled spring, about the time the young 
 grass is knee-high to it on the burned-over prairies or 
 high swales. It passes farther north than Kansas, but 
 in the latitude of Northern Illinois it lingers all through 
 the summer, and breeds on the high prairies. At the date 
 of this writing (July, 1889), I could go out any day, 
 within twenty miles of Chicago, and kill three or four 
 dozen of the upland plover, did I care to do so at such a, 
 season of the year. I should be inclined, from my own 
 experience, to name Illinois, Kansas, Nebraska, and the 
 Indian Territory as the best shooting-grounds for this 
 bird. It is usually noticed more abundantly in the spring 
 than in the fall in Kansas and Nebraska, although it is 
 not then nearly so fat and tender as in the fall. There is 
 
 14 
 
210 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 no bird that flies which takes on so remarkable an amount 
 of fat as the upland plover. I have of ten known them to 
 split open across the breast upon falling from no very 
 great height. They fatten very readily when feeding 
 upon wheat- stubble, and are then delicious eating. 
 
 I presume we shall be obliged to call this bird a snipe, 
 although in habit and appearance it is so unlike one. 
 We may find some kinship to the snipe in the bill of the 
 upland plover, which is longer than the head, and slightly 
 curved. The legs are yellow-gray in color, the feet being 
 darker. The head is dark brown, striped with a pale 
 yellow median line, as in the jacksnipe. The sides of the 
 head and neck are streaked with a dusky color, and the 
 eye is surrounded with a yellow-white strip It is a 
 graceful and beautiful bird. 
 
 The upland plover migrates by night, and also by day. 
 It usually flies high, except in rough weather, and moves 
 in straggling bands. In Iowa City, Iowa, in 1878, I once 
 heard a passage of plover at night which lasted for over 
 an hour. The air seemed full of their soft, plaintive cries 
 of "plitt! plitt! pu-litt!" I think there were also some 
 golden plover in that flight. 
 
 The upland plover does not customarily feed in so 
 large flocks as the golden plover, and even when one 
 finds them in considerable abundance, they are apt to 
 appear in long, strung-out bands or scattered little 
 bunches. They do not decoy regularly enough to war- 
 rant the use of decoys, and the shooter need not waste 
 time in putting out a flock. I have, in a few instances, 
 shot them over decoys made of dead birds, but could 
 hardly say that they drew in to the flock; nor is it cer- 
 tain that they will pay more than the slightest attention 
 to a good imitation of their whistle, although they may 
 take a notion to draw in to a call-note once in awhile, 
 when about to alight upon a feeding-ground. They are 
 
PLOVEK-SHOOTma. 211 
 
 nervous, keen, erratic little birds, sometimes so tame that 
 they can be approached at a short distance, and again so 
 wild that the gunner can hardly get within range, except 
 by the most careful maneuvering. It is hardly worth 
 while to undertake hunting them on foot. Riding upon 
 them in a vehicle is the best way to handle them. That 
 is the way they are usually hunted in the West and 
 Southwest, and it is a very successful method. This is a 
 popular form of sport in Nebraska and Kansas, and great 
 bai> s are often made, fifty birds to a gun being no extraor- 
 dinary score. I am sure I can not see why a couple of 
 dozen would not do as well. In speaking further of the 
 sport of upland plover shooting, I shall quote partly 
 from an article on that sport which I had occasion to 
 write, in 1889, in the course of a series of articles upon 
 field sports, published in the Globe- Democrat newspaper, 
 of St. Louis. Speaking in the early spring, this recountal 
 said: 
 
 " This bird, in its physical configuration, might appear 
 to be a cross between a jacksnipe and a sparrow-hawk, 
 but it isn't, although it is marked somewhat like the 
 former bird, and in its flight might, at a little distance, be 
 mistaken for the latter, which it resembles in bigness of 
 body and spread of wing. The upland plover, however, 
 although it often hovers aloft, or skates down with 
 strongly curved wing to some selected lighting-spot, does 
 not sail in long parallels, as does the little hawk, but con- 
 tinuously works its passage with repeated flappings of 
 the wings, and in its hasty flights its wings describe so 
 large an arc that they seem to touch like wide fans, first 
 above and then below the body of the bird. 
 
 "This peculiarity will betray it at once to the hunter 
 who has become familiar with it, even did he not become 
 advised of its presence by that long, liquid, silvery, and 
 sweetly musical note which drops down like a spoonful 
 
212 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of melted vocal pearls out of some unidentified corner of 
 the sky. This 'whistle' of the upland plover though 
 it is not more a whistle than the softest breathings of the 
 flute is the purest and sweetest, the most inimitable 
 and unapproachable sound in Nature. As the note of the 
 mourning-dove is the very soul of melancholy grief, the 
 likeness of the plaint of widowed woe, so may this trans- 
 lucent, innocent sound, so light that you can see through 
 it, almost, and sweet as the dew that hangs on any honey- 
 vine, be likened to the careless and unsyllabled laugh of 
 a virgin soul, too young to think of widows or of brides. 
 It is so very sweet that Nature, always fit and proper in 
 her ways, surrounds it with mystery, so that on a bright, 
 warm day of spring, when one hears this gentle, spark- 
 ling sound bubble out of the blue sky, apparently just 
 above his head, he may look up and see no bird, and may 
 further look about him on all hands, examining earth 
 and sky alike, and yet find no trace of the origin of the 
 winged music. At last there may be the flit of a gray 
 wing across a half -section of plowed ground, and finally 
 he may see this feathered ghost alight yet farther away, 
 tossing both wings apeak high over its head, and utter- 
 ing a shrill, joyful 'wy-ee-ee,' which may be heard a mile. 
 u When the migrating birds alight, as they do pretty 
 much all through the wilder prairie sections of Missouri, 
 Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, and kindred States, they usually 
 overrun the country very rapidly, so that a locality unten- 
 anted by them one day may on the day following be fairly 
 swarming with them. They do not affect low, marshy 
 grounds, as their cousins in the long-legged family, the 
 snipe, but keep up on the high prairies, being especially 
 fond of ground that has been recently burned over. If 
 there are any plovers in the country, they are pretty sure 
 to make their appearance on or near such a strip of 
 ground. They are also partial to good, soft, warm, 
 
PLOVER-SHOOTING. 213 
 
 plowed ground, especially such as- lies on high, rolling 
 hills or table-lands. Sometimes, too, they patronize dry 
 corn-fields, or closely cropped meadows. They will fly 
 around over a last year's stubble-field, which is being 
 turned under by the plow, and alight close behind the 
 plowman in the fresh furrow; but in that case they are as 
 likely to hop over on the dry ground as on the fresh. 
 They feed mostly on. seeds, fresh young grasses or herbs, 
 and small insects. These birds were once more plentiful 
 in Iowa and Missouri than they are now. They have 
 kept near the front edge of civilization, although they 
 are not strangers even in such States as Illinois and 
 Indiana. In the Indian Territory, they are very abun- 
 dant, although I never heard of anyone caring enough for 
 them to go so far as that for them. They are very plenti- 
 ful pretty much all over Kansas and Nebraska, in season, 
 and probably sport at them may be had about as well in 
 those States as anywhere. 
 
 "The hunter for upland plover does not need any dog. 
 If he has a dog, he would better tie him up at home, and 
 then shoot him, for fear he would get loose. Most of all, 
 the hunter needs a horse, or team of horses, properly 
 broken to 'stand fire,' and a light rig of some kind, 
 which will admit of his getting in and out very quickly. 
 The upland plover is, in some respects, no fool. It will 
 rarely allow itself to be approached by the hunter on 
 foot, and although a few birds may be bagged by the 
 walking hunter, it is safe to say that his bag will be light 
 beside that of the shooter who has a forty-year-old horse, 
 blind in both eyes, deaf, and of a sweet and peaceful dis- 
 position. A very good rig for plover-shooting is a light 
 two-wheeled road-cart, with no body, and only a seat and 
 a pair of wheels. With this sort of an outfit, the hunter 
 can travel over almost any kind of country, and can 
 easily jump out and fire when he has worked in close 
 
214 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 enough to his birds. The subsequent proceedings all 
 depend on the horse. If that animal takes a notion to go 
 home just then and under such circumstances the staid- 
 est old family horses often develop unaccountable kitten- 
 ishness the hunter can do little but follow patiently 
 after, and pick his chariot off the first wire fence. He will 
 swear, but that won' t help him. The etiquette of plover- 
 shooting admits of swearing when one' s horse runs away. 
 
 "When it has been determined that the plover are 
 'using on' a certain piece of ground, the shooter, or 
 shooters for several may practice this sport together 
 very nicely if their wagon be big enough repair to that 
 neighborhood on almost any day, or at any time of the 
 day. The weather does not make any insuperable differ- 
 ence. There is no necessity to get out betimes for an 
 early morning hunt, nor is there any bundling up or 
 waiting on some lonesome stand, knee-deep in mud and 
 water. Plover-hunting is a leisurely, fair-weather sort 
 of sport, a truly dilettante sport, and if the plover- 
 hunter were not often a duck-hunter, in season, there 
 would be justice in the suspicion that he had something 
 of the sybarite in his disposition, rather than the rugged, 
 hardy spirit of the genuine hunter. 
 
 " In the bright, warm days, however, when the blood 
 takes on a mellow mildness in the veins, and no other 
 game is in the land to stimulate the slumbering ambition, 
 the best of shooters might be forgiven for taking a day 
 at the plover, or perhaps two days, in the short season 
 of a few weeks when plover-shooting is at its best. And 
 let the older hunter take his days near the close of the 
 season, when the persistent pounding of the greenhorns 
 has rendered the birds more wild. There will then be an 
 added difficulty to the sport, which will give it additional 
 claim to consideration. Early in the season, before the 
 birds have mastered the fact that man is a ravenous and 
 
PLOVEK-SHOOTING. 215 
 
 wantonly cruel animal, they are easily approachable, and 
 may easily be knocked down by a moderately skillful 
 shot. I have even heard of their being shot on the 
 ground by some persons, although I do not believe that 
 there is any foolish butcher so self-distrustful of his skill 
 as to creep up on this open-minded little bird and shoot 
 it with a shot-gun before it has taken wing. The man 
 who would do that would steal. Investigation will show 
 the truth of this assertion. Even an indifferent wing- 
 shot may bag fifty, sixty, or even 100 plovers a day 
 on a country thickly occupied by them, as often hap- 
 pens. Such shooting as this does not appeal to the 
 thorough sportsman. 
 
 "It sometimes happens, however, that these long-legged 
 little fellows acquire a certain shrewdness of their own, 
 which makes their capture by no means a foregone con- 
 clusion. They will take a long spurt across the field or 
 prairie, fairly making their slender legs twinkle as they 
 sprint along ahead of the shooter; then they will 
 straighten up, look around, and if they think the shooter 
 is getting too close, will take wing, with a nonchalant 
 ' Oh, quit! quit!' In such a flight, they skim along close 
 to the ground. They go a pretty good pace, and the gun- 
 ner who jumps one at forty yards rise is by no means 
 certain of knocking it down. 
 
 " The proper gun for upland plover shooting would be 
 a 16-gauge, if we shot that gun very much in this country, 
 or if we could all afford to have as many guns as we 
 liked. Barring that, the 12-gauge, that best of all guns 
 for an all-around weapon, will do only too well. The 
 size of shot is naturally No. 8, and the powder charge 
 should not be over three drams. Of course, there will be 
 some shooters who will hunt plovers with duck-guns and 
 duck-loads, but such fellows want the earth, and are afraid 
 some of it will get away. They are the kicking brethren. 
 
216 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 They would kick if they were hung, as the saying is in 
 Arizona. The man who hunts plover with a 10-gauge 
 gun thinks he has the best gun on earth. He can kill 
 birds farther than you can. He can also dive deeper and 
 come up cleaner and jump farther than you can, and tell 
 you who will be the next President. 
 
 "Upland plover shooting is usually not so good in the 
 fall as it is in the spring, but it would be far better for all 
 our sportsmen never to shoot a plover in the spring. 
 When they reach the States of the Middle North, they 
 are already paired and ready to nest; indeed, many and 
 many will be found large with eggs. If we would but stop to 
 think! If we would but lay up our guns for half the year 
 in these times of lessening numbers! We do not think 
 of our boys in the cradle. We are robbing our boys of 
 all their game as rapidly as we can. We are leaving for 
 them, not the heritage of health and strength and con- 
 fident manliness which comes of skill at outdoor sports, 
 but the narrow chest and white face of the counting-room. 
 We do not mean that our boys shall ride and shoot; we 
 want them to add and measure. We do not care that they 
 shall keep alive either the hunter spirit, which is the 
 warrior spirit, or the love of the outdoor air, which is the 
 poet spirit. We want our boys to grow up thin and 
 white. They will make more money then, and so the 
 country will advance toward the happy state of those 
 countries whose boys hire out as bare-legged models to 
 painters in search of ruins. 
 
 ' ' May our slim and sweet-voiced little bird long do its 
 humble share toward preserving us from the hunterless 
 days. No more than that; let us preserve it, not simply 
 from any selfishness or care for ultimate gain, but because 
 it is one of Nature' s own creatures, and because it is so 
 cheerful and so confident, and because its voice is like the 
 laugh of the girl we loved long years ago." 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 
 
 (Columba lima.) 
 BY WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL. 
 
 'T takes no prophetic eye to look into the 
 future, and, as all wise men judge it, by 
 the past, to see that the greed of the 
 human race will eventually wipe from 
 the face of the earth the wild game of 
 the fields, the fowls of the air. 
 
 While I have written many articles 
 on subjects pertaining to field sports, 
 never have I written one wherein the 
 spirit of sadness pervaded the innermost recesses of my 
 heart as does this one of " The Wild Pigeon." As a 
 child, I was bred and reared among them; the gigantic 
 oaks and hickories that threw their umbrageous shades 
 o'er the roof of my home, were frequently the roosting- 
 places of these now extinct birds, while the trees of the 
 forests, beneath whose branches I passed so many of the 
 summer hours in my boyhood, were enlivened by the 
 sparkling colors of the pigeons as they sat in thick 
 bunches basking in the sunshine, or teetered and cooed 
 on the dead limbs of the trees over my head; then, again, 
 I have often stood in the farm-yard, gazing in rapt 
 admiration, as the setting sun was darkened by the 
 traveling flocks, while flock after flock seemed to dissolve 
 and extend into endless space, for while the darkness of 
 night hid them from my view, the fluttering of their 
 strong wings could long be heard after the day had 
 
 (21T) 
 
218 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 closed, and the earth had gone to rest. How pretty the 
 sight! A sweeping line of graceful undulations, bur- 
 nished by the setting sun with colors of blue and gold, 
 while the purple and orange seemed to cast upon the 
 clear sky a rosier hue. To one who has never seen wild 
 pigeons in their flight, neither the tongue or pen of man 
 can show its beauties, for when they skim the heights of 
 the ancient trees, the air is alive with flitting colors, the 
 world is on the move, and the very sky is filled with 
 
 gladness. And now they are 
 gone! Gone never to return; 
 C they who were ubiquitous, 
 extending from the Atlantic 
 to the Pacific, from the ex- 
 treme North to the Gulf of 
 Mexico; whose familiar forms 
 were known to civilization 
 in the East, the Indians of 
 the West, the slaves of the 
 South, and the inhabitants, 
 of the North; they are gone. 
 They did not meet their fate 
 because of disease, because 
 
 necessity demanded it, but by reason of the power 
 Divinity decreed, that the fowls and beasts should be 
 subservient to the will of man. Having this power, and 
 seeing in these birds a commodity which represented 
 dollars and cents, these birds, to their destroyers, were 
 only as meat, sought for and destroyed to bring to the 
 pockets of their pursuers and persecutors money just 
 the same as cattle or swine. It wasn't done by sports- 
 men, for no man having the heart of a sportsman could 
 go into a roost of pigeons and strike down the innocent 
 fledgeling with a club, while its mouth was crying for 
 food, and its mother fluttered and circled around it, try- 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 219 
 
 ing to win it with piteous cries to take wing and fly with 
 her away from this threatening danger. It hardly seems 
 possible, that the countless millions of a few years ago 
 are now dead, and forever removed from our sight; but 
 alas! it is too true. This month, the month of April, 
 used to be the time of their coming; the season is the 
 same, the same gentle, pattering rains; the warm south 
 winds are blowing as freshly; the budding trees are swell- 
 ing with a new life; the robins and the bluebirds have 
 long been with us; the forests, the meadows, the streams, 
 look as of old; the rivulets course as merrily through the 
 timber-lands, and lose themselves in their meanderings; 
 the sky looks the same, the same drifting clouds of white 
 tinged with blue; the wind soughing as sweetly through 
 the upland hills; the placid bosom of the Mississippi is 
 disturbed by passing steamers, rolling along in grandest 
 waves, that decrease as they are left from the boat, and 
 gradually grow smaller and smaller, until they form tiny 
 crests of white foam, or whirl in spinning eddies, to be 
 dissolved in the swift current; but over the tree-tops, 
 where I have so often seen myriads of pigeons flecking 
 the sky with a deeper blue, to-day no living bird is in 
 sight. 
 
 There is a pleasure in thepa,thless woods; there in the 
 depths of the forest the cares of business are forgotten, 
 and our life is renewed, sweetly rejuvenated, for we can 
 not silently commune with Nature unless becoming better 
 for it. Only yesterday, I wandered beneath the branches 
 of the sturdy trees where years ago I passed so many happy 
 hours, and the gap of twenty years was closed, and in 
 imagination I was again one of the number waiting 
 impatiently for the evening flight. Away off to the 
 south, the mild wind carried to our expectant ears the 
 faint boom of the first gun, a signal to us of the approach- 
 ing hosts; then another shot: still another, and we traced 
 
220 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the coining birds by these frequent reports. No birds in 
 sight, yet our signals of warning were unfailing, and 
 when the deep roar of some gun a few hundred yards 
 ahead of us rolled and echoed through the hills and val- 
 leys, the cry resounded along the hill-sides: "Down! 
 Down ! Here they come by the thousands ! ' ' At this time, 
 the advancing flock seemed to rise out of the hill- tops far 
 ahead of us, and everyone, man and boy, quickly secreted 
 himself behind the first bush or tree and awaited the con- 
 gregated flock's approach; then, when near enough, the 
 shooter would arise and pour from his destructive gun 
 the leaden hail, while the frightened flock would break 
 its solid ranks and sheer from the dangerous place; but of 
 no avail, for there were hunters secreted all through the 
 woods, and "bang!" "bang!" the guns roared out, until, 
 within a few acres space, perhaps twenty different hunters 
 fired into the flock, while the birds separated at each 
 report, and quickly came together again, veering from the 
 spot where the ascending smoke was, or at times turning 
 completely around, and then advancing by another route. 
 As the day sped along, the flight increased until, at times, 
 flocks of all sizes were to be seen, all flying in the same 
 direction, but each succeeding flock followed its predeces- 
 sor as accurately as if on a marked line. This peculiarity 
 in their flight is noticeable, for they fly over the hills and 
 dart down the vales in graceful, sweeping lines, which are 
 particularly pleasing to one's sight. During their flight 
 it was amusing to see the boys shooting them ; all kinds 
 of guns were represented, and fortunate the boy who 
 owned a gun, for he was admired and envied by all his 
 companions; they followed him with undisguised admira- 
 tion, and their youthful voices were always first and loud- 
 est in asserting claims for disputed birds. The flocks 
 were simply immense, and it was impossible, when many 
 fired into the same flock, to tell who brought down the 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 221 
 
 birds; there was no chance for field etiquette, but to the 
 captor belonged the spoils, and my young legs were as 
 successful in swelling the number I took home, as the 
 science I displayed in shooting. Science ? It makes me 
 smile now to think of it. Really, I never thought of such 
 a thing as displaying science, for the birds were so thickly 
 bunched together, that I blazed, away into the densest por- 
 tion of the flock; then, when one fell, no base-ball player 
 ever dropped his bat quicker than I did my gun, and, like 
 a streak, I lit out for the bird, frequently rolling over 
 and over down the hill, or coming into contact with some 
 other boy who was playing the same game. For a wonder, 
 boyish fights were of rare occurrence; for there was a 
 tacit understanding among the boys, that the first one 
 having the bird in hand, when it was uncertain who shot 
 it, held the legal right of ownership. This was very try- 
 ing to our mothers; but one reinforcement of our pants at 
 the knees, and on the places most used in taking the slides 
 for the birds, usually lasted through the pigeon season. 
 At this time, my shooting friends consider me to be a 
 cool, deliberate shot, one not prone to excitement; but 
 in those days Well ! I used to have a body-guard 
 whose special duty was, one to watch that my ramrod 
 didn't get lost, another my shot-bottle, another my 
 powder horn, while the fourth was a general substitute, 
 whose duty was to fill the vacancy in the event of desertion 
 or disability of any of the regulars, and, in case the paper 
 wadding was 'lost, to gather sufficient mullein-leaves to 
 keep the battle raging. How I used to practice loading 
 quickly ! But my maneuvers at home and in the field 
 were far different. A single-barrel muzzle-loader; trying 
 to gauge and measure in the palm of my hand four fingers 
 of powder after it was rammed into the barrel of the gun ; 
 then the same motions to go through with the shot, 
 when all the while my chums were urging haste, while 
 
222 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the air above and around me was one fluttering mass of blue 
 and red, and the spiked tails of the birds flitted just out 
 of my reach. Excited? I was simply wild, and those 
 boys rattled me still more with such exclamations as 
 "Down!" "Down!" "Oh, look at them! right over 
 your head." "There! there!" " Whale it into that 
 bunch. " " Bah! you never touched a feather. " " Oh, hurry 
 up ! you' re too slow. ' ' Then, when in my haste and excite- 
 ment I poured the shot in first, one would exclaim: 
 "Oh, Gosh! if he hasn't put in the shot instead of the 
 powder." Confound those boys! It was many years ago 
 that they said those things, and their voices still ring in 
 my ears; but then at night I always forgave them, for 
 we went home in the gloaming together, proud and happy, 
 a nice bunch of birds for each to carry the males tied in 
 one bunch, with their pretty red breasts together, then 
 both sexes mixed, tied, not by strings, but with the longest 
 feathers of their tails, fastened in a knot at the silken 
 ends, while the quill part was thrust through the lower 
 bill. What blessed days those are to recall! the days of 
 our youth. No successes of after life can compare with 
 them; for, in our maturer years, some day we find our- 
 selves in the forest, and the mild, soft breeze of summer 
 winds plays sweetest music through the trembling leaves, 
 the birds sing their melody to our delighted ears, the 
 grass is a deeper green, the violets a purer purple, and 
 the sky a more lucid blue for these scenes of Nature 
 transport us back, we forget our existence as men, and, 
 lifting the veil of years, we see ourselves, children in 
 thought and deed, roaming in the forest, fishing at the 
 stream, or gathering flowers in the meadows. 
 
 The immensity of some of these flocks of pigeons 
 almost surpasses belief, and it is well for those of us who 
 have seen and enjoyed these sights that ^here are living 
 witnesses, to substantiate what we say of them. In going 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 223 
 
 to their roosting-places, they annually flew up the Valley 
 of the Mississippi, following the river in its windings. 
 In this vicinity, they flew about a mile west of the city, 
 sweeping up and down over the hills and valleys, resem- 
 bling the long tail of a kite, that would be changed into 
 serpentine form by the fitful wind. East of us, drifting 
 rapidly and gracefully over the tops of the willows, oaks, 
 and elms in the bottom-land, they darkened the shores of 
 the western boundary of the State of Illinois. The tall 
 bluffs of Fulton, sloping gently from the south, terminate 
 abruptly at the north, and sink into miles and miles of 
 bottom-lands, islands, and verdant fields; when they 
 reached these bluffs, instead of dropping down and flying 
 over the islands, they crossed the Mississippi River, mean- 
 dered over the bluffs in Iowa, swelling the numbers that 
 had passed over us, and disappeared in their tireless 
 flight. At that time, I lived in Lyons, Iowa, one of the 
 prettiest little cities on the Mississippi River just such a 
 spot as Nature intended for a town, providing it herself 
 with all natural advantages. The hills arose back of us in 
 gradual and lofty grandeur; climbing these hills, and 
 brushing through the thick hazel-brush, we suddenly 
 came unaware on the highest elevation of the hills, and 
 here Nature had dispensed with trees, brush, and vines, 
 and we stepped forth and beheld the most beautiful 
 prairie, of the greenest grass, enlivened and beautified by 
 the whitest daisies, the yellowest buttercups, and the 
 purplest violets. Such was the " Little Prairie. " Com- 
 ing as a man would out of the dense forest, and unexpect- 
 edly stepping into this open land, the heart must be cold 
 indeed that could not appreciate it. This spot was about 
 three-quarters of a mile square, and was a succession of 
 rolling hills; here it was that the hunters congregated 
 from the town and waited for the evening flight. As they 
 lounged around indolently, laughing, chatting, and tell- 
 
224 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ing stories, of a sudden some watchful eye would espy 
 the dim outline of a flock in the distance. Instantly 
 there was a great commotion among the hunters. " They 
 are coming! They are coming! '' would hurriedly be passed 
 from mouth to mouth, and the hunters would at once dis- 
 perse, seeking a place for concealment in the neighboring 
 woods, or lie prone behind the sloping hills. What 
 immense flocks passed over us there! 
 
 One bright afternoon, I was early on the grounds. 
 The flight usually began about 5 o'clock, but this day 
 there were so many birds moving, that it seemed as if 
 they had consulted, and thought it best to obtain an 
 early start. About half -past 3, a few scattering flocks 
 dotted the horizon, and swept gracefully over the timber. 
 I located myself so the sun shone on my back, and was 
 under their line of flight. At first, they flew in flocks of 
 from 300 to 500. Many of the flocks consisted entirely of 
 males, then others of females. One could not imagine a 
 prettier sight than a drove of the males, rising up over 
 our heads as they swept on graceful wings out from the 
 valley below. The sky was cloudless, except here and 
 there tiny crests of white dotted and made deeper the 
 blue background, while the setting sun cast its mellow 
 rays on the purple heads, the blue necks and backs, the 
 golden orange, the cinnamon and copper color of their 
 breasts, until their sparkling feathers cast a sheen, and 
 filled the air with brilliant colorings. The main body 
 first appeared at 4 o'clock; the flock was fully 100 
 yards wide, and densely massed together. Shot after shot 
 was fired into them, the only effect being a momentary 
 opening; then they quickly closed together again, and 
 advanced as before. Each moment I expected to see the 
 end of this trailing army of crimson and blue, but there 
 was apparently no end. Time and again the deep double 
 report of some heavily loaded gun would roar through- 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 225 
 
 out the woods, the smoke waft over the tree-tops, dead 
 or wounded birds drop to the earth, or with set wings 
 sail gently lowering through the scraggy trees. Five 
 o'clock, then 6 passed by, still no end to the flight it 
 increased if anything; the pure air was contaminated by 
 the ever-present smoke, and the odor coming from the 
 flying birds, while the guns kept up an incessant crack- 
 ing. I had loaded and fired until my ammunition was 
 expended; friendship ceased at this time, and my com- 
 panions had "just a few loads left," and I co aid not bor- 
 row any from them; so, gathering my birds and tying 
 them in a bunch, I stood my gun against a tree, and 
 silently gazed in astonishment and admiration at the 
 wonderful sight before and around me, for I intended 
 remaining until I saw the last of this caravan, or until 
 night shut it from view. The day drew speedily to a 
 close; the sun sank to rest in a bed of crimson glory; the 
 sky, brightened by the reflection of the sun, gradually 
 lost its coloring, and was of a leaden hue. Whip-poor-wills 
 flew screeching through the darkened sky, night-owls 
 hooted and flitted through the woods, yet the flight never 
 ceased; the mist arose in the valleys, the shades of night 
 fast fell over the earth; the faint boom of distant guns 
 was heard before and behind us, then, nearer, the guns 
 themselves were to be seen; sheets of fire shot toward the 
 heavens, and belched forth here and there along the hill- 
 sides; streaks and streams of flame suddenly and unexpect- 
 edly shot forth from hidden, darksome places. It was 
 now dark; the stars glittered in the sky, and twinkled 
 merrily at us. The birds could no longer be seen, except 
 in a faint dark streak as we looked over us and toward 
 the western sky, but the whistling of their wings, as they 
 winnowed their way along, could be plainly heard. 
 Nothing could be seen now, and, as I wended my way 
 homeward, I heard frequent reports, and ever and anon 
 
 15 
 
226 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 saw the rocket-like flame pierce the air, while the boom- 
 ing report followed it. How many pigeons were in that 
 flight, no man could tell; it was the most astonishing 
 sight, of the kind, I ever saw; there were not only thou- 
 sands, but hundreds of thousands, in the flight that after- 
 noon. I candidly believe there were more pigeons in 
 that drove than there are game birds in the United States 
 to-day. Our early ornithologists, Audubon, Wilson, and 
 others, tell what may seem wonderful tales of the abun- 
 dance of pigeons, but there can be no question of the birds 
 having been as plenty as they say. The flight of the 
 pigeons, when flying singly or traveling, is very rapid, its 
 speed being estimated at 100 miles an hour; this speed 
 is attained when darting through the woods or when 
 in high flight. When going to and returning from 
 their feeding-grounds, they follow the hills and ravines, 
 searching for food, and do not fly at such great speed. 
 Their food consists of corn, oats, wheat, berries, and rice, 
 but more especially the acorns and beech-nuts indeed, 
 nuts of all kinds that they can swallow. These nuts are 
 sought for on the ground, and are called under the gen- 
 eral head of mast. Where mast can be found, there the 
 birds congregate in immense flocks, devouring, in their 
 voracity, and by reason of their numbers, all the food 
 they can get at. Providence did not intend these birds 
 should die of starvation, and provided them with the 
 means of sustenance in their strong wings, and conse- 
 quent powers of flight and endurance. They have fre- 
 quently been found in the Eastern States, their crops 
 filled with rice, which they only could have obtained in 
 Southern fields. Distance has no effect on them when 
 they are searching for food, and they will fly sixty or 100 
 miles to feed, then return to their roosts. They loved 
 the forests; these shaded spots were their homes, for, as 
 the poet says: 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 227 
 
 "The blue wild pigeons seek the deepest woods, 
 The loveliest forests of far Michigan, 
 Of the Minnesota and Kentucky realms, 
 Indiana woodlands and Ohio wastes; 
 And farther south, in Mississippi groves, 
 They swarming congregate in early spring, 
 And late in year their roosting-places seek " 
 
 Yes, they sought these several States, they wended 
 their unceasing flight into the Territories; but, wherever 
 they went, they were followed, not only by the hawks, the 
 eagles, the vultures of the air, the wolves, foxes, vermin, 
 and beasts of the fields, but by man, heartless, unpitying 
 man, more unfeeling than their wild and inhuman ene- 
 mies, who murdered them in their babyhood or pinched 
 them to cruel death for a few paltry cents per dozen. It's 
 a sad review of human character, to think that this has 
 been done, and done in States where the violators were 
 within easy reach of an outraged law. When the birds 
 arrive at their feeding-grounds, they flutter along 
 through the trees close to the ground, picking up mast, 
 and hopping in short flight one over another, pell-mell, 
 gulping down everything edible within their reach. 
 When seen at a distance, at this time, they represent roll- 
 ing billows of blue and white in the gray woods. When 
 a breeding-place is chosen, then is a time of great excite- 
 ment, and the destruction begins, as they appear with 
 regularity, and the pigeon- netters and all interested par- 
 ties are constantly on the watch for them. One of the 
 most common and successful methods of bagging them 
 was shooting from stands. These stands were made by 
 cutting two poles eighteen or twenty feet long, then nailing 
 them on uprights nine or ten feet high. The manner of 
 building these stands and the place of putting them was 
 as follows: The pigeon-shooter selected a stand directly 
 in the line of flight, and near a piece of timber. It was 
 necessary that the place selected should be open, so the 
 
228 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 pigeons could alight on the ground, for if trees, bushes, 
 or twigs were near, the birds would light on them. The 
 shooter, therefore, picked out an open spot near the 
 woods, from 100 to 200 yards, built him a small house of 
 boughs, just large enough to hide him nicely, then 
 paced off about thirty long steps and placed his first poles; 
 these were nearest him, and a foot lower than those the 
 farthest from him, the idea being that from the bough 
 house the shot might follow an upward flight; the charge 
 also had a chance to scatter, for the parallel poles were 
 gradually separated, being perhaps a foot apart nearest 
 the shooter, then from three to four feet at the other end; 
 the result was, that the whole charge of shot was fired 
 into the fluttering birds with great effect. A ten-gauge 
 gun was usually used, loaded with an ounce and three- 
 quarters of shot. As many as three dozen birds were 
 killed, at times, at a single discharge of one barrel, one 
 party telling me that he once killed seventy-one birds in 
 two shots. After the place had been selected for a stand, 
 around this spot grain was scattered to entice the birds; 
 but the most effective way was to coax them down with 
 stool-pigeons. These stool-pigeons were known as flyers 
 or hoverers. When a flock was sighted coming toward 
 the stand, the shooter selected one of the flyers, and tossed 
 him into the air, his feet tied to a long string; the bird 
 flew until the end of the string was reached, then, feeling 
 it could go no farther, gradually lowered, settling softly 
 onto the ground. At this time, from the bough house, 
 there was called, rapidly, "keek," "keek," u keek," 
 this cry being the kind the bird made when feeding or 
 closely searching for food; then another flyer would be 
 thrown up, then another. By this time, the attention of 
 the incoming flocks would be attracted. To interest 
 them still more, the strings attached to the hoverers 
 would be pulled, their pedestals jerked from beneath 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 229 
 
 them, and weights dragged them slowly to the ground; 
 their legs restrained and their wings free, naturally they 
 used their wings constantly; this sight, to the birds com- 
 ing in, bad the appearance of birds fast alighting to feed. 
 The flocks, after making two or three wide circles, would 
 settle on the poles, and then the hunter quickly fired at 
 them; experience had demonstrated that it would not do 
 to wait too long before firing, but the shots must be 
 made just after the first birds had settled on the poles, and 
 while their companions were hovering over them. At 
 times, they lit on one another in such dense quantities 
 that the poles were broken. In the Eastern States, the 
 birds were fond of alighting in the salt licks or beds, and all 
 along their line of flight these stands were built, remain- 
 ing year after year; no one thought of molesting them, 
 and a hunter always held sacred the stand of another, 
 and would never use one without the consent of the 
 owner. Many of these stands were of local reputation, and 
 had descended from sire to son, grandchildren and great- 
 grandchildren. It is a grand sight to see a flock of sev- 
 eral thousand swoop down, decoyed into the fowler's 
 stand. They will come along, sweeping and trailing over 
 the hills and down the valleys, or in straight and steady 
 flight high in air. Flyers will be thrown up, hoverers 
 flutter to the ground, when suddenly the leaders of the 
 flock espy the invitation to the feast, and with bowed 
 and set wings begin their descent, cutting the keen air 
 with vibratory wings; they can not and do not attempt 
 to come down perpendicularly, but each bird tries to 
 follow the path of its predecessor, and the long trail of 
 purple, blue, and white descends like an avalanche, in 
 appearance a huge inverted cone or spiral stream of life. 
 As they wind around in a circle before alighting, and then 
 cover the ground in a fluttering mass, they hover and flit 
 over the earth, covering it at times to the depth of sev- 
 
230 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 eral feet with their struggling bodies. One of the largest 
 pigeon-roosts ever seen in the United States, was during 
 the year 1878, at Petoskey, Mich. Professor Honey 
 went to this roost for the purpose of protecting the birds, 
 so far as he could, from the slaughter carried on by the 
 attendants there. The reader can form an accurate idea 
 of the immensity of one of these roosts from the following 
 graphic description of Professor Roney: 
 
 " On reaching Petoskey, we found the condition of 
 affairs had not been magnified; indeed, it exceeded our 
 gravest fears. Here, a few miles north, was a pigeon- 
 nesting of irregular dimensions, estimated, by those best 
 qualified to judge, to be forty miles in length by three 
 to ten miles in width, probably the largest nesting that 
 has ever existed in the United States, covering some- 
 thing like 100,000 acres of land, and including not less 
 than 150,000 acres within its limits. At the hotel, we met 
 one we were glad to see, in the person of c Uncle Len' 
 Jewell, of Bay City, an old woodsman and ' land- 
 looker.' Len had for several weeks been looking land 
 in the upper peninsula, and was on his return home. At 
 our solicitation, he agreed to remain for two or three 
 days, and cooperate with us. In the village, nothing else 
 seemed to be thought of but pigeons. It was the one 
 absorbing topic everywhere. The 'pigeoners' hurried 
 hither and thither, comparing market reports, and solic- 
 iting the latest quotations on 'squabs.' A score of 
 hands in the packing-houses were kept busy from day- 
 light until dark. Wagon-load after wagon -load of dead 
 and live birds hauled up to the station, discharged their 
 freight, and returned to the nesting for more. The 
 freight-house was filled with the paraphernalia of the 
 pigeon -hunter' s vocation, while every train brought 
 acquisitions to their numbers, and scores of nets, stool- 
 pigeons, etc. The pigeoners were everywhere. They 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 231 
 
 swarmed in the hotels, post office, and about the streets. 
 They were there, as careful inquiry and the hotel regis- 
 ters showed, from New York, Wisconsin, Pennsylvania, 
 Michigan, Maryland, Iowa, Virginia, Ohio, Texas, Illi- 
 nois, Maine, Minnesota, and Missouri. 
 
 "Hiring a team, we started on a tour of investigation 
 through the nesting. Long before reaching it, our course 
 was directed by the birds over our heads, flying back 
 and forth to their feeding-grounds. After riding about 
 fifteen miles, we discovered a wagon-track leading into 
 the woods, in the direction of the bird-sounds which came 
 to our ears. Three of the party left the wagon and fol- 
 lowed it; the twittering grew louder and louder, the 
 birds more numerous, and, in a few minutes, we were in 
 the midst of that marvel of the forest, and Nature's won- 
 derland the pigeon-nesting. We stood and gazed in 
 bewilderment upon the scene around and above us. Was 
 it indeed a fairy -land we stood upon, or did our eyes 
 deceive us? On every hand the eye would meet these 
 graceful creatures of the forest, which, in their delicate 
 robes of blue, purple, and brown, darted hither and 
 thither with the quickness of thought. Every bough was 
 bending under their weight, so tame one could almost 
 touch them, while in every direction, crossing and 
 recrossing, the flying birds drew a net -work before the 
 dizzy eyes of the beholder, until he fain would close his 
 eyes to shut out the bewildering scene. This portion of 
 the nesting was the first formed, and the young birds 
 were just ready to leave the nests. Scarcely a tree could 
 be seen but contained from five to fifty nests, according 
 to its size and branches. Directed by the noise of chop- 
 ping and falling trees, we followed on, and soon came 
 upon the scene of action. Here was a large force of 
 Indians and boys at work, slashing down the timber, and 
 seizing the young birds as they fluttered from the nests. 
 
232 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 As soon as caught, the heads were jerked off from the 
 tender bodies with the hand, and the dead birds tossed 
 into heaps. Others knocked the young fledgelings out of 
 the nests with long poles, their weak and untried wings 
 failing to carry them beyond the clutches of the assist- 
 ant, who, with hands reeking with blood and feathers, 
 tears the head off the living bird, and throws its quiver- 
 ing body upon the heap. Thousands of young birds lay 
 among the ferns and leaves, dead, having been knocked 
 out of the nests by the promiscuous tree- slashing, and 
 dying for want of nourishment and care, which the par- 
 ent birds, trapped off by the netter, could not give. The 
 squab-killers stated that 'about one-half of the young 
 birds in the nests they found dead,' owing to the latter 
 reason. Every available Indian, man, and boy in the 
 neighborhood was in the employ of buyers and specu- 
 lators killing squabs, for which they received a cent 
 apiece. 
 
 ' l The news of the formation of the nesting was not long 
 in reaching the various Indian settlements near Petos- 
 key, and the aboriginals came in tens and fifties, and in 
 hordes. Some were armed with guns, but the majority 
 were provided with powerful bows, and arrows with 
 round, flat heads two or three inches in diameter. With 
 these they shot under or into the nests, knocking out 
 the squabs to the ground, and raked the old birds which 
 loaded the branches. For miles, the roads leading to the 
 nesting were swarming with Indians, big and little, old 
 and young, squaws, pappooses, bucks, and young braves, 
 on ponies, in carts, and on foot. Each family brought 
 its kit of cooking-utensils, axes, a stock of provisions, 
 tubs, barrels, and firkins to pack the birds in, and came 
 intending to carry on the business until the nesting 
 broke up. In some sections, the woods were literally full 
 of them. With the aid of Sheriff Ingalls, who spoke 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 233 
 
 their language like a native, we one day drove over 400 
 Indians out of the nesting, and their retreat back to their 
 farms would have rivaled Bull Run. Five hundred more 
 were met on the road to the nesting, and turned back. 
 The number of pigeons these two hordes would have 
 destroyed would have been incalculable. Noticing a 
 handsome bow in the hands of a young Indian, who 
 proved to be a son of the old chief Petoskey, a piece of 
 silver caused its transfer to us, with the remark, ' Keene, 
 kensau mene sic ' (Now you can go and shoot pigeons), 
 which dusky joke seemed to be appreciated by the rest 
 of the young chief s companions. 
 
 " There are in the United States about 5,000 men who 
 pursue pigeons year after year as a business. Pigeon- 
 hunters with whom we conversed, incognito, stated that 
 of this number there were between 400 and 500 at the 
 Petoskey nesting, plying their vocation with as many 
 nets, and more arriving upon every train from all parts 
 of the United States. When it is remembered that the 
 village was alive with pigeoners, that nearly every house 
 in the vast area of territory covered by the nesting shel- 
 tered one to six pigeon-men, and that many camped out 
 in the woods, the figures will not seem improbable. 
 Every homesteader in the country, who owned or could 
 hire an ox-team or pair of horses, was engaged in haul- 
 ing birds to Petoskey for shipment, for which they 
 received $4 per wagon-load. To 4 keep peace in the 
 family,' and avoid complaint, the pigeon-men fitted up 
 many of the settlers with nets, and instructed them in 
 the art of trapping. Added to these were the buyers, 
 shippers, packers, Indians, and boys, making not less 
 than 2,000 persons (some placed it at 2,500) engaged in 
 the traffic at this one nesting. Fully fifty teams were 
 engaged in hauling birds to the railroad station. The 
 road was carpeted with feathers, and the wings and f eath- 
 
234 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ers from the packing-houses were used by the wagon- 
 load to fill up the mud-holes in the road for miles out of 
 town. For four men to attempt to effect a work having 
 for opponents the entire country, residents and non-resi- 
 dents included, was no slight task. 
 
 "The majority of the pigeoners were a reckless, hard 
 set of men, but their repeated threats that they would 
 1 buck-shot us ' if we interfered with them in the woods, 
 failed to inspire the awe that was intended. It was four 
 against 2,000. What was accomplished against such 
 fearful odds may be seen by the following: 
 
 " The regular shipments by rail before the party com- 
 menced operations were sixty barrels per day. On the 
 16th of April, just after our arrival, they fell to thirty-five 
 barrels, and on the 17th down to twenty barrels per day, 
 while on the 22d the shipments were only eight barrels 
 of pigeons. On the Sunday previous, there were shipped 
 by steamer, to Chicago, 128 barrels of dead birds and 108 
 crates of live birds. On the next Sabbath following our 
 arrival, the shipments were only forty-three barrels and 
 fifty-two crates. Thus it will be seen that some little 
 good was accomplished, but that little was included in a 
 very few days of the season, for the treasury of the home 
 clubs would not admit of keeping their representatives 
 longer at the nesting; the State clubs, save one, did not 
 respond to the call for assistance, and the men were 
 recalled, after which the Indians went back into the nest- 
 ing, and the wanton crusade was renewed, by pigeoners 
 and all hands, with an energy which indicated a determi- 
 nation to make up lost time. 
 
 "The first shipment of birds from Petoskey was upon 
 March 22d, and the last upon August 12th, making over 
 twenty weeks, or five months, that the bird war was car- 
 ried on. For many weeks the railroad shipments aver- 
 aged fifty barrels of dead birds per day thirty to forty 
 
THE WILD PIGEON. 235 
 
 dozen old birds and about fifty dozen squabs being packed 
 in a barrel. Allowing 500 birds to a barrel, and averag- 
 ing the entire shipments for the season at twenty-five 
 barrels per day, we find the rail shipments to have been 
 12,500 dead birds daily, or 1,500,000 for the summer. Of 
 live birds, there were shipped 1,116 crates, six dozen per 
 crate, or 80,352 birds. These were the rail shipments 
 only, and not including the cargoes by steamers from 
 Petoskey, Cheboygan, Cross Village, and other lake ports, 
 which were as many more. Added to this were the daily 
 express shipments in bags and boxes, the wagon-loads 
 hauled away by the shot-gun brigade, the thousands of 
 dead and wounded ones not secured, and the myriads of 
 squabs dead in the nest by the trapping off of the parent 
 birds soon after hatching (for a young pigeon will surely 
 die if deprived of its parents during the first week of its 
 life), and we have, at the lowest possible estimate, a grand 
 total of 1,000,000,000 pigeons sacrificed to Mammon dur- 
 ing the nesting of 1878." 
 
 I trust the knowledge obtained by the reader will be 
 sufficient recompense to insure me a frank forgiveness 
 for engrafting into this chapter so much of the language 
 and experience of another; but many of our sportsmen, 
 especially the younger members of the fraternity, wonder 
 what has become of the birds that, a decade since, dark- 
 ened the sky with their traveling hordes. The report of 
 Professor Honey tells the tale, for there are not sufficient 
 of any living animals to have taken from them the 
 numbers that were taken from that pigeon-roost, and not 
 speedily become extinct. Every day in the spring-time, 
 the time when we used to see so many pigeons with us, 
 ffying so gracefully over the hill-tops, or high in air 
 traveling northward, our thoughts revert to those good 
 old times when they were so plenty with us; and we can 
 not but think tenderly of the dead, for they are dead to 
 
236 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 life, yet ever fresh in our memories, and the sky would 
 seem gladder, the trees and grass a richer green, if they 
 were only brought in contrast with the variegated colors 
 of the pigeons resplendent in the light of the setting sun. 
 We miss them more than any other birds, for with us 
 we always looked forward in pleasant anticipation of 
 their coming, for they were the companions and the mild 
 associates of budding spring; and when we saw them 
 skimming along just over the highest trees, looking for 
 some expected place for alighting, seeking a spot to build 
 their homes, we knew that, 
 
 " In soft spring-time they seek some lone retreat, 
 Where endless forests stretch their bowery realm, 
 And here they build their nests and rear their brood; 
 Here tender grass and underwood die out, 
 And earth is strewn with wither'd branch of trees, 
 Broken by weight of birds that roost above." 
 
 And then, when summer months have passed, when the 
 leaves are tremulously falling to the earth, and the 
 changing beauties of the maples awaken our admiration, 
 " when ripe October kindles all the woods, flushing the 
 oak and beech trees with a blaze," as if the pigeons 
 knew how welcome they were, they brightened the 
 heavens again in their homeward flights, wending their 
 way toward their southern homes, where, in mid- winter, 
 free from frost and snow and the piercing wintry winds 
 of the North, they sought the ambrosial forests, and 
 beneath the sunny skies, sitting basking in the warm sun's 
 rays, they dozed the time away, listening to the tinkling 
 of the surf on the beach, or the songs of the bright-plum- 
 aged birds that fluttered near, and favored them with 
 sweetest melody in their constant serenadings. 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 
 
 BY THOMAS C. ABBOTT (" RECAPPEK"). 
 
 ROTHER sportsman, are you a snipe-shooter? 
 If not, perhaps before trying the sport it were 
 well to know a little of the natural his- 
 tory of the bird. He is a great traveler. 
 Coues' " Birds of the Northwest" 
 says: "Throughout the greater 
 part of the United States the 
 snipe is found only during the mi- 
 grations, and in winter. It breeds, 
 however, in Northern New England, and may 
 do so along other portions of our northern border, 
 though I have not so determined. It occurs in South 
 America, Central America, Mexico, and the West 
 Indies." Other authorities tell us that they breed 
 from Nova Scotia to Virginia; that they breed at times 
 in New Jersey, I feel pretty sure. Formerly it was the 
 custom to shoot them during their spring migration, but 
 I am glad to be able to say that this custom is now for- 
 bidden by law in most of the States. I can not refrain 
 from saying here that the practice of spring shooting of 
 any winged game was a most barbarous one, born of 
 ignorance, and continued through thoughtlessness. That 
 it is so fast being put down, is due to the fearless, perse- 
 vering energy of one man, and that man is Dr. N. Rowe, 
 editor of the American Field. 
 
 In the hunting for and shooting of other winged game, 
 if the sportsman is a good shot, and has dogs of fair 
 
 (237) 
 
238 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 average abilities, lie can follow certain hard and fast 
 rules and meet with success, supposing him to be in a 
 country fairly well stocked with game; but in snipe- 
 shooting, beyond the old rule of always working down- 
 wind, this win not apply. And why? Simply because, 
 of all our game birds, none are so erratic in their habits 
 as the snipe. Every variation in temperature, every shift 
 of the wind, is sure to be followed by a change in their 
 feeding or lying grounds, and they will often shift their 
 quarters even when these apparent causes are absent. 
 One hour they may be very wild, the next, extremely 
 tame; hence the novice, who, perhaps, may have been 
 having good shooting, and is congratulating himself on 
 the accommodating humor of the birds, may the same 
 day, within a short time, be anathematizing them for 
 their wildness or their seemingly causeless veering of 
 quarters. 
 
 One of the golden rules in all game- shooting may be 
 summed up in one word, and that word is, silence. 
 
 There may be other game as acute of hearing as the 
 snipe, but if so, I do not know it; hence it follows, as a 
 matter of course, that the more quietly you and your 
 dogs work the greater will be the chance of success. 
 
 The next thing to be considered is the gun you will 
 use. To give useful advice on this point, it is necessary 
 to know the style of shooting of the one who asks for 
 information. If you are a very quick shot, shooting 
 the moment the bird rises, you will do best with the cyl- 
 inder-bore. If, on the other hand, you are deliberate in 
 your movements, waiting for the bird to get done twist- 
 ing and dodging in his efforts to outflank you, then you 
 need the choke-bore. As the walking in snipe-shooting 
 is apt to be bad, every ounce in weight in the gun tells in 
 a long tramp, and a gun of seven pounds weight, or less, 
 is the thing. As to the gauge, each one has his fancy, 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 
 
 239 
 
 but the twelve-gauge is, to my mind, the best. I have 
 tried shot of all sizes, from No. 5 to No. 10, and, taking 
 Tatham's shot as the standard, I prefer No. 9. For a 
 seven-pound, twelve-gauge gun, three drams of good 
 
 WILSON'S SNIPE. -JACKSNIPE. 
 
 powder and from one ounce to one ounce and an eighth 
 of shot will be found to be very effective. 
 
 In the important matter of dogs, I agree fully with 
 Frank Forester, that ' ' the best dogs for snipe are the brav- 
 est, fastest, and best trained that can be got for money." 
 
240 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 It is true that, on the rice plantations of the South, or on 
 the wet prairies of the West, where snipe are often found 
 in hundreds, a retrieving spaniel may seem to be all that 
 is needed, the shooter doing the finding and flushing of 
 the birds; but, as Forester says, " where would be the 
 sport of such slow gunning?' ' To the true sportsman 
 the man who shoots for the sake of the healthful exer- 
 cise, and not for the market seeing the good work done 
 by his dogs is by far the most enticing part of any shoot- 
 ing. As regards snipe-dogs, it may be said of them, as 
 of the snipe- shooter, neither can ever become absolutely 
 perfect at the work. Don't start, reader; I will explain. 
 You may be a crack shot, have a dog, or a brace of dogs, 
 so perfect on woodcock, grouse, and quail, and be your- 
 self so thoroughly well up in all the habits of these 
 game birds, that you never have any difficulty in outwit- 
 ing them, but in snipe -shoo ting you have a different 
 bird altogether. After thirty years of constant experi- 
 ence with them, the writer might reasonably be supposed 
 to know all their ways, yet such is not the case. Every time 
 I go after them I learn something new, because of their 
 changeableness of mood. In fact, about the only thing 
 certain you can say of them is that they are very uncertain. 
 Dr. Lewis, in his American Sportsman, says that he 
 has "never seen a good snipe-dog." Well, he was cer- 
 tainly unfortunate in his experience. I have seen them, 
 and owned them. He also insists that the best days to 
 shoot snipe are very windy ones, and that he can get 
 nearer to them, and get more and better shots, on such 
 days, and find and flush the birds himself, than can anyone 
 on still days. He is wholly at variance with our best 
 authorities on this point. Curiously enough, it so hap- 
 pens that Dr. Lewis, Forester, and myself have done 
 the most of our snipe-shooting in the same State New 
 Jersey and on grounds not very wide apart. 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 241 
 
 As an illustration of the advantage held by one 
 working with goods dogs over one without a dog, 
 let us suppose that we have two meadows, of twenty 
 acres each in extent, and that on each of these meadows 
 there are distributed forty snipe. Let two men, who are 
 equally good shots, each beat over one of these meadows. 
 To make the test complete, let half a gale of wind be 
 blowing over one meadow, and only a gentle breeze over 
 the other. Suppose one man to be aided by a brace of 
 good snipe-dogs, and the other, who works over the 
 windy meadow, to have no dog, but work on Dr. Lewis' 
 plan, and find the birds himself. Let both begin at the 
 same time; and now mark the inevitable result. The 
 man with the dogs walks quietly down-wind, keeping 
 near the 'center of his ground, and the dogs working to 
 the right and left of him. The dogs will find every bird, 
 and there being but little wind, they will not fly until 
 forced to do so. The shooter need not turn aside, except 
 when his dogs point, and so saves himself much walking; 
 and in an hour, at the most, he has got, or driven off, all 
 the birds on that piece of ground. 
 
 Now turn to the other shooter; doing all of the work 
 himself, he must tramp over the whole ground to find his 
 birds. Be as quiet as he may, he will unavoidably make 
 some noise, and the strong wind behind him carries the 
 sound far in advance of him to warn the birds. It being 
 a strong wind, the birds know they can rise easily and 
 fly fast, and the result is that they do so, oftentimes out 
 of shot. Not having dogs to locate them, the shooter 
 does not know when, where, or how they may flush, and 
 he has to take shots at all sorts of angles, and sees a good, 
 many birds go off. Moreover, to find them all, he must, 
 do from four to six times the tramping done by the other 
 man, and this takes a proportionately greater time. It 
 takes no prophet to tell which of those two men will be 
 
 16 
 
242 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 most fagged out at night, or which of them will have the 
 most birds to show. No, no, reader, don't try the snipe 
 in windy weather, for you will find ' ' the game is not 
 worth the candle." 
 
 Aside from the knack of hitting them, snipe are not 
 hard to kill. One or two pellets of shot will bring them 
 down, and it is seldom that they fly far if hit. 
 
 After advising caution in approaching a hit snipe, 
 which has been marked down, Forester says that he has 
 "seen a wounded one, after being marked down to a 
 square yard of ground, get away, and this after the 
 ground had been beaten over by a brace of capital dogs, 
 and as many men." Now if any man ever knew just 
 what constituted a brace of " capital dogs," he did; but 
 I can not imagine how a ' ' brace of capital dogs ' ' could go 
 up to within a yard of a wounded snipe and not wind it, 
 when it is a well-known fact that dead or wounded birds 
 are readily located by dogs, and this, too, when they have 
 failed to scent unhurt birds in the immediate vicinity. 
 Possibly I may have been more than usually fortunate 
 in my experience, but I can say truly that, in all the 
 years I have shot, I have lost but one dead or wounded 
 snipe. It is true I was attended on that occasion by 
 dogs which were excellent at retrieving, an accomplish- 
 ment which I seem to have an inborn knack of teaching; 
 but had I known then, as I now know, that snipe can 
 swim well for short distances, I am confident that I 
 should not have lost even that one bird. I will give the 
 incident here: It was in the month of April, before I had 
 realized the wrong of shooting snipe in spring. I was, at 
 the time, walking along the edge of one of a series of 
 high knolls, separated by water on three sides. Sud- 
 denly, in front of me, and not over thirty yards away, two 
 birds arose. One turned to the right, and it was instantly 
 killed; the other, bearing away to my left, and flying 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 243 
 
 fast, received my second shot, but I aimed not quite 
 far enough in advance of him, and failed to stop him. 
 He was hit, however, and flew but about 100 yards, 
 and dropped upon the far edge of the farthest knoll to 
 my left. Keeping my eyes on the spot, I went there at 
 once, after one of my setters had retrieved the dead bird. 
 On reaching the place, my dogs took the scent, but failed 
 to lind the bird. It had not flushed, or I should have seen 
 it; and there was no cover for it to have hidden in. After 
 long searching by my dogs and myself, I gave it up; but 
 I am now satisfied, that that snipe entered the water, 
 there about twenty yards wide, and swam over to a wet 
 thicket on the farther shore. Had I sent one of my dogs 
 across the water, that bird would have been bagged, for 
 if he had flushed again, he would have done so within 
 easy range. 
 
 So far, all writers, while they admit that during the 
 spring migration snipe resort to other grounds than the 
 open meadows, make no mention, so far as I know, of 
 their being anywhere except on the open meadows during 
 autumn; and some claim that they are to be found only 
 on the open ground. This latter claim I have found to 
 be a mistake. During the autumn, I have found them 
 along neglected meadow ditches overhung by large willow 
 trees, and again, hidden in the -reeds along the banks of 
 creeks. Though Forester asserts positively that at this 
 season they never go there, I have shot them repeatedly 
 in wet woodland meadows, and on high meadows over- 
 grown with tussocks of coarse grass, where the ground 
 was hard, and as dry as the inside of a powder-canister. 
 
 One fact worth mentioning is, that I have found 
 them in such spots only during the middle of the day, 
 and I have always believed that, after feeding during the 
 morning hours, they retire to such places to dress and 
 preen their feathers, and perhaps to take a digestive 
 
244 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 snooze; hence, I would urge it upon the sportsman 
 that, if he knows that there are any birds on the ground, 
 and fails to find them in their usual hiding-places during 
 the noon hours, he should try such places as I have 
 named. He may not find many birds, but if he watches 
 those he does find, and which go off unshot at, they 
 will almost invariably go to where the main body of the 
 birds are, and thus guide him to good shooting. 
 
 The snipe is a bird of strange ways, and the sooner 
 you recognize that fact, the sooner will you become 
 expert in finding them. As they do not give out a strong 
 scent, do not be in a hurry to find fault with your dog 
 because he points, and you fail to flush the birds at once 
 on going up to him. Wild as they are in general, they 
 will, at times, squat till almost trodden upon. To show 
 how cunning they are, I will relate the trick one tried to 
 play on me. I was, at the time, working a red and white 
 setter the grandest and most trustworthy snipe-dog I 
 have ever seen. The dog had worked over a low, wet 
 place without finding game, and had, with myself, 
 reached the high, dry ground. Suddenly he turned, and 
 pointed where the ground was entirely bare, and close to 
 where a fence had been standing. On walking up to him, 
 no bird flushed, and so devoid of all cover was the ground, 
 that I could have seen a sparrow had one been there. I 
 spoke to the dog, and for an instant he looked up in my 
 face and wagged his tail, and then straightened out 
 again. I began to think that, for once, dear old Monk 
 was wrong, but I was too old a hand to show him I 
 thought so. I walked out in front of him for some 
 yards, walked around on the meadow, and still nothing 
 flushed. Coming back to him, I walked up to a post- 
 hole about a foot deep, when up, with a ' ' scaipe, scaipe, ' ' 
 rose a snipe. I was so completely taken with surprise, 
 that the wonder is I did not make a clean miss, yet I cut 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 245 
 
 him down neatly. I turned and looked at Monk's face, 
 and I tell you, reader, the look I saw there was to me, 
 at once, one of reproach and of gratitude reproach 
 that my manner had shown a doubt of his trustworthi- 
 ness, gratitude that I had done my part equally as well 
 as he had done his. Perhaps it is needless to add that 
 I never doubted him again. Now that snipe knew that 
 he was in very unusual quarters, and, not seeing or 
 hearing the dog, thought, perhaps, that I should fail to 
 find him, and so kept still till I was almost in the act of 
 treading upon him. 
 
 Possibly the reader may think I am giving birds 
 credit for too much sense, but if he had seen as much of 
 their ways as I have, he might change his mind. I will 
 relate another strange occurrence. One pleasant after- 
 noon in October, 1871, I concluded to see if I could find a 
 snipe. Taking the dog above named, and his brace-mate, 
 a dark liver-and-white setter bitch, I started over the 
 meadows I knew so well. After working over all but 
 one of them, and failing to find any sign of a snip^, I 
 started homeward across the yet unhunted meadow. 
 About midway in it, there was a wet, springy place, not 
 over ten feet square, and on nearing this spot both dogs 
 pointed. When I walked up to them, up rose a snipe, 
 which I killed. No more birds were found, and I 
 returned to the house. Knowing that there may be no 
 snipe to be found on one day, and plenty of them the 
 next, I looked upon this one bird as a sort of pioneer of 
 a flight yet to come. The next day I worked the mead- 
 ows all over again, and with the same result as before; 
 no birds anywhere about, except where I found the first 
 one, and there only one, which I killed. Now comes the 
 strange part of it; for three more successive days, I found 
 and killed on each day one snipe in that same place, 
 and on those 500 acres of meadow could find no 
 
246 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 others. How did each of those birds come in there just 
 at the right time to have the place to himself, and how 
 was it that, on so large a stretch of good feeding and 
 lying ground, each of those birds happened to select that 
 particular spot to stop in? I leave it for wiser heads 
 than mine to answer. 
 
 Let me give a word or two of advice to the intending 
 snipe-shooter. If you are in a strange part of the coun- 
 try, and are, therefore, unacquainted with the ground 
 over which you intend shooting, try to find someone 
 who knows the nature of the meadows. You can almost 
 always succeed in this, and, for a reasonable compensa- 
 tion, get a man or a boy to devote at least a day to 
 showing you over the meadows. Get him to point out 
 any deep, treacherous spots, where, if you were to go, 
 you would run the risk of getting sunk in a spring-hole, 
 or a bed of quicksand. Oftentimes, good snipe-grounds 
 abound in such places. If there are any ditches, as there 
 almost always are, have your guide show you the 
 places where they can be forded safely, or crossed in 
 other ways. If the ground be intersected with small 
 creeks, too deep to ford, and these creeks be tributaries 
 of some larger stream bordering the meadows, have your 
 man get a boat and keep it where it can be got at hand- 
 ily, so that he can at any time set you and your dogs 
 across. This will oftentimes save you and the dogs 
 much walking which otherwise were unavoidable. If 
 the main stream be affected by the tides, ascertain when 
 the tide will be rising, as then will be the best time for 
 you to be on hand. The rising tide will drive the birds 
 from the lower grounds to the higher meadows, con- 
 fining them within narrower limits, where they may 
 more easily be reached. Ground which at low tide you 
 might be able to walk over with ease, will at high tide 
 be so far under water that a boat will be necessary for 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 247 
 
 getting over it. By having the boat, you will be enabled 
 to outmaneuver another shooter not so far-sighted as 
 yourself; and while he is laboriously toiling around the 
 heads of the streams, you will be getting the cream of 
 the sport. 
 
 Although, as a rule, the birds will be well out on the 
 meadows, the rule, like many others, has its exceptions. 
 Consequently, if you do not find so many birds there as 
 you think are in the neighborhood, turn your atten- 
 tion to the sides of the meadows. Never neglect to work 
 over small wet spots on the dryer and higher parts of 
 the ground. Spots which may seem, to the novice, too 
 small to be worth investigating, are often found to hold 
 birds. I have found and flushed from one to five birds 
 out of little wet spots not more than five feet square, and 
 all such places are worth looking through. 
 
 Never hurry over your ground in snipe-shooting. 
 The snipe being but a small bird, and one of weak scent, 
 as compared with the grouse or the quail, you should 
 give your dog, or dogs, every chance to locate the game. 
 Owing to the constant evaporation going on from the 
 moist ground on which they are found, snipe leave little 
 or no foot-scent. From learning to feel in the air for the 
 body-scent, your setter or pointer will get the correct 
 habit of working with a high head. He will learn the 
 absolute necessity of turning to investigate the very 
 faintest indication of the presence of his game, and from 
 this, and from learning to work down- wind from the gun, 
 he will, when once he has become a fine dog on snipe, 
 become all the quicker a crack dog on game of stronger 
 scent. I am well aware that Southern and Western 
 sportsmen argue the very reverse of this. I think I 
 understand their position fully, and it is this: With 
 them, snipe are so plentiful, and so many of them are 
 found near together, that in the mere matter of making 
 
248 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 a large bag a retriever answers every purpose. Moreover, 
 if working a setter or a pointer at all inclined to be nerv- 
 ous, the constant cautioning and chiding of such a dog, 
 if fast, would have a tendency to discourage him, and 
 make him slow. While I fully admit that the argument 
 is a good one as applied to those localities, and others where 
 snipe are so abundant, it will not apply where the birds 
 are scarce. With my snipe-dogs, I have more than once 
 beaten, in the open fields and hill-sides of Monmouth 
 County, New Jersey, both on snipe and quail, dogs 
 which had been reared there, and knew the grounds better 
 than my dogs. Again, I have done the same thing 
 in our Jersey pines, on the same game, and all because 
 my dogs had been taught both speed and caution on that 
 tricky little rascal, the Wilson's snipe. For this reason, 
 though many may disagree with me, I contend that a 
 young dog who is very good on snipe will, if taken West 
 or South, become good on grouse and quail far more 
 quickly than if introduced to those birds there without 
 the previous work on snipe Tiere. I have no desire to 
 seem dictatorial, but write as experience has taught me, 
 and I feel sure that every old snipe-shooter, in this part of 
 the country, will bear me out in saying that it is far 
 easier to make a dog good on any other game than it is to 
 make him equally good on snipe here. 
 
 Though the true sportsman is never inclined to over- 
 look the comfort of his dogs at any time, it is especially 
 needful to be careful of the snipe-dog. It is work par- 
 ticularly trying to the dog, as he is in mud and water the 
 whole time he is at work. Therefore, immediately on 
 coming in from your shoot, bathe him clean of all mud, 
 and then rub him with a dry, coarse cloth. See if his 
 feet be cut, or his ears torn by briers, and clean out the 
 latter with a soft, moist sponge. If any scratches or 
 thorn-wounds show, anoint them with vaseline; then feed 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 249 
 
 your dog, and allow him, if the weather is at all cold, 
 an hour' s nap before the fire. A dog so cared for will 
 last as long again as if allowed to go dirty, if not hungry, 
 and to sleep in some cold, damp, draughty kennel; and 
 I repeat that a good dog is always worth the best and 
 kindest care you can give him. 
 
 I have often been asked which I prefer for the work, 
 the setter or the pointer. It depends entirely upon the 
 locality in which you intend shooting. If I were going 
 to shoot in the Southern or the Southwestern States, I 
 should choose the pointer, as, not only in autumn, but 
 throughout the winter, the temperature of both the air 
 and the water is mild and pleasant. Moreover, the 
 pointer is somewhat more easily trained than the setter, 
 and not quite so much inclined to have a will of his own. 
 From his coat being short, he carries less mud in it, and 
 dries off more quickly than the setter; but, for the more 
 Northern States, the setter is the dog. His longer coat 
 keeps him warmer, evaporation is less rapid, and less 
 danger exists of his being struck down with pneumonia 
 or crippled with rheumatism snipe-dogs being pecul- 
 iarly liable to the last-named disease as they advance in 
 years. Aside from these considerations, I have no preju- 
 dices in favor of, or against, either breed. I have seen 
 too many noble dogs of either breed (and have owned 
 some of each myself) to allow me to speak or think 
 depreciatively of either. 
 
 ' c And now, young brother sportsman, you have not 
 yet tried snipe-shooting on our Jersey meadows; shall 
 we spend an hour or two at the sport? Ah! you second 
 the motion, do you? All right; and now let us see your 
 gun. Well, you are in luck. Yes, I see it is a twelve-bore, 
 with twenty-eight-inch barrels. What does it weigh? Six 
 and three-quarters pounds. Well, that makes a mighty 
 handy gun. Mine is a seven-pound hammerless, of 
 
250 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the same gauge and length as yours. You say yours 
 is a modified choke in the right barrel, a full choke in 
 the left. Mine is full choke in both barrels, and I some- 
 times think I will have the choke taken down a little. I 
 like both barrels to shoot alike, as I always fire them in 
 alternation; but the full choke don't exactly suit my 
 snap-shot style of shooting. Come, let us be off, for it 
 is a beautiful morning in that loveliest of the months 
 October. 
 
 " Let us try this open pasture meadow; it is high, and, 
 for the most part, dry, but the dogs can take off their 
 wire edge on it. Yonder, you see, are one or two low 
 places, and they are almost always wet. 
 
 " Look at my dogs; you see they don't go through 
 those places as a green dog would be likely to, but along 
 the down -wind side, or, as a sailor would say, on the lee- 
 ward side. 
 
 u There! the bitch has a point, and the dog is backing 
 her. Well, I did not expect we should find a bird quite 
 so soon. Only a lark, you say. No, siree! my dogs 
 don't point larks; but come up and take the shot. 
 
 " There! stand where you are; I' 11 put him up. Well, 
 that was cleanly done. He did twist about some when 
 he first got up, but you let him go just to the right spot 
 before you pulled on him. 
 
 ' ' Now here is a wet meadow, with quite a creek wind- 
 ing through it. Yonder, about the center, you see those 
 old flood-gates; go right out to them, and cross over the 
 stream there. That is the most likely ground, and the 
 best walking, too. Take the red and white dog with you; 
 he will work for you while I am in sight. I'll keep the 
 bitch, for she will work for no one but me. Let the dog 
 have his own way, and give him no orders, except to 
 tell him to retrieve when you have a bird down; and 
 now go ahead." 
 
(251) 
 
252 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 An hour has passed, several shots have been fired by 
 both, and now we come together. 
 
 "Well, what luck? You fired, let me see, sixteen 
 shots; what have you to show for them? Only nine birds, 
 you say. Well, let me tell you, that is doing right well 
 for a new hand; I have done worse myself many a time, 
 though I have done pretty well to-day. I had ten shots, 
 six single and two double ones, and have all the birds 
 here. 
 
 "And now, as you have to leave by the next train, we 
 have only time to get home. We have no need to grumble, 
 for twenty birds out of twenty-six is a score we need 
 not be ashamed of." 
 
 This is but a faint, a very faint, outline of many a day 
 I have had on those meadows. I fear I shall never have 
 such sport again; certainly, I am not likely to on those 
 same meadows. 
 
 I have said that I believe the Wilson's snipe some- 
 times breeds in New Jersey. My reason for so thinking 
 is all based upon two slight incidents, coming under my 
 personal observation. On July 4, 1867, I had a relative, 
 then living in Philadelphia, Penn., come up to see if he 
 could find any woodcock on our meadows. I had little 
 hope of finding birds, for the two preceding months of 
 May and June had been very rainy. This enabled the 
 birds to remain in the little upland swamps, which at 
 other times were too dry. 
 
 My prediction proved correct, for we found in a morn- 
 ing' s long walk only three woodcock; but, on a meadow 
 adjoining those of my old home-farm, my dogs found, 
 and I flushed, an adult Wilson's snipe. I could have shot 
 the bird easily enough, but did not molest it, for I felt sure 
 it had a nest or young near by. On the llth day of the 
 following September, I found and shot two well-grown 
 but not fully feathered snipe, not 200 yards from where 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 253 
 
 I had flushed the old bird on the 4th of the preceding 
 July. They were the fattest snipe I ever saw; for, to use 
 a common expression, they were "just like lumps of 
 butter." Neither of them could fly more than 100 yards 
 at a stretch, and their feathers were so much "lighter in 
 color than that of an adult bird, that I did not recognize 
 them for snipe when they flushed, or I would not have 
 shot at them. Coupling their inability to fly far with 
 the fact of their exceeding fatness, it is fair to say that 
 they were bred in the immediate vicinity. Coupling 
 these two facts with the previous one of my flushing an 
 old bird from so near by, only six or eight weeks earlier 
 in the season, I think it will be admitted that I have a 
 right to think that those birds all belonged to one family, 
 and that the young were hatched on those meadows. 
 Furthermore, I worked over those meadows with my 
 dogs two or three times a week thereafter, and I find, 
 by reference to my shooting-notes, that the autumn flight 
 of snipe did not begin to be seen, in that year, till October 
 8th, which was within a few days of being one month later. 
 
 The earliest date on which I have ever shot snipe in 
 spring was on the 24th of February, 1866; yet the next 
 year my first birds were killed on the 28th of March. 
 I have shot them so late as the 12th of December, and it 
 is not an uncommon thing for them to winter quite far 
 north. We should hear of it far oftener than we do, but 
 that sportsmen, during autumn, turn their attention to 
 larger game. 
 
 Sportsmen of the West and Southwest are somewhat 
 excusable for wishing to shoot them in spring, since in 
 those sections they are frequently driven off by the dry- 
 ness of the grounds in the autumn, arid if they were not 
 shot during the spring flight, they would not be found 
 at all. That they are shot there almost entirely without 
 the aid of dogs, other than retrievers, is due to the fact 
 
254 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 that they are found in such great numbers, and so easily. 
 It is not by any means an uncommon thing for a good shot 
 to kill from fifty to 100 birds in a day. Tastes differ, 
 and to me the working of the dogs, and not the size of the 
 bag, is the measure of the sport, and, for that reason, 
 I would rather kill twenty birds over a brace of fast, 
 well-trained, keen-nosed setters or pointers than 200 with 
 a mere retriever. Tastes also differ as to the edible 
 qualities of game; but, in the writer's estimation, no bird 
 surpasses the snipe as a table delicacy. 
 
 During the spring flight, snipe do not resort only to 
 the meadows. Wet upland pastures, corn -stubbles, the 
 sides of ditches, and wet spots on fields of upstanding 
 winter wheat or rye, will be found to be frequented by 
 them. In cold, windy weather, they resort to open, wet 
 woodlands, alder and willow thickets, or places on the 
 marshes protected from the wind by tall rushes. 
 
 It is a mistake for the novice to suppose that every 
 marsh is good ground for snipe. If the soil is of a sour 
 nature, the worms they delight in will not be found 
 there, and neither will the birds. They never come in 
 the spring till the frost is well out of the ground, so that 
 their feed will be plentiful, and easily reached; and 
 instinct teaches them that warm spring rains have a 
 tendency to bring about the proper conditions. 
 
 On their first coming, they are thin and worn down, 
 but, if they be undisturbed, and feed be plentiful, they 
 soon become fat and lazy in bright, still weather. The 
 feed must be plentiful indeed, for a snipe will consume 
 from three to four times his weight of food in a day. 
 Beyond having to look for them in places to which they 
 rarely resort in autumn such places as I have named the 
 shooting of them differs in nowise from that in autumn. 
 
 How best to shoot them is a mooted point. I always 
 take them the instant they flush, unless very close by; 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 255 
 
 others wait till they steady in their flight, and do good 
 shooting. 
 
 Although most of their migrating is done at night, 
 they sometimes fly in dark weather. They can fre- 
 quently be heard passing overhead at night, as they 
 keep up the well-known cry of "scaipe, scaipe." The 
 drumming, as it is called, which is so often referred to by 
 other writers and sportsmen, is a thing I have never seen 
 them do. Neither have I ever heard them "chuckle like 
 lay ing hens," nor seen them "perch upon fences or trees." 
 I can not doubt their doing these things, as the facts are 
 too well substantiated to admit of doubt, and it is well 
 known that these are habits of the mating and breeding 
 season. 
 
 I sometimes wonder how many sportsmen there are 
 who have had the good fortune to observe a migrating 
 flock of snipe coming onto the meadows. I have had 
 the good luck to see it twice in my experience once in 
 the spring and once in autumn. By mere chance, it hap- 
 pened, on both occasions, that I was out without a gun, 
 merely giving my setters a race. It also happened that 
 both times the birds came in on the same meadow. It 
 was one of some twenty acres of ground, and one which 
 during the summer was dry, and from which hay was cut. 
 Though it was only about a mile from home, there were 
 no birds to be found on my return with my gun, though 
 to get it I was, in neither instance, absent over three- 
 quarters of an hour; nor could I find any birds on the 
 adjacent meadows. They had dropped in only for a little 
 rest. 
 
 In boring for their food, snipe make holes in the mud 
 which look as if a thin pencil had been pushed into the 
 ground. You may, however, find many of these borings, 
 yet find no birds, they having changed their quarters; 
 but should you see the droppings of the birds where the 1 
 
256 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ground is at all wet, you may know the birds are near at 
 hand, or have just left. On dry spots, the droppings 
 remain plain to the sight for days, but on wet ground 
 speedily lose color, and are absorbed by the soil. 
 
 I have noted elsewhere that it is best to look for the 
 game on bright, warm days, when little wind is blowing. 
 They are loath to rise at such times, but on raw, cold, 
 windy days they will be wild and uneasy. 
 
 I have before me an excellent little chapter on snipe 
 as they are found in the Western States, from which I 
 quote. Unfortunately, I do not know who the writer is, 
 so can not give him credit, as I would like to: 
 
 ' ' Snipe are as eccentric in their habits as when on the 
 wing. At times, in the spring, they come early and tarry 
 late, affording most excellent sport throughout the 
 season. Again, they feed on the open marshes mostly 
 by night, and with the earliest dawn hie away into the 
 inaccessible center of the slough, or among the low brush- 
 wood growing up in or close by the marsh, or even upon 
 the near uplands, where they rise always far out of range. 
 A peculiarity of good snipe-ground is its seeming inex- 
 haustibility. On a well-stocked snipe-ground, you raise 
 possibly 100 birds to-day, and kill off a couple of 
 dozen. To-morrow, there seem about as many, and your 
 success corresponds with that of yesterday; so through a 
 whole week, perhaps, with apparently no marked addi- 
 tion or subtraction from the quantity of game when you 
 desist." 
 
 Always hunt snipe with the wind on your back, as 
 they seem to require the resistance of the wind to enable 
 them to rise quickly. By working in this way, the birds 
 lie closer, and you get shots nearer at hand, for, as they 
 spring up in the face of the wind, they will present to you 
 side-quartering shots. They are not a hard bird to kill, 
 as one or two pellets of No. 8 or 9 shot will stop them. As 
 
SNIPE, AND SNIPE-SHOOTING. 257 
 
 to hitting them, that is another matter, for out of twenty 
 birds flushed no two may rise in the same way, and you 
 must watch how they rise, and vary your tactics on each 
 individual bird. 
 
 In looking for them, and especially during the spring 
 migrations, look for them wherever there are moist spots 
 of ground. This, besides including the open marshes, also 
 includes wet places on corn-stubble, grain-stubbles, past- 
 ure-fields, and, if there be a raw, cold wind, open, wet 
 woodlands and half -filled old ditches. 
 
 In bright, warm weather, with low southerly winds, 
 during the morning and afternoon hours the open mead- 
 ows and marshes are the grounds. 
 
 Work your grounds over slowly and thoroughly, 
 since, though one or two birds may be in an unaccommo- 
 dating humor, and flush far out of range, the next one 
 may lie up close, and let you pass him, unless carefully 
 looked for. 
 
 Snipe are given many names by the country people, 
 but their true title is the Wilson snipe Scolopax Wil- 
 sonii of the early naturalist, Gallinago Wilsonii of the 
 later ones. " English snipe " and "jacksnipe" are both 
 misnomers, as the names of two birds found in the British 
 Isles are given to a single bird. 
 
 As in snipe-shooting } 7 ou are most of the time on wet 
 ground, it is well, particularly in the spring, when both 
 water and the soil beneath it have the chill of winter yet 
 in them, to keep the feet dry, if possible. Therefore use 
 long rubber boots, and, with moderate care and some 
 knowledge of your ground, you may escape wet feet, and 
 a possible attack of pneumonia. With the exception of 
 duck-shooting, there is more exposure to wet in snipe- 
 shooting than in any other sport. 
 
 Remember (as I have already pointed out) that not 
 every piece of low, wet ground is necessarily good ground. 
 
 17 
 
258 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 If the soil is sour, or washed by mineral springs, the 
 worms the birds feed on will not be there, and, as the 
 snipe is a ravenous feeder, he will not go onto such 
 places, though they will come to good feeding-ground as 
 soon in the spring as the frost is out so that they can 
 reach their food, and on such grounds, and in good 
 weather, will most probably be found day after day. 
 Hence, if you do not find them to-day where yesterday 
 there were plenty of them, do not be discouraged, but try 
 other ground, and return to the old quarters on the 
 morrow. 
 
 Every sportsman has his favorite game, but, though I 
 am fully cognizant of the delight of shooting other game, 
 the snipe, because of the eccentricity of his ways, is and 
 ever will be my favorite game bird. Next to him I rank 
 the woodcock. 
 
 I have spent many happy days in the pursuit of snipe, 
 and feel to them a lasting indebtedness for that pleasure. 
 I have written of them as I have found them, relying 
 upon other authors as little as possible, and giving the 
 results of such experience and observation as unlimited 
 opportunities have favored me with. 
 
 If anything I have written should be of any use to 
 some young brother of the trigger, or should call up in 
 the minds of old hands at snipe-shooting memories of 
 past, pleasant days with the long-bills, my work will not 
 have been in vain. Much that has been written of them 
 by writers like Forester, I could have reproduced here, 
 but the desire not to be tedious has kept my pen within 
 bounds, and had I written a volume on the subject, I do 
 not feel that I could have written more to the purpose. 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 
 
 i 
 
 BY SAMUEL C. CLARKE, 
 AutJwr of " Fishes of the East Atlantic Coast," Etc. 
 
 Old men forget, yet shall not all forget, 
 But they'll remember with advantage 
 What feats they did that day." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE, King Henry V. 
 
 ,T was in October, 1839, that the writer landed 
 in Chicago, from the lake steamer Illi- 
 nois , which plied between Buffalo and Chi- 
 cago, no railroads then existing west of 
 Central New York. Chicago then contained 
 less than 5,000 people, living on half a dozen 
 streets running parallel with the river, on its north and 
 south banks. 
 
 The West Division was then hardly existent, and a 
 low, wet prairie extended from the Chicago River to the 
 Des Plaines twelve miles a wide sea of grass, embel- 
 lished with flowers. At that time, there were only three 
 or four brick buildings on Lake Street, on which, with 
 South Water Street, the main business of the town was 
 done. It was in that year that the first shipment of 
 wheat, about 150 bushels, was made to Buffalo, and it 
 was thought worthy of record that, in 1840, 1,000,000 feet 
 of lumber were sold in a city since become the largest 
 lumber market in the world. In fact, times were dull; 
 the great land boom of 1836 had expended its force, and 
 lots which two years before had sold for thousands, now 
 sought in vain for purchasers at any price. Some people 
 
 (259) 
 
260 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 thought that Chicago was a failure, and were going back 
 East, or north to the more prosperous village of Mil- 
 waukee. But living was very cheap; the writer boarded 
 for $2 a week at the City Hotel, where venison, grouse, 
 duck, and white-fish covered the board. So the more 
 hopeful of us concluded to stay and wait for better 
 times. 
 
 There were three brothers of us, all living in Chicago, 
 and all fond of field sports, and as business was so dull 
 that one of us could easily look after the store, the 
 others could improve the great opportunities offered in 
 the way of shooting and fishing. 
 
 I was then over thirty years. old, and had been a 
 wanderer in many lands, and had been where game was 
 plentiful, but had never seen anything like the abundance 
 of fur and feather there was in Northern Illinois. The 
 Sac and Fox Indians had been removed a few years before 
 from this region, which they naturally were unwilling to 
 leave, and all kinds of game had increased since their 
 departure. 
 
 The day after my arrival, my brother drove me out a 
 few miles to a farm where the prairie fowl abounded. 
 In summer they were found all over the prairies, but in 
 the fall they collected about the grain-fields. Our old 
 pointer, Phil, soon came to a point, and we left the wagon 
 with our guest; but when a flock of twenty or thirty 
 birds, as big as barn-door fowls, rose from the stubble 
 with a roar of wings, I stood bewildered. My brother, 
 however, brought down a bird with each barrel. They 
 fell on the sod, thump, and I picked up my first pinnated 
 grouse, a bird, in my estimation, at the head of American 
 game. To those accustomed to its noisy way of rising, 
 this bird is not difficult to kill, but I have known the 
 best Eastern shots, men who could cut down the ruffed 
 grouse as it dodged among the trees, or the snipe as it 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EAELY DAYS. 261 
 
 flew zigzag over the meadows, unable to stop a prairie 
 hen on the first day' s shooting. 
 
 These birds are usually hatched, in broods of twelve 
 to fifteen, in May, and on the 1st of August shooting 
 was allowed, though the young birds were not really 
 large enough to be killed till September, their flight being 
 still weak and their flesh insipid; but it was so easy to 
 kill the half -grown birds, that the gunners usually did it, 
 though the sportsmen waited till the grouse were strong 
 on the wing and had a game flavor. 
 
 I was once crossing the prairie west of Chicago, late 
 in July, with a friend, on our way to some woodcock 
 grounds, when we saw a couple of Germans shooting the 
 young grouse. My friend, who was a very free-spoken 
 man, called out to them as we passed: "Say, boys, 
 why don't you suck the eggs? " 
 
 We had in Chicago at that time many good dogs, not 
 valued at hundreds of dollars, as in these wealthy times, 
 but well bred, and good workers in the field. In fact, if a 
 dog was well bred it was easy to train him, where grouse 
 were so abundant. There was a large breed of liver-and- 
 white setters, which, from their size, could easily be seen 
 in the long grass. They were called the " Southport" 
 setters, from a town where they originated. I have seen 
 a young dog of this breed, which had never seen a bird 
 in the field, taken out in the morning with a trained dog, 
 and before night the youngster would stand as stanchly 
 as the old dog. 
 
 I had myself a brace of pointer pups, out of old Phil, 
 which, at six months old, never having been off my 
 premises, were taken by me to a field near town where I 
 thought birds were to be found. While I was fastening 
 my horse, the young dogs jumped the fence and disap- 
 peared. I followed, and found them afar off, apparently 
 standing birds; as I approached, I saw the remarkable 
 
262 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 sight of two young dogs, which had never before seen or 
 scented game, one at a point, the other backing him. 
 When I came up, I flushed a brood of young grouse, and 
 the dogs, although much excited, did not attempt to chase 
 a remarkable instance of education transmitted through 
 many generations of trained dogs. Phil, the father of 
 these puppies, was a famous dog in his day; he would 
 retrieve his birds when ordered, and even go into the 
 water for ducks, if allowed. He has more than once 
 pointed a covey with a dead bird in his mouth, and I have 
 seen him come to a point on the top rail of a fence as he 
 was jumping over, scenting birds in the next field. 
 When grouse ran before him, and lie feared that his mas- 
 ter would not get up in time to shoot, he would back out, 
 run around the covey, and bring them to a halt, never 
 flushing them, and would fetch the wounded birds before 
 the dead ones, knowing, as it seemed, that the wounded 
 ones might escape. He would hunt with anyone he 
 knew, but if the hunter shot badly, would leave in dis- 
 gust, and go home. He was often stolen, but always 
 returned in a few days, sometimes with a rope around his 
 neck, foot-sore and weary, as if he had traveled far. He 
 was a strongly built, liver-colored dog, with a white spot 
 on his breast; lived to a good old age, and left many 
 descendants of value in and about Chicago. I have 
 owned many dogs of various breeds, but I think that this 
 pointer, Phil, was the most intelligent of his race- 
 perhaps because he lived day and night at his master's 
 side, and so became almost human in his ways. 
 
 Grouse being so plenty, of course large bags were 
 made thirty or forty to a gun in a day. My friend 
 
 J. E. M , a wonderful shot, once drove from Fox River 
 
 to Chicago in a day forty miles and killed about 100 
 grouse on the way, with one dog. As full-grown grouse 
 were worth only $1 a dozen at Chicago, there was little 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 263 
 
 shooting for the market. A sportsman could easily kill 
 all he wanted for himself and friends, and was not apt to 
 play the hog. 
 
 I once tried the experiment of keeping this bird in 
 captivity in winter, when the farmers used to catch them 
 alive in traps and bring them to town for sale. I put 
 about 100 in a large garret, and fed them on corn and 
 wheat, but they never got tame enough to bear the sight 
 of me, and flew up against the roof at my approach, 
 wounding and killing themselves, and the cocks would 
 fight furiously together. By spring, four were left alive 
 out of the 100, and those poor in flesh, so I turned the 
 survivors loose. 
 
 I once turned out a cock grouse, with clipped wings, 
 among my poultry; but they would not associate together, 
 and when his wings grew out again, he flew/ away. I 
 have heard that grouse have been tamed, but think they 
 should be hatched by a hen to make a success of it. 
 
 About 1842 or 1843, I found a covey of grouse on the 
 prairie, somewhere near Michigan Avenue and Twelfth 
 Street, as it now is, and we killed some of them. These, 
 I think, were the last shots fired by us within the limits 
 of the present City of Chicago. 
 
 We had woodcock-shooting in summer along the Chi- 
 cago River, and in the sloughs along the lake shore. In the 
 timber along the Des Plaines River, woodcock abounded. 
 
 I was there once with Dr. J. T. T , who was one of the 
 
 best shots I ever saw. We put up many birds that day. 
 Out of twenty shots, Doctor T -killed eighteen birds, 
 and that in thick cover a feat hard to surpass. I always 
 liked to shoot with this gentleman, for he gave me the 
 easy shots, and if I missed the birds, he would bring 
 them down. 
 
 Doctor T used to hunt in early days with the famous 
 
 Capt. Martin Scott, who commanded the garrison in Chi- 
 
264 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 cago, and was afterward killed in Mexico. I asked the 
 Doctor whether Scott could outshoot him. i i I usually 
 got as many birds as the Captain," said he, "for he was 
 so careful of his reputation of being a dead shot, that he 
 picked his shots, while I blazed away at everything that 
 came along. ' ' I doubt if there were two men in America 
 who could have got more game of any kind in a day than 
 
 Captain Scott and Doctor T -. They were both men of 
 
 untiring muscle, with the piercing black eyes generally 
 found in successful hunters. 
 
 There were many good shots in Chicago at that time, 
 game being so plentiful that all who had a taste for field 
 sports could easily gratify it. 
 
 After the grouse, came quail, for those who cared for 
 small game; then came the ducks, which were to be found 
 in every river, creek, pond, and slough. 
 
 In 1840, there was an old swing-bridge at Randolph 
 Street, the only means of crossing to the West Division, 
 which contained not more than a dozen buildings. 
 Above Madison Street, the river banks were uninhabited 
 till you came to a small farm, half a mile up the south 
 branch. I have killed many ducks in the river just above 
 Madison Street bridge. In the fall and spring, this whole 
 West Division was a wet prairie, the haunt of curlew, 
 snipe, and other wading birds. The rare and beautiful 
 bird known as Wilson' s phalarope used to breed in these 
 marshes, and I supplied Eastern collectors with speci- 
 mens. I have seen the snipe so abundant in that region, 
 now the most populous part of Chicago, that you could 
 not walk a rod without flushing one of the long-bills, 
 and perhaps the next day they would all be gone. 
 
 For ducks we usually went to the Calumet River and 
 the Calumet Lake, now the site of a larger and much 
 handsomer city than Chicago was in 1840. I made a col- 
 lection of fowl from that river, and it contained four 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPOETS IN EARLY DAYS. 265 
 
 species of geese and twenty of ducks, besides a swan 
 and a pelican all killed by myself and friends. We 
 used no blinds or decoys, but paddled our own canoes, 
 and the old muzzle-loaders would bring a bag of from 
 twenty to fifty ducks in a day to each gun. I brought 
 with me, from Boston, a female pup of the short-haired 
 Newfoundland breed, which I imported from St. Johns, 
 and a remarkable retriever she proved to be. The first 
 time I took her out, though she had never heard a gun 
 fired, when I killed a duck, and it fell into the river, Fan 
 brought it out as handsomely as an old dog could have 
 retrieved it. After that, no wounded ducks could escape 
 her, she swam so fast and dived so deep; but she 
 sometimes failed to distinguish between wild and tame 
 fowls, and always wanted to bring me the ducks and 
 geese belonging to the Irish folks along the river. 
 
 In the woods and groves, ruffed grouse were to be 
 found abundantly. I have seen a bag of at least thirty 
 of them brought by two sportsmen from the Des Plaines 
 timber, the result of one day's sport, which is more than 
 we could ever get in my youth in New England. 
 
 In the winter came deer-hunting, and the whole coun- 
 try was full of them. A party of four or five hunters 
 would, in a two days' hunt, get ten or fifteen deer. About 
 1842, 1 remember a circular drive, where 100 men or more, 
 and a mixed pack of dogs, surrounded Blue Island, and 
 drove probably fifty deer into town as far as Thirtieth 
 Street. Most of them, however, broke through the ring 
 and escaped; perhaps six or eight were killed. One win- 
 ter' s day I was out on the prairie south of the town, in a 
 sleigh, with a friend who drove a pair of thorough-bred 
 sorrels; along came a buck, pursued by a brace of deer- 
 hounds then in use, powerful and fieet dogs, a cross 
 between the English greyhound and the bull-dog. My 
 friend put his horses on the run, and we kept up with the 
 
266 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 chase for a mile or so; but the snow was deep, and the deer 
 outran both dogs and horses. These hounds were also 
 used to chase prairie wolves, which were plentiful, and 
 one of them could kill a wolf without help. Another 
 time, I was out on the prairie with my brother, in a sleigh, 
 when a deer came in sight. 
 
 My brother unharnessed his horse, put on a saddle, 
 took a gun, and started in pursuit, leaving me on the 
 boundless prairie. He returned in half an hour, having 
 killed the buck, which we picked up. We had a mare 
 so well trained that we could shoot off of her back, or 
 leave her on the prairie while we went to shoot, and she 
 would follow us about, grazing as she went. 
 
 About thirty miles north of Chicago is the town of 
 Lake Forest, with a large population of wealthy Chicago 
 men. This, in 1840, was a region of heavily wooded 
 ravines, where deer were abundant. The only white 
 inhabitant was an old hunter by the name of Clark 
 ''Indian Clark," he was called, to distinguish him from 
 others of the same name. He lived in a log cabin, and 
 subsisted on the proceeds of the chase. The deer he called 
 his cattle, and would call on any brother who was fond 
 of deer-hunting, when he came to town, with this invi- 
 tation: "Doctor, my cattle are getting fat; won't you 
 come out and kill a few?" which suggestion was seldom 
 refused. 
 
 My first deer-hunt was, as I remember, with J. E. 
 
 M , in the wooded country west of Fox River. We 
 
 were driving through a grove in McHenry County, and 
 were descending into a little valley, when up sprang a 
 dozen deer from the long grass all around us. My com- 
 panion, always ready, quickly raised his rifle, and 
 brought down a fine buck; but I was so much astonished 
 at the unaccustomed sight, that I forgot my gun, and sat 
 gazing at the retreating herd. We marked where they 
 
WESTERN" FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 267 
 
 went into the timber, half a mile away, and as a wagon 
 and ox -team came along, M - engaged the driver to 
 follow the deer, which are not afraid of oxen. We left 
 our wagon, and I got into the other one, which was driven 
 
 slowly toward the deer, M , in the meantime, making 
 
 a circuit through the Avoods, and hiding beyond the deer. 
 They kept out of range of my shot-gun, feeding along 
 until they got within 100 yards of the ambushed hunter, 
 who got two of them in range, and killed them both with 
 one bullet. This was all the meat we wanted. A deer's 
 carcass could then be bought for $1.50 hide and all. 
 
 I have always been more fond of fishing than of 
 shooting, and in 1840 the fish in the Illinois waters were 
 as abundant as game on the land. From the lake piers 
 we could catch perch, pike, lake trout, black and white 
 bass, cat-fish, and sometimes a muskallonge. At that time 
 the Chicago River water was pure enough to drink, and 
 pike, black bass, rock bass, cat-fish, and dog-fish could 
 be taken in either branch of the river, above the forks. 
 In the Calumet River, all these species were to be found 
 in great numbers, so that 100 pounds a day were often 
 taken with the rod. Big gar-fish and muskallonge were 
 there also. I saw one of the latter, which was six feet 
 long, and weighed eighty pounds, taken in a seine at the 
 river 1 s mouth. In the Fox River, and the lakes in the 
 northern part of the State, all these fish were plentiful, 
 as also in the Rock River. I caught black bass with the 
 fly in those waters fifty years ago. It is claimed that the 
 spoon is rather a modern device for catching fish, but I 
 used them on the lakes as long ago as 1842, and I think 
 they were, in a simple form, brought from Norway by the 
 immigrants. 
 
 In the fall of 1840, I went, in company with Doctor 
 
 T , to the new Territory of Iowa. We traveled in a 
 
 light wagon, with two horses, taking a change of clothing, 
 
268 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 our guns, and a pointer dog. We went by way of 
 Aurora, on Fox River, and Dixon, on Rock River, and 
 struck the Mississippi at Savannah. The distance, by 
 the way we went, was about 200 miles, and we did it in 
 about five days, the roads being good at the time. The 
 country between Chicago and the great river had few set- 
 tlers, and we drove over the prairies many hours at a 
 time without seeing a house or a human being. Early 
 travelers were always impressed with the likeness of 
 these immense grassy plains dotted with groves, to the 
 ocean with its islands the horizon extending to the sky- 
 line, and the surface of tall grass waving in the wind like 
 the gentle ripple of the summer sea. Like the ocean, the 
 prairie was then pathless, and we steered due west, like 
 an ocean steamer bound across the Atlantic to America. 
 Game was abundant; every creek and slough had its 
 ducks; the prairie fowl ran along the roadside, and the 
 deer bounded through the thickets. The Doctor killed 
 birds enough every day to feed us, and we had them 
 cooked at the log cabins at the roadside where we 
 stopped. 
 
 We reached Savannah toward noon on the fifth day. 
 There was a ferry, but the ferryman was absent, and his 
 cabin was closed, and there was no other habitation in 
 sight. We waited some time, and then the Doctor entered 
 the cabin through the window, and opened the door. We 
 were hungry, and looking for something to eat, found a 
 pot with a venison stew, and some corn-bread, of which 
 we began to eat, when suddenly the door opened, and a 
 tall, muscular figure, with a blackened face, entered a 
 formidable fellow, who seemed able to throw the intruders 
 into the river. Although he must have been surprised to 
 see his property in the hands of strangers, he showed it 
 not, but accosted us with civility, and when we hastened 
 to apologize for our freedom, he made us welcome, 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 269 
 
 showing a natural politeness which, was very pleasant. 
 He was a charcoal-burner as well as ferryman, which, 
 accounted for the blackness of his countenance. The 
 ferry-boat being on the other bank, he took us across in 
 a dug-out. The river being high, with a heavy current, 
 and about a mile wide, the passage seemed rather peril- 
 ous. He called an assistant, and went over with the flat- 
 boat for our wagon and horses. 
 
 We were in Jackson County, Iowa, which territory 
 was settled only about thirty miles west of the river, 
 and that sparsely. We found shelter in a log cabin that 
 night, and in the morning we went west to look for the 
 claim of two Chicago men, who had gone there a year 
 before, and who had invited us to visit them. At noon, 
 we stopped at the cabin of an old patriarch lately arrived 
 from Illinois, with wife, sons, daughters, sons-in-law, 
 and grandchildren a dozen or more not one of them 
 with a shoe or a hat, and with nothing in the house to 
 eat except boiled corn and venison; but they, all seemed 
 happy and contented, and gave us of what they had. 
 The old man was one of the pioneers; he had moved 
 first from Ohio to Illinois, and when that State became 
 too thickly settled to suit him, he came to Iowa. While 
 we were there, one of the daughters had a fit, and Doctor 
 
 T , with his pocket-knife, opened a vein and relieved 
 
 her. 
 
 From the cabin of this philosopher of the wilderness, 
 we traveled a few hours, until we found our friends' 
 place, which was also a lodge in a vast wilderness. There 
 we staid two days while our friends were organizing a 
 hunting-party. This was hard on the lady of the house, 
 who had to do the house-work, servants not being 
 obtainable. 
 
 On the third day we started our hosts, two neighbors, 
 the Doctor, and myself in two wagons, with camp equi- 
 
270 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 page, guns, and dogs. We traveled through a wild coun- 
 try to a region seventy -five miles west of the river, 
 known as the ''neutral ground," lying between the land 
 of the Sacs and the Foxes and the white settlements; in 
 this territory the Indians did not hunt, and it was there- 
 fore supposed that game would be plentiful. Here we 
 encamped, near the head- waters of the Wapsipinicon, 
 for a week, but did not find game as plentiful as we 
 expected; six deer and an elk were killed, but no 
 turkeys. Wolves were numerous, and howled about our 
 camp at night, making it hideous; and one of the party, 
 returning to camp after dark, was followed by a pack of 
 the big timber wolves, who seemed eager to make him 
 their meat. 
 
 We had heard that the Sac and Fox Indians, who 
 had been expelled from Illinois a few years before, were 
 unfriendly to the whites, and had robbed and ill-treated 
 some hunters whom they had found hunting on their 
 grounds. One day, when I was left alone in camp, two 
 well-mounted and armed Indians rode up and dis- 
 mounted. Oar dog fled to me, howling with fear, and I 
 felt similar sensations; but I had always been told by 
 the pioneers that you must never let an Indian know that 
 you fear him, so I pretended unconcern, and went on 
 with my cooking, and when they entered the tent I 
 greeted them in a friendly way, as if I was expecting 
 them to dinner. They were big fellows, but did not seem 
 unfriendly; asked first for whisky, by signs, speaking 
 no English, and by signs I told them I had none. I 
 asked them to eat some venison stew, which they did 
 with an appetite, doing justice to my cookery. While 
 they were eating, I made up my mind that, if attacked, I 
 would shoot one of them with a pocket pistol which I 
 had ready to use. In the tent stood a double-barreled 
 gun, on which they had their eyes, and one inquired (still 
 
WESTERN FIELD SPORTS IN EARLY DAYS. 
 
 271 
 
 by signs) how many were in our party, and where they 
 were. I held up both hands to signify ten, and pointed 
 to the woods. Then one of them moved toward the gun 
 as if to take it, but I stepped before him and shook 
 my head. Then they laughed, shook hands with me, 
 mounted their horses, and rode away, greatly to my 
 relief. 
 
 Next day we broke camp and returned home, the 
 Iowa men thinking these Indians were spies, and that 
 they might return with a large party and drive us away. 
 
 Traveling over the prairies of Iowa, we often met with 
 scattered skulls and bones of the buffalo, which could 
 not have long disappeared from that region; and on a 
 high bluff on the Rock River, in Illinois, the remains of a 
 chief of the Sacs was still to be seen in a tree-top, 
 wrapped in his blanket, after the manner of sepulture 
 used by those Indians. 
 
FIELD ETIQUETTE. 
 
 BY F. E. POND ("WILL WILDWOOD"), 
 Autlwr of "Memoirs of Eminent Sportsmen," "The Greenwood Club," Etc. 
 
 
 
 
 
 ethics of field sports must be 
 | regarded, to some extent, as an 
 unwritten code, recognized and 
 appreciated by perhaps a majority 
 of those who use the gun for recre- 
 ation, yet strictly put in practice by only 
 a minority of the vast legions claiming fellow- 
 ship in the fraternity. Multitudes of men become to a 
 degree proficient in the use of the gun, either for glory or 
 gain, but the true knight of the trigger possesses chivalry 
 and courtesy, an inherent and ever-abiding love of fair 
 play, and his code of ethics may be considered the 
 promptings of his nature, not an acquired formula to be 
 put on with his shooting-suit, and laid aside as readily. 
 Field etiquette, in short, may be defined as the spirit 
 of courtesy that springs into action spontaneously, as the 
 outcome of kindred tastes the genial, generous feeling 
 of fraternity and good-fellowship. The genuine sports- 
 man, like the poet, is born, not made. Wealth and rank 
 and education will give greater opportunities for the 
 indulgence of a natural taste for field sports, but neither of 
 these, nor all combined, can impart the essential qualities 
 we have briefly outlined. The unlettered woodsman, 
 skilled in nothing except the gentle science of woodcraft, 
 may show finer perceptions of the ethics of field sports 
 
 18 (273) 
 
274 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 than the wealthy sportsman who has grown cold and 
 callous in pursuit of the almighty dollar. That doughty 
 old highland chieftain, Roderick Dhu, in entertaining his 
 royal adversary, Fitz James, evinced the true spirit of 
 courtesy when 
 
 " He gave him of his highland cheer, 
 The hardened flesh of mountain deer." 
 
 Considering the time and circumstance and surround- 
 ings, the rude feast thus provided was a truer test of 
 hospitality than many a banquet of rarest viands. 
 
 Inasmuch as the ethics of sportsmanship can not be 
 practically learned from books, or even imparted by pre- 
 cept, it would be useless to attempt to lay down the rules 
 that should govern the shooter's conduct when afield. 
 The task, at best, so far as it could be theoretically per- 
 formed, would require the tact of a Chesterfield, with 
 more space at command than can be accorded in a single 
 chapter. In lieu, therefore, of a set formula, it will be 
 safer to touch upon a few of the negative qualities often 
 unconsciously developed, or, at least, exercised without 
 restraint. 
 
 In the field with genial companions and no others 
 need be considered one should lay aside the selfishness 
 associated with business life, and assume the nobler 
 attributes of his nature. Let him lock the spirit of avarice 
 in his office safe, within the deepest receptacle, and if he 
 can forget the combination to reach and resurrect it, so 
 much the better. At all events, let him show as little 
 of avarice and as much of kindliness as possible. He 
 whose greed can not be held in check, should be content to 
 take solitary rambles with dog and gun. Possibly the 
 bountiful character of Dame Nature may subdue his 
 selfishness, open his heart and hand, and teach him the 
 true philosophy of out-door recreation its social and. 
 moral requirements. 
 
FIELD ETIQUETTE. 275 
 
 Until this lesson has been thoroughly learned, his 
 society will not be eagerly sought, and he may remain 
 aloof from select parties of sporting tourists with full 
 confidence that he never will be missed. That gifted 
 writer and well-known authority, "Gloan," touches upon 
 some of the principal points under consideration in his 
 admirable work, i ' The Breech-loader, ' ' thus : " To evince 
 disregard even the slightest for the possible safety of 
 others, is something more than a mere solecism in man- 
 ners. Therefore, no man. should infringe the rules of the 
 field as to carrying his gun, or as to pointing it or shooting 
 it in the direction of another. The caps of a muzzle-loader 
 should always be removed upon entering a dwelling, riding 
 in a conveyance, and whenever not actually in the field; and 
 more than that, the fulminating powder should be care- 
 fully brushed from the nipple. The cartridge of the gun 
 should always be taken out of the gun on such occasions. 
 Abandon any shooter who. refuses to do either! 
 
 " To give a younger or less successful man the choice 
 and majority of shots in a day, should be the rule of 
 courtesy; for even between experienced and equal shots, 
 sometimes the luck will all run to one gun, and no shift 
 in position or change of locality will alter it. Generosity 
 then becomes a duty. " 
 
 ' 4 The field is the touchstone of the man. A gentleman 
 he who claims the title by his even nature, his thought- 
 fulness for friends and others, his self-respect, and, when 
 necessary, self-sacrifice, his forbearance, his politeness, 
 in deed as well as word will find the opportunities 
 greater to show his qualities brighter in the field than in 
 the parlor. 
 
 " To the man of business cares and toils, the field 
 should be an occasion of self-improvement as well as 
 relaxation. While he is in the world of strife, making 
 his race for wealth and fame and power, he may excuse 
 
276 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to himself his selfish habits upon worldy reasons. He 
 may button up the nobler impulses of his nature in his 
 breeches pocket. He may grasp whatever gain his busi- 
 ness brings, and call it thrift. But when in the field, let 
 him put away his grosser self and resume his better attri- 
 butes. Let him be joyous in the health and liberty it 
 brings; let his joyousness make him a coveted companion, 
 an amiable friend, a truer man, bringing sunshine and 
 gladness to those about him, inducing them to emulate 
 his example and imitate his virtues." 
 
 "Veteran! remember the days when you were young. 
 Not always were you the dead shot which you now are. 
 It was not in a day or a year that you learned all of that 
 lore of the chase and matured that judgment of which 
 you are now so proud. Not without, many a timely hint 
 and friendly word, did you accumulate those stratagems 
 and resources which render you now so successful and 
 expert. This young man hangs upon your every word. 
 Be his friend indeed. If you are his instructor, do not 
 be his tyrant. His nerves may be weak, his actions 
 awkward, his sight uncertain, and his bag unfilled. 
 Kindness and encouragement may bring him out, but, be 
 sure of it, that derision never will." 
 
 " Be not a miser with the treasures of your experi- 
 ence. Give them freely to him and to all. Keflect that 
 when, at, last, you lay down your gun to be taken up 
 again in this world no more forever, you will leave behind 
 you spirits as buoyant and sportsmen as ardent as ever 
 were before. It is not enough that from the great fund 
 of your field- wealth you shall dole out parsimonious 
 scraps as your legacy to sport. Spread it broadcast and 
 generously. Give, and give so gladly and humanly that 
 it shall be in reality and literally with you, more blessed 
 to give than to receive." 
 
 Very little need be added to the foregoing well-chosen 
 
FIELD ETIQUETTE. 277 
 
 words of field philosophy from the pen of one of the 
 brightest and best sporting authors of our time. Every 
 lover of out-door recreation can call to mind the diverse 
 characteristics of associates or companions frequently 
 met with in the shooting-field. The two extremes may 
 be compared to positive and negative forces the one 
 type attracting and the other repelling. 
 
 Who has not come in contact with the would-be oracle 
 the pariah of camp and field? This specimen of the 
 genus homo is nothing if not autocratic. He impresses 
 upon those around him the vast extent of his forest lore, 
 his skill, and varied experience as a mighty Nimrod, and 
 assumes the air of a dictator or the patronizing tone of a 
 superior being. He may vary it with a sarcastic remark 
 concerning the arms or appliances of his associates, their 
 lack of judgment, etc., and setting forth his dictum as to 
 the proper gauge of guns, utterly unconscious of or obliv- 
 ious to the fact that he is himself a perfect bore. 
 
 Then there is the doleful individual, grumbling 
 continually over ill-luck in the field, bad weather, and 
 the petty annoyances of camp life, which should be taken 
 in cheerful spirit by all devotees of out-door sports. 
 The chronic fault-finder will magnify a shower into a 
 deluge of misfortune, and an empty game-bag, or even 
 two or three " unaccountable misses," will furnish 
 material for a woful tale, too often spiced with excla- 
 mations more forcible than elegant, until the luckless 
 shooter spoils the serenity and general good-will of his 
 companions. Such a man is almost invariably one to 
 shirk all responsibilities in camp, throwing the entire 
 burden upon his comrades, and devoting his attention to 
 finding fault with the elements and all animated nature. 
 
 From these characters gunners, perhaps, but not 
 sportsmen it is a relief to turn to the devotee of field 
 sports who has ever a kind word and a helping hand, a 
 
278 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 cheerful nature to dispel the gloom of the darkest day, 
 and an encouraging tone to cheer up the less fortunate 
 companions. He may not be a Croesus or tower of 
 strength on 'change, in fact he may be but a modest figure 
 in business circles, but in his sphere he is, nevertheless, a 
 jolly good fellow, in the best sense of that much-abused 
 term, and as such will fill a warm corner in the hearts and 
 memories of his companions. Long life to him and his 
 kindred, and may good luck and good comradeship fall 
 to the share of all who have at heart the inborn spirit of 
 field etiquette. 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS-PINNATED GROUSE. 
 
 BY WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL, 
 Author of " Wild Fowl Shooting." 
 
 V HROUGHOUT the Western States, where 
 waving fields of corn and golden yellow 
 grain mark in checkered squares the varie- 
 gated landscape, where oceans of prairie 
 grass, rippling streams, placid ponds, and 
 tiny forests abound, there is the home of 
 the prairie chicken; 'tis there they live, 
 breed, and rear their young. There are no 
 other birds that have caused youthful 
 hearts to bound in such exciting rapidity 
 as these. The village youth knows them well, for their love- 
 calls, in the spring-time, when the grass peeps out through 
 the brown earth, and the glad sunshine is nursing into 
 animated life all vegetable matter, fioat in early morn o'er 
 the dewy fields and into the open window of the house, 
 where, lying in bed, prone to sleep, yet knowing he should 
 arise, the yawning boy hearkens, and the musical ' ' boo- 
 woo-woo" reaches his listening ears, while, in imagina- 
 tion, he sees his serenader promenading the green sward, 
 surrounded by his attentive consorts, naively admiring 
 the lofty manner of their lordly spouse, who treads with 
 proud disdain the grass, while, with wings curved down 
 scraping the ground, tail erect, in fan -like shape, he bows 
 his neck and struts about as if he knew the admiration 
 he was causing. A speckled beauty he is, in his mottled 
 dress, and as he fills his sacs with air, the tan skin swells 
 
 (279) 
 
280 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 at the sides of his neck until, like huge globes, it stands 
 tfut; the feathers are erect, or stick straight from his 
 swollen neck; then he quickly stoops, and running a few 
 yards with agile steps, emits through his partly closed 
 bill the confined air, and there bubbles forth, in a melo- 
 dious note, a soft "boo- woo- woo," until, by frequent 
 repetitions, the highlands and the lowlands are filled with 
 this mellow peal of morning welcome. Welcome music 
 is this in the spring-time, for it brings to us the news of 
 approaching sport with these same birds, when their 
 young are strong of flight and vie with their parents in 
 size. 
 
 There is a marked similarity between the male and the 
 female pinnated grouse, and among the young the sex 
 can not be distinguished; but when advancing age has 
 overtaken them, the bald neck of orange-yellow is a sure 
 indication that the possessor is of the sterner sex. The 
 colors of the birds are, one might say, but two dark 
 brown and a grayish white; these colors wind around 
 their bodies in graceful wavy lines, and present a hand- 
 some appearance. Their forms are elegant in proportion, 
 and the full-grown pinnated grouse weighs about two and 
 a half pounds, at times as high as three pounds. They 
 are found in all the Western States bordering the Missis- 
 sippi or Missouri slopes. They frequent the grain-fields, 
 the corn-fields, and, most of all, they love the broad 
 prairies, where oceans of waving grass roll and heave in 
 apparently endless space. 
 
 When spring-time comes, and Nature asserts herself, 
 they seek these spots to build their nests, to lay their 
 eggs, and to rear their young. In selecting a spot for 
 this, their home, they seek the grassy edges, rank with 
 the outgrowth of weeds, bordering some grain- field, the 
 corn-fields, along creeks, beside ponds, or a sunny slope 
 in the heart of the broad prairie, where the parent bird 
 
PRAIEIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 
 
 281 
 
 can sit in quiet contentment, full of confidence in the 
 security of her home; for her eyes behold the face of the 
 land for miles and miles, and instinct as well as experi- 
 ence teach her that the unbroken prairie, not yet opened 
 
 PINNATED GROUSE Tympanuchus Americanus. 
 
 by the husbandman's plow, is the most likely spot in 
 which to incubate and rear her little brood free from 
 intrusion and danger. She therefore chooses a place on the 
 prairie and builds her nest, selecting for its construction 
 
282 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 blades of grass, weeds, and small twigs; her eggs are laid, 
 the number ranging from eight to twenty, and she 
 patiently sits on her nest day after day, hatching her 
 expected brood. The eggs are about the size of those of 
 the bantam hen, and very similar in appearance, except 
 that the eggs of the prairie chicken are yellowish white. 
 The young birds are hatched in May or June, depend- 
 ing on the season. If the weather is bright, dry, and 
 warm, the bird begins her domestic duties early, and 
 brings forth into the world her tiny brood; if the season 
 is cold and rainy, she delays the days of her motherhood 
 until the season is further advanced. The process of 
 incubation is the same as that of the domestic fowl. 
 Before the birds are hatched, the eggs are liable to be 
 destroyed in many ways by hawks, owls, skunks, and 
 foxes; thus by actual spoliation of the eggs, or by the 
 destruction of the old bird, the expected brood is wiped 
 out of existence. Many and many a bird is slain on her 
 nest by prowling birds and beasts; but the greater causes 
 of destruction of prairie chickens, before they are hatched, 
 are cold spring rains and prairie fires. Frequently, eggs 
 are laid along the edges of creeks lazy, indolent creeks, 
 that flow sluggishly within their confined banks until 
 the spring rains o'erfill them, when they rush along, 
 sweeping with wide arms over the valleys and bottom- 
 lands, carrying devastation in their course. The water 
 drives the birds from her nest, chills the eggs, and then 
 all is lost; the bird deserts her nest. Worse still than 
 this are the prairie fires, started by the farmer to burn 
 the dried grass from his unfenced field, either to prepare 
 for his plowing or to protect his crops and buildings. 
 He starts with lighted wisp in hand, and burns an area 
 sufficient to guard his property. Slowly, at first, the tiny 
 flame flickers and sparkles, encouraged by the breath or 
 fanned by the hat of the incendiary; then it shoots up 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKEN'S PINNATED GROUSE. 283 
 
 in doubtful blaze, and seems to die out in its beginning. 
 Fresh dry hay is tenderly placed on the feeble names, and 
 soon, along the defined line, as marked with the plow, 
 the crackling blaze speeds forward, the faint blue smoke 
 ascends in drifting clouds toward the dome of heaven; 
 increasing its volume and speed, the hesitating flames 
 wave along, getting higher and stronger as the rank dry 
 grass is thrust into its yawning maw, and, like a red 
 demon, it engulfs all in its path. Feeble at first, it 
 now advances with the confident rush of successful hosts, 
 its hot breath withering and scorching to death all within 
 its reach ; the trembling flames have overcome their hesi- 
 tancy, and wave and roll in huge billows of seething fire, 
 while flickering yellow tongues flash and strive to reach 
 the very sky. Now the whole earth is a living fire, while 
 the pure air is contaminated with the blackening smoke, 
 and beneath its reddened edges, whirled up by the strong 
 draught of the advancing fire, blades of corn-stalks spin 
 in eddying flights, and fall again in spiral quiverings into 
 the seething bed. Up from their prairie homes the birds 
 rise in dire alarm, and with shrieks and cries circle in air, 
 and with pinioned wings and accelerated flight seek a 
 place of safety. The prairie chicken in her hidden nest 
 scents the tainted air; then, peering through the bladed 
 grass, she sees the leaden smoke ascending to the blue 
 sky; soon the crackling flames and the hot air frighten 
 her, and seem to rob her of her breath. Closer she hugs 
 the parching ground; in dire alarm she looks around, and 
 then, with frightened cluck, springs from her bed, and, 
 with bristling feathers, runs threateningly toward the 
 advancing flame, which smokes and roars, mocking at 
 her feebleness. Disheartened, she runs again to her 
 sacred nest, and nestling closer with her protecting 
 wings, shielding her all, closes her eyes to perish with 
 her charge; but the stifling smoke suffocates her, and with- 
 
284 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 out thought she instinctively springs upward, her wings 
 scorched by her cruel enemy, and soon breathes again 
 the pure air of the open field. A grand sight is a prairie 
 fire, but woe be unto man or quadruped who is caught 
 unaware in its relentless path; for, urged by a strong 
 wind, a wind that increases in strength and volume, in its 
 flight the speediest animal soon submits, and the 
 blackened path, the sooty, ground, the sickening odor of 
 burning flesh, sadly tells the story of life and death. 
 
 If driven from her nest, the prairie chicken builds 
 again in some other place her destroyed home, and pro- 
 duces another brood. 
 
 The mother bird is thoughtful and solicitous for the 
 welfare of her little ones, and, in her anxiety to protect 
 and shield them from harm, will resort to various sulv 
 terfuges. Counterfeiting a broken wing, she will run 
 before her human enemy, then fly a short distance, seem- 
 ing all the while in dire distress, merely to divert attention 
 from her brood, while they, dear little things, sometimes 
 not larger than a sparrow, will quietly and quickly run 
 away, each one for itself, and seem to disappear by 
 magical illusion, for we look where we saw them last, 
 but can not find them. Still, I have often caught them. 
 The power of flight is given them at an early age, and when 
 the old ones arise, with a loud whir, these little ones fly up, 
 their diminutive bodies looking about as large as a half- 
 grown quail, scatter at once, and after a short flight, drop 
 softly into the prairie grass, where, remaining concealed, 
 they await the expected call, the anticipated cluck of 
 their solicitous mother. 
 
 How long prairie chickens can survive without water, 
 is an undecided question; certain am I that the period is 
 beyond one' s expectations. It is true they are frequently 
 found in the rank grass and weeds of prairie ponds, and 
 along the thick growth of furze at the edges of creeks, 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 285 
 
 adjacent to stubble-fields, but in time of drought they 
 do not seem to change their habitation, for in the early 
 morning, when the dew is on the meadow, and the leaf- 
 lets are freshened with its pearly drops, the birds wander 
 through these elysian fields, and archly pick them from 
 the glistening blades of grass. At such times, refreshed 
 with the water they find in their cooling retreats, they 
 are prepared for the day' s siege of heat. I have often 
 seen them drinking in creeks and at the edges of marshy 
 ponds, but they are an upland bird, and while they must 
 have water for sustenance, the same as all animated life, 
 yet they require little of it, and that not frequently. 
 
 The male grouse is a polygamous old rooster, and 
 his vanity is equal to his handsome appearance. In 
 the spring-time, when the hens gather together in 
 flocks, and mildly associate together, the lordly old chaps 
 strut around, their air-sacs filled with wind, their minds 
 with conceit, and they try in different methods to attract 
 the attention of the gentler sex, that they may entice one 
 more into their harem. Early in the morning, their flow- 
 ing ' ' boo-woo-woo " is wafted over the awakening fields, 
 and these old cocks promenade up and down, longing for 
 some ambitious rival to throw down the gage of battle 
 and meet him in fierce contest. They don't have to wait 
 long, for soon one equal in valor runs toward the boom- 
 ing bird; they eye one another with fierce hate; then, as 
 if to tell the other birds of the many victories he has 
 won, the bird who first held the citadel swells out in 
 conscious pride, and his orange-colored neck expands 
 until it seems as if the sacs would burst, and running 
 quickly along, he emits a " boo- woo- woo," prolonging the 
 last note until its echoes, wafted on the morning wind, 
 can be heard for miles, when it dies out in sweet, mourn- 
 ful cadence. The new arrival goes through the same 
 performance utters the same cries; then they warily 
 
286 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 approach each other, watching to discover some weak 
 point of attack, then dash together with great violence, 
 their feathers upright or reversed, and they advance and 
 retreat, their fight ing being similar to that of tame roosters, 
 until at last one is defeated, and runs away crestfallen, 
 while the victor marches over with majestic mien to the 
 coterie of admiring hens, who accept him as their lord 
 and master. 
 
 While the spring-time is one of so much moment to 
 the hens, and they build their nests preparatory to hatch- 
 ing out their young, these old roosters are either too 
 proud or lazy to work; jjossibly they think the females 
 are born to work, like the Indian who said; "Buck no 
 like work; squaw do all work. Buck get tired; squaw 
 no get tired. If squaw get tired, squaw die; then Buck 
 get young squaw, who no get tired, but do heap work." 
 The cock grouse do not help build the nest, neither do 
 they aid in hatching or rearing the young; but while the 
 hens are performing these maternal pleasures and duties, 
 these old roosters wander around, leading a lonesome life, 
 in groups or flocks, quarreling and fighting; about the 
 only good thing that can be said of them at this time is, 
 that they stay home nights. The food of the prairie 
 chicken consists of seeds, beans, peas, grasshoppers, 
 insects, and all kinds of grain. While they are found-in 
 great abundance in the prairie States, throughout the fields 
 of prairie grass, yet they like best the partially settled 
 lands, for there they find food in plenty and of great 
 variety. When they are young, they are especially fond 
 of grasshoppers, which they are expert in catching. 
 They grow rapidly, the strength of their bodies seemingly 
 exceeding that of their wings, for they soon tire of flight 
 when young, and fly but a short distance. About August 
 1st they are two-thirds grown, and are the easiest bird to 
 hit that flies; they will then lie well to the dogs, dislike 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 287 
 
 to use their wings, and to avoid discovery trust, instead, 
 to their skill in hiding. When, at last, they feel the hot 
 breath of the pointer or setter, and see his staring eyes, 
 they spring up with a loud whir but a few paces from 
 the shooter, and become an easy victim to his aim. Early 
 in the season, they are so easy to approach that it is 
 nothing unusual to wipe out the whole covey; for, after 
 rising, they will settle in the grass or rank, weedy stub- 
 ble, spring up singly, and then the hunter bags them all. 
 They do not fear civilization; on the contrary, rather 
 enjoy it. They are hardy birds, and survive our severest 
 winters. Were they protected, they would nest and rear 
 their young in the grass and grain-fields within sight and 
 hearing of our smaller cities. Their roosting-places in 
 the summer-time are in the grass and stubble-fields, and 
 in the winter, when the wind blows 'bleak and raw, and 
 the drifting snow fills all the crevices of the field, they go 
 into the corn-fields or the heavy grass, or roost in the 
 trees at the edges of some sheltered grove. I have often 
 seen them in trees in winter, and at such a time it is 
 impossible tojbag them, except an occasional one with a 
 rifle, for they are exceedingly watchful, and can not be 
 approached near enough to shoot with a shot-gun. As 
 they are accustomed to see farmers pass along with 
 wagons or sleighs, the sight of such conveyances does v 
 not alarm them, and if the hunter is with such a rig, 
 he can at times obtain shots; but these old birds are 
 extremely wary, and a successful shot is more the result 
 of accident than the evidence of skill. Prairie chickens 
 must be hunted with a dog; no other method can prove 
 successful. The dog employed must possess three requi- 
 sites speed, staunchness, and endurance. The breed of 
 dogs combining these qualities to the greatest extent is 
 the one most to be desired, and in selecting a dog for this 
 special branch of sport, one must not allow his love of 
 
288 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 beauty, or Ms admiration of well-known sterling qualities 
 in a certain breed of dogs, to influence his choice. To me, 
 the most beautiful dog that ever skimmed the field is 
 the setter, English, Irish, or Gordon, as the case may be; 
 there is a dash and vim to be seen in the actions of these 
 dogs that causes my heart to beat with delight. In the 
 autumnal September days, I have so often seen them skirt 
 the plain after pinnated grouse, or silently and grandly 
 working among the bogs and fences for that grayish imp, 
 jacksnipe, which, like a flash, streaks the dead-brown 
 grass in his eccentric flight, only to be quickly brought 
 down by a shot from our guns, while there dies in its 
 white throat that enervating "scaipe, scaipe." 
 
 In the russet woodland, the drumming ruffed grouse 
 lives among his kind, and thrills us through and through 
 with startled expectancy when he springs from behind 
 the old decayed log, and darts through the thickly 
 branched trees. After long years, still fresh and green 
 is the memory of the summer-time in the dear old island, 
 where my early love, the saucy woodcock, made his home 
 among the alders, willows, and brakes; of the placid 
 pond with its silvery sheen, the trembling leaves of the 
 aspen, the delicate, sensuous perfume of the pond lilies, 
 and before me, in grand rigidity, my companion, my 
 protector, my faithful Felo, in his glossy silken coat, 
 pointing out this nocturnal bird; the whistling cock just 
 about to dart from the nearest tree, the deep report, the 
 drifting feathers, and then, at my feet, with deep-brown 
 eyes looking with undying love into mine, my faithful set- 
 ter handing me our bird, and the golden bars of sunlight, 
 symbolic of the brightness of my young life, streaming 
 down through the quivering leaves. And then a few 
 months later, in the golden autumn, in October, when 
 the grass was brQwn and sere, crisp with the brilliant 
 coating of frost, and the purple wild grapes vied in 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 289 
 
 beauty with the maple-leaves and the changing color of 
 the sumac, how often have Felo and I stood together in 
 the cold, bleak marsh, when the leaden clouds skurried 
 athwart the skies, and the north wind swerved within 
 gunshot for us, the noble mallard, the plunging red- 
 head, the swishing blue-bill, or the dainty teal; Felo 
 then, his sparkling eyes first sighting the game, would 
 beam on me in mute appeal, fearing lest I might not see 
 the incoming birds; or, perhaps, startled by that well- 
 known cry, the grating " me-amph," I would glance o'er 
 head and see a young drake climbing in air, his red feet 
 extended, his neck curved, glorious to my youthful eyes 
 in all his gorgeous dress of velvet-green, chestnut, and 
 white. Sweet are the recollections of those childhood 
 days, those days of blessed memory! When the threads 
 of time in their silvery strands streak our hair, those 
 early days return to us with realistic vividness, and in 
 dreamy retrospection we live again our Heaven on earth. 
 Now, when for hunting prairie chickens I advocate 
 the use of a dog other than the setter, let not the lover of 
 that breed say I am prejudiced, do not know them, or do 
 not like them, for I do know them and like them. Aye! 
 a noble race of dogs are they, to the hunter's heart the 
 noblest of them all, and when, in the selection of a 
 dog for prairie chicken hunting, I choose the pointer, it 
 is not that I forget the good qualities of the setter, but 
 because the setter can not stand the heat of our August 
 sun as can the pointer. I have owned them both, hunted 
 them side by side, season after season, and am speaking 
 not unadvisedly, but after the results of years of practical 
 experience. I shall not treat of the way in which a dog- 
 should be trained to hunt prairie chickens, for other gen- 
 tlemen, in this book, have written of the manner of break- 
 ing them for other upland game birds, and the dog that 
 is thoroughly broken to hunt quail, woodcock, ruffed 
 
 19 
 
290 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 grouse, and snipe will, with a trifling experience, become 
 proficient in the pursuit of prairie chickens. The three 
 requisites heretofore mentioned speed, staunchness, and 
 endurance are the golden virtues which, when possessed 
 by and found in a dog, make him perfect for this branch 
 of sport. There is no sport where greater freedom can 
 and must be allowed the dog than this. 
 
 On our Western prairies, the range is, one might say, 
 unlimited; there are places where for miles and miles the 
 soil is unbroken and unfenced, and where the wild grass 
 grows in thickest profusion, the monotony of the waving 
 fields being broken here and there by the brown stubbles 
 of grain or the yellow corn-fields; the territory is appar- 
 ently endless, for the eye follows the grass until the blue 
 sky seems to sink down and meet it, while the drifting 
 white clouds float on its very tips. In such a place as 
 this, the hunters drive along in their wagons, getting out 
 to shoot when the birds are found. Away speed the dogs, 
 the young with impetuous bounds, the older ones with 
 that long, swinging lope which tells us of the reserved 
 strength, to be tested in a few hours, when to the piercing 
 rays of the summer sun all the inhabitants of the parched 
 earth must succumb. The dogs should be worked by 
 hand, for the length and breadth of their range preclude 
 the thought of directing them by voice. With heads 
 high in air and tails beating their sturdy sides, they go 
 ahead, then cross and recross, beating back and forth in 
 their several journeys, covering every point that seems 
 favorable for hiding the secreted birds; then, in the midst 
 of their rapid run, a faint scent is wafted to them in 
 delicate indistinctness, but it suffices for their experienced 
 nose, and, quick as thought, the bounding machines of 
 life are checked and transformed to motionless figures as 
 rigid as steel. And now is the time to test their staunch- 
 ness, for the hunters are perhaps a quarter, perhaps half 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 291 
 
 a mile away, urging their horses forward on a smart trot 
 through the noiseless grass; but the dog pays no atten- 
 tion to them; like a carved image he stands, his eyes 
 staring into the apparently deserted grass, his ears bent 
 a little forward, as if hoping to hear what he smells, but 
 can not see; his left fore foot raised, its ball pressing 
 against his heart as if to stop its excited throbbing; his 
 tail standing parallel with his body, his legs braced, lest 
 some power from behind may thrust him forward and 
 break the charm which is the delight of his life. Back 
 of him, a little at one side, perhaps fifty yards, his com- 
 panion comes toward him as if borne on the wings of the 
 wind; he hears nothing, smells nothing, but suddenly his 
 bright eye sees the entranced form of his comrade, and he, 
 too, is transformed into a living monument, and having 
 supreme confidence in the ability of his companion to 
 know what lies concealed in the brown grass, he stands 
 staunchly, awaiting developments. The hunters have 
 arrived, birds are flushed; 4t crack!" "crack!" rings out 
 on the still air, and the charm is broken for the dogs, to 
 be renewed time and again throughout the day. 
 
 In the selection of a gun for the purpose of shooting 
 prairie chickens, care must be taken to choose such a one as 
 will best fulfill all the requirements for which it is intended. 
 At the present day, the gauges used are from twenty to 
 ten bore, but the standard gauges, that is, the ones mostly 
 used, are twelve and ten. These sizes are used because 
 they meet the demands for all kinds of game, as well as 
 trap-shooting. Early in the season, the shooting of prairie 
 chickens is not difficult; on the contrary, it is extremely 
 easy to bring them down, as they are large to shoot at, 
 .rise within easy gunshot, and the half or two-thirds 
 youngsters are not tenacious of life, and succumb to light 
 blows or a few pellets of shot. In shooting them at this 
 time, one can not congratulate himself that he has 
 
292 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 exhibited any degree of skill, while he has cause for 
 humiliation and chagrin should he make many misses. 
 Unless the fields are open and unfenced, hunting prairie 
 chickens is attended with much fatigue, for it is necessary 
 to tramp for hours, following the dogs, and at a time when 
 the sun is high in the heavens and beating strongly down; 
 under such circumstances, one must remember that the 
 weight of the gun adds to or detracts from the pleasure of 
 the hunt. In those early summer days when the law 
 has thrown aside its protecting shield, and the hunter is 
 filled with ambition to go afield, he should be fitted in his 
 accoutrements, clothing and gun, so as to derive the 
 greatest enjoyment from his outing. The gun should be 
 light of weight, not weighing more than eight pounds, 
 twelve-bore, the first barrel a modified choke, the second 
 full choke. 
 
 It isn't really necessary to have a gun shoot so close 
 as full choke, but the birds rapidly grow stronger, rise 
 farther from the shooter, and it requires a hard-hitting 
 gun to bring them to bag. Early in the season, No. 8 
 shot is the best size; as the months advance, 7's, then 6's, 
 this latter size, in late fall, being none too large. There is 
 no especial skill required to shoot the birds in early 
 season. They are apt to frustrate the beginner, for they 
 fly up with a loud whir, that will rattle- the tyro, and 
 cause him to fire hastily, and perhaps score amiss. They 
 do not fly fast at this time, but when they spring up each 
 bird starts out for itself, and if one is fortunate enough 
 to bag two or more with one barrel it is the result of acci- 
 dent. The proper way is to select your bird, no matter 
 how many get up; pay no attention to the majority until 
 you have first fired at the one selected. Don't be in a 
 hurry, and fire with hasty or ill-judged aim, but bring 
 your gun up coolly; hold just over the bird's body if it is 
 going straight away. Don' t dwell on your aim, but when 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 293 
 
 you think you are right, steadily pull the trigger, and 
 the bird will be yours. Don't wait and watch to see the 
 effect of your shot, but quickly draw on another, and let 
 drive at it; if it is a quartering bird, be very careful or 
 you will shoot behind it, and you will be apt to do this 
 if the bird is over twenty-five yards from you. When 
 you see you have a quarterer, draw in behind it, cover it, 
 then pull in ahead from one to three feet, depending on 
 the distance it is from you. When a bird jumps up 
 almost in your face, be very careful or it will get away 
 from you, for it will be so close then that, if you shoot, 
 your shot will not have a chance to scatter, while if you 
 hit, the bird will be torn to pieces; the better way is, let 
 the bird go over your head, wheel as it passes you, then 
 fire just under it, and a trifle ahead of its bill, and it will 
 come down. The flight of the prairie chicken is exceed- 
 ingly graceful, similar to that of the quail and others of 
 the grouse family. Their wing-motion is made with the 
 greatest rapidity; this gives them propelling force. After 
 getting this motion, they stiffen their wings, and sail, 
 sometimes 100 yards, as true as an arrow, and without 
 the least preceptible motion. At this time, they present a 
 pretty appearance, for they are held up by their slightly 
 curved wings, while one forgets for the time the power 
 that forced them to this great speed. Such is their man- 
 ner of flight, and is kept up until they alight. While 
 their flight going with the wind is very swift (in a strong 
 wind at a rate of perhaps 100 miles an hour), I have often 
 noticed them flying along at the side of a passenger train, 
 and would estimate their average speed to be from thirty- 
 five to forty-five miles an hour. When the season for shoot- 
 ing prairie chickens has arrived, throughout the vicinity 
 where they are to be found the excitement is intense, 
 and each hunter has some favorite place where he intends 
 to be located at the break of day, early enough to be 
 
294 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ahead of any accidental comer; his gun has had an extra 
 cleaning, his traps have been gathered together, and his 
 dog has been carefully watched and faithfully guarded, 
 lest he be missing on this eventful morning. Long before 
 sunrise, the hunters quietly drive to the neighboring 
 fields, and when the first faint light shows the approaching 
 day, they are in the stubble-fields, fresh in their dewy 
 smell of hay and clover. Soon it is light enough to see to 
 shoot, and the morning air bears to their ears the faint 
 boom of guns from the moist valley they are in. How 
 sweet the morn, when the air is fresh and pure, and fra- 
 grant smells the field! although the days are dry and 
 hot, and under the midday sun the earth gasps for 
 refreshment to moisten its parched bosom. In this early 
 morning hour, the hunter's trail leaves behind it a dark- 
 green path, while their limbs are wet with the heavy dew. 
 How grandly the dogs work on this summer's morn! 'Tis 
 their gala day, the beginning of many happy ones for 
 them, for in this sport they are never left at home. The 
 fresh, cool air, the moist stubble, fill the spirit of the dogs 
 with rivalry, and they race forward at break-neck speed, 
 until checked by the stern command of their master. 
 Soon the birds are found, and an old cock rises just far 
 enough away to tempt the beginner. Cunning old chap, 
 he hasn't forgotten his experience of the previous year. 
 Don't shoot at him; let him go, for the young brood must 
 be within close gunshot. "Whir! whir!" and each 
 hunter bags his bird. No time for talking now, for 
 shells are hastily slipped in, and before the gun is closed 
 other birds are in air; quickly slamming it together, a 
 double is made; the birds are gathered, the stray ones 
 who feared to fly are pointed almost at the hunter's feet, 
 and they, too, are flushed and bagged. At such a time as 
 this, my dog has often pointed them in little bunches of 
 weeds in the heart of the stubble-fields, and I have seen 
 
(395) 
 
296 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the speckled beauties lie there, with heads drawn down 
 onto their bodies, only to be perceived by the glitter of 
 their eyes, and have shoved my foot under them, lifting 
 them from the ground, and it has oftener happened that, 
 urged by my voice, the dog has sprung on them and 
 caught them, in the tangled grass or weeds, before they 
 could take flight. In the early morning, the birds should 
 always be sought for in the stubble-fields, for there they 
 go to roost at night, and begin their feeding at break of 
 day. If undisturbed, they feed in the stubble until 8 or 
 9 o'clock in the morning, then go to the corn-fields, tall 
 grass, or heavy weeds, and remain until late in the after- 
 noon, say about 5 o'clock, when they return again to the 
 stubble. In the stubble-field, where the soil is light and 
 flaky, the birds often scratch and make a spot jus-t large 
 enough for them to wallow in, and here they dust and 
 shake themselves in the same manner as tame chickens; 
 they frequently dust in the middle of the road, and at 
 times are seen crossing in advance of an approaching team, 
 when they run into the rank weeds or grass. On cool, 
 cloudy days, they often remain in the stubble-fields 
 through the entire day. In their going to and fro, they 
 do not resort to flight, as a general thing; indeed, seldom 
 do, but feed their way along, enjoying the fallen grain, 
 and catching insects, especially grasshoppers. The experi- 
 enced hunter knows these peculiarities, and profits by 
 them, and an old chicken-dog has learned the same things, 
 and when a stubble-field is reached, if late in the morning 
 or late in the afternoon, the dog will work its edges, if lead- 
 ing to a slough or corn-field, for he knows the birds have 
 wandered to those retreats, and he can quickest find them 
 by striking their trail, which he is apt to do at the places 
 bordering the field. As the birds are in the tall slough 
 grass or the rank corn-fields in the middle of the day, 
 and the dog will soon tire himself out in the grass, while 
 
PRAIKIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 297 
 
 it is practically impossible to obtain shots in the stand- 
 ing corn, the hunter should be patient, and not attempt 
 to hunt them then, but go to some shady place, provide 
 his dog witli cooling water, and patiently wait till even- 
 ing; then he will be refreshed and rested, while his dog 
 will be as fresh as in the morning, and filled with new 
 life. 
 
 When evening is approaching, then is the time when 
 the hunter revels in this exciting sport; for the birds 
 leave the grass and corn, and travel back to the 
 stubble-fields, where they go to roost, and lie better for 
 the dog at this than any other time. At such times as 
 these, the hunter shoots at them until dark, then regrets 
 that daylight k ' didn't last just a little longer." 
 
 My dear old friend, Mr. Isaac McLellaii, who is now 
 eighty- three years of age, on my writing him that in this 
 book I would treat the subject "Prairie Chickens," said 
 that many years ago he had visited the prairies of the Great 
 West, and had participated in many pleasant hunts after 
 prairie chickens, and he promised to write me a poem 
 descriptive of this fascinating sport. He kindly did 
 so, and wrote for me the following beautiful lines, so 
 realistically descriptive of the habits of the birds and 
 the season when they are hunted. To one who has 
 breathed the pure air of our Western prairies in the 
 glorious autumn-time, these lines will recall most pleasant 
 memories of days delightfully spent in pursuit of 
 pinnated grouse: 
 
 Now autumn is flushed with tarnished gold, 
 
 The woodlands shine with prismy dyes, 
 The oak-trees flutter their yellow leaves, 
 
 Resplendent clouds sail thro' the skies; 
 The leaf of the elm shows dusky brown, 
 
 The maples with scarlet bonnets blaze, 
 The withered grass, over prairie plain, 
 
 Shines thin and crisp in these autumn days. 
 
298 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The drooping willows that shade the stream 
 
 Shower down to earth their fading leaves; 
 The golden wheat is garnered in, 
 
 Corn-fields are strewn with folded sheaves ; 
 The blue wild pigeons circle in air, 
 
 The plaintive wood-doves mourn in shades, 
 The quail-flocks whistle in coverts dense, 
 
 The partridge flutters in bosky glades, 
 The upland plovers utter shrill cry 
 As they whirl on glancing pinions by. 
 
 But the noblest bird that haunts the plain, 
 
 That hides in grasses its speckled brood, 
 That sweeps over fields of ripen'd grain, 
 
 That skirts the borders of brook and wood, 
 Is the prairie chicken, pinnated grouse 
 
 Breasting on storming wings the air, 
 Defying bravely the fowler's aim, 
 
 The prowling fox, the poacher's snare. 
 
 When hot mid-summer heats prevail, 
 
 To restful shades their broods they lead, 
 To refuges at corn-field edge, 
 
 Where the wild grasses drop the seed; 
 But best they love the prairie space, 
 
 Where measureless leagues of land extend, 
 Far from the harmful homes of men, 
 
 An unfenced pasture without end. 
 And when the wheat-blades ripen rich, 
 
 Lavishing treasures to the ground, 
 The grouse-flocks muster to the feast, 
 
 And 'mid the juicy stacks are found. 
 
 At night, amid'the sumptuous fields 
 
 Secure, they range the corn-field space, 
 Sharing a banquet rich and rare, 
 
 The feasts luxuriant of the place; 
 But when the dusky clouds of dawn 
 
 Are touched and gilded by the light, 
 On clashing pinions they arise, 
 
 And o'er the prairies speed their flight; 
 There all day long, 'mid sheltering grass, 
 
 They find a shelter and repose, 
 Alarm'd at times by slaughtering guns, 
 
 The deadly havoc of their foes. 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 299 
 
 The middle of September the birds are full-grown, 
 strong of wing and body, and are beginning to gather 
 together in packs or flocks; at this time it is hard to dis- 
 tinguish the old from the young birds. This is the 
 season of the year when they afford the most exciting 
 sport, for the birds are large and strong, and in every 
 way worthy of pursuit, and the hunter feels that his 
 work must be careful, his sight quick, his aim sure, and 
 his powder strong, for the grouse are wary and tenacious 
 of life, and will carry off many pellets of shot. As the 
 mornings are cool, the birds pass more time in the 
 stubble-fields, and on cloudy days spend the entire day 
 there. At this time, the wheat and small grain that have 
 fallen from the sheaves have sprouted, and, intermin- 
 gling with clover and short weeds, make an excellent cover, 
 where the birds can feed without danger of being seen, and 
 yet can see suspicious danger approaching from any quar- 
 ter; their flight at this time is long, and when flushed they 
 arise in a whirring body, and fly from a half to a full mile 
 before alighting, when they usually drop into the 
 immense corn-fields. These corn-fields are their resorts 
 in times of danger, for after they once alight in these 
 protecting places, they run so fast that they will keep 
 far ahead of the pursuing hunters and their dogs, whom 
 they hear coming, rattling the dried leaves of the stalks, 
 or occasionally running against them, which serves a 
 notice to quit on the alert birds. It takes a wise dog to 
 circumvent the birds in these corn-fields, but I have had 
 great sport shooting them with a dog that was up to all 
 their tricks. Of all the dogs that I ever shot over, he was 
 the only one I ever saw that could get the best of the 
 birds in the corn-field, and it was rarely that, on warm, 
 bright days in the late months of November and Decem- 
 ber, this cunning old fellow would not outwit the birds. 
 He seemed to know that extreme cautiousness must be 
 
300 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 exercised in the corn-fields, and while in the stubble his 
 tail waved from side to side, as an invitation for us to 
 follow him. When he entered the corn-fields, so brittle 
 from sun and frost, he knew that an incautious move- 
 ment might spoil all, and he would trot stealthily between 
 the rows, with head held high to catch the faintest scent, 
 his tail drooping and immovable, for he knew that his 
 swinging tail would rattle the stalks and frighten the 
 birds. Dear old boy, how I remember his actions, his 
 looks, his caution! and how quietly he glided through 
 the fields, never touching the fallen stalks, but stepping 
 over them, and trotting around a fallen or tangled bunch. 
 At times, he would be out of sight; but no fear of him. 
 I have known him strike a trail of the birds, follow them, 
 then return to us after having been long hidden from our 
 view, then start out again, and come to the staunchest 
 point at a bird one ' would suppose within thirty feet of 
 us; this was only a ruse on his part to attract our atten- 
 tion, to warn us to be on the lookout, for I never saw him 
 make a bonafide point in the late corn-field. After having 
 warned us, he would carefully and cautiously lead us, at 
 times hundreds of yards, through the fields, then stop, 
 and almost crawl on his belly to us. It was wonderful 
 the human wisdom he possessed, but lacked the power 
 of speech to tell; when he got to us, he would look into 
 our faces, as much as to say, "It's all right; I've got 
 them located." Then he would go back of us, perhaps 
 thirty yards, and making a wide detour, get the birds 
 between him and us; at this time, his great wisdom 
 showed itself, for he knew that the birds would run from 
 any noise, and if closely pressed, fly. After he had gotten 
 beyond the birds, knowing they would run or fly toward 
 us, he would rush toward them, running against the 
 stalks, and the racket he made flushed the birds, and we 
 always got quartering shots; at times, the birds flew 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 301 
 
 almost in our faces. The owner of this dog and myself 
 shot eighteen one December day over him in the corn- 
 field, and I never knew a dog, except him, with whom, 
 under similar circumstances, we could have bagged 
 a single bird. The dog is still living, in good health, so 
 I am told, and I will go many miles to see him, to look 
 into his honest face and stroke his broad brown head. 
 
 On warm October days, the grouse are often found 
 sunning themselves along the edges of the stubble, where 
 the ground is sloping, and where they get the benefit of 
 the sun's warm rays and are protected from the wind at 
 the same time; at such times, they lie well, and good shots 
 can be obtained at them. One of the most delightful 
 days I ever spent afield was in the month of December, 
 after pinnated grouse; the night before, it had snowed 
 about four inches, but the morning dawned clear, 
 with the air keen and cold. It was in the western part 
 of Iowa; the land was unfenced, and we drove wherever 
 we pleased. The birds had left the corn-fields, and were 
 found sitting on hay-cocks and hay-stacks that were 
 scattered all through these upland meadows. A dog was 
 of no use, because the birds were on their high pedestals, 
 and could sight any approaching object. We were in a 
 farmer's bob-sled, with the seat well back, while the 
 driver sat in the bottom of the sleigh, far forward. On 
 sighting the birds, the driver would jog his sturdy old 
 horses along, while my partner and self sat, with heavy 
 ten-gauge guns, ready to hurl No. 6' s at the birds at 
 our first opportunity. Being familiar with the sight of 
 farmers' teams passing by, the birds were not so timid of 
 them, provided the team kept at a respectable distance. 
 It would not do to drive directly toward the birds, so we 
 made a circuit, or semi-circle, gradually working toward 
 them, and striving to get within forty or fifty yards of 
 them, and on their springing up we would get in both 
 
302 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 barrels as soon as possible. It took quick shooting and a 
 hard-hitting gun to bag those veterans; we killed none 
 inside of forty yards, while most of them dropped nearer 
 sixty. During that day we bagged twenty-eight, and they 
 were the handsomest lot of grouse I ever saw, each one 
 being of unusual growth and of fully three pounds weight. 
 
 Our English cousins, who have never experienced the 
 delights of pinnated grouse shooting, and who know of 
 these birds as they are in the summer months, at a time 
 when their young lives are as tender as those of the fee- 
 blest of birds, think that the bagging of them lacks the 
 spirit of sport found in hunting the heath cock of their 
 own country. To such my earnest desire is, that the fair 
 breeze of fortune will bring the white wings of some ves- 
 sel to our land, and that these gentlemen will be aboard, 
 and in the golden autumn, when the frost has touched 
 with gilded fingers the meadows and the uplands, cloth- 
 ing all Nature in her winter garments, that they may 
 partake of the indescribable pleasure of trying their skill 
 at our full-grown, vigilant grouse in a November stubble 
 or corn field, and they will say, as others have said, that 
 there is no upland bird harder to bag, and more thor 
 oughly appreciated, than the pinnated grouse of our land, 
 when killed on an October or November day. 
 
 The thought has often been brought to many, whether 
 or not these birds migrate. Yes, they do; not, however, 
 in the manner of migrating wild fowl, but they work 
 slowly southward in large flocks, apparently not with 
 the intention of avoiding cold weather, for they don't 
 seem to mind the cold, but most of them seem to desire to 
 spend the winter in places other than where reared. This 
 we know, for all through the winter months we find large 
 flocks where we had hunted during the fall and found no 
 birds. We notice them in driving across the country, and 
 especially when riding on the trains; they are a beautiful 
 
PEAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 303 
 
 sight, standing up so alertly a couple of hundred yards 
 from the track, their mottled feathers blending prettily 
 with the ground, covered with the spotless white of the 
 soft snow. At such times, the novice wishes he was out, 
 and had his gun; foolish boy, he could not get anywhere 
 near gunshot to them, for at this time they are the wild- 
 est. As their line of flight is about the height of the tel- 
 egraph wires, many birds are killed by flying against 
 them, and the sharp eyes of the section -men along the 
 railroad are always on the watch for the ever- welcome 
 chicken. At the season of the year when the snow is 
 deep and food is hard to obtain, the farmer' s boy exhibits 
 his cunning, and with his trap baited with corn catches 
 the birds, and at home he marches in, throwing down his 
 feathered prizes, when for a time salt pork and bacon are 
 relegated to the cellar, and the family feast on prairie 
 chickens. The laws are very stringent against the trap- 
 ping of pinnated grouse, but the farmer seems to think 
 that the law of the land has no effect on his land, so far 
 as he or his family are concerned; in other words, that he 
 has the right at all times to capture, as he sees fit, suffi- 
 cient of the birds for the use and benefit of himself and 
 family. This impression is entirely erroneous, for the 
 prairie chickens are regarded in the eyes of the law as 
 fercB naturceih&t is, animals of a wild nature, belong- 
 ing to no one, but being under the protection of the law 
 as provided by statute; and the farmer has no more right 
 to kill or capture these birds in the close season than has 
 the veriest stranger. The fact that they breed on his land 
 makes no difference; they are not his until he has them 
 in his actual possession; even then, they are only his so 
 long as he retains possession of them; let them escape, and 
 they become again animals ferce naturce, and remain 
 so unless they have animus revertendi (the intention 
 of returning), which no member of the grouse family ever 
 
304 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 had after having once been captured and then regained its 
 liberty. The law, while protecting game birds in the close 
 season, as against every individual, is as generous in the 
 open season, when it says: "All mankind has, by the 
 original grant of the Creator, the right to pursue and 
 take any fowl or insect of the air, any fish or inhabitant of 
 the water, and any beast or reptile of the field, and this 
 natural right still continues in every individual, unless 
 when it is restrained by the civil laws of the country." 
 Sportsmen, at times, feel bitter at farmers because they 
 will not allow hunting on their premises; but if sports- 
 men would only consider the damage farmers sustain, at 
 times, by reason of the carelessness of hunters and hood- 
 lum boys, they would not blame them for making an 
 iron- clad rule refusing all persons the privilege of shoot- 
 ing in their fields. 
 
 I have seen thoughtless hunters trample down grain, 
 grass, buckwheat, leave open gates and bars, break down 
 fences, and allow their dogs to chase sheep and run after 
 cattle, while the hunters themselves shot indiscriminately 
 where cattle were feeding. It isn' t necessary for a sports- 
 man to show his breeding in the drawing-room alone, for 
 the true sportsman will be as much a gentleman in the 
 field, with the waving fields of grain around him and the 
 blue sky overhead, as witnesses, as if he were in the 
 midst of the most brilliant gathering and under the sur- 
 veillance of the most critical eyes. 
 
 The game of our country is being surely exterminated, 
 and unless we desire the death of the goose which is 
 laying for us the golden egg, the most rigid observance 
 must be made of the enforcement of our game laws. It 
 was but a few years ago that our plains were black with 
 grazing buffaloes; to-day, the bison is a thing of the past 
 butchered in cold blood by thoughtless and heartless 
 men, who> forgot the element of sport that is inherent in 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 305 
 
 the character of man, and sunk themselves into human 
 ghouls, who reveled in animal blood for the sake of a few 
 dollars, killing, killing, ever killing, and allowing the 
 carcasses to lie and rot on the plains, or serve as food for 
 the howling wolves or the scavenger crows and buzzards. 
 Then the wild pigeon that beautiful bird that used to 
 darken the setting sun with myriad flocks, while the rus- 
 set of the male and the blue of the female seemed to 
 make the sky alive in variegated shades of colors; they, 
 too, are gone, exterminated from the face of the earth, 
 not for sport, but for gain, the death of each bird telling 
 its destroyer that he had made a few pennies, or that one 
 more drop had fallen to quench his thirst for the blood 
 of these innocents. Because the buffaloes and the pigeons 
 have been exterminated, it doesn't follow that the prairie 
 chicken must necessarily go the same way; on the con- 
 trary, not only can they be saved, but they can be multi- 
 plied; but this can be done only by moderation and strict 
 observance of existing laws. I appeal now to the heart 
 of every true sportsman, the most generous class of men 
 on earth, to practice moderation in your shooting; do 
 not, when you are in the midst of a covey of birds, kill 
 for the sake of killing, or to see how many you can bag; 
 you know what you are going to do with them, what 
 friends you wish to remember. In other words, within 
 your mind is fixed the number of your friends who will 
 appreciate the birds. When you have gotten your num- 
 ber, you have a quantum sufficit; then stop. I have wit- 
 nessed too much of this trying to make big scores in 
 shooting prairie chickens, and have seen them in heaps at 
 the roadside, rotting in the August sun, because they 
 could not be shipped, and the parties shooting them 
 knew at the time of shooting that, of necessity, the birds 
 must spoil. Shame! shame! on the man who will do 
 
 this. Many hunters will go out in advance of the open 
 20 
 
306 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 season, a day, perhaps two days, just enough to be first 
 into the young broods; these men know they are violat- 
 ing the law, and in their guilty hearts there lurks but 
 one fear, and that fear is, that they may be apprehended 
 and fined. The sanctity, the purity of the law, that they 
 as good citizens should uphold, is willfully violated, and 
 to cover their shameful acts, they hide their guns and 
 dogs in their wagons and sneak out before daybreak, and 
 return after dark; if seen coming in by some friend, and 
 asked where they have been, they reply in a nonchalant 
 manner: "Been after snipe." To say they do this because 
 others do, is to present a childish excuse, devoid of rea- 
 son, for no sane man can knowingly violate a law and 
 be excused. The maxim Ignorantia legis neminem 
 excused (ignorance of the law excuses no one) is as old 
 as the hills, and its principles will never change. We 
 can only attribute this willful violation of the game laws 
 to extreme selfishness, and no man with the heart of the 
 true sportsman throbbing in his breast will do it. For a 
 number of years the time for shooting prairie chickens 
 commenced August 1st; this was entirely too early. A 
 step in the right direction was taken when the law, in 
 Iowa, was changed to August 15th, but a beneficent 
 advancement was still further made when the law was 
 passed making the open season to begin the 1st of Sep- 
 tember. September 1st ! That is a glorious time to com- 
 mence to shoot these birds, for they are full-grown, 
 worthy of pursuit, and are kings and queens of the 
 prairies. At this time I would rather bag a half-dozen 
 than to get three times as many early in the season. The 
 Legislature of Illinois has passed a law prohibiting the 
 shooting of prairie chickens for the period of two years. 
 This law went into eifect in 1887. At the time of its 
 passage, it met with the most violent opposition on the 
 part of many sportsmen, for they felt it to be an unwar- 
 
PKAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 307 
 
 ranted restriction on a sport they had always looked 
 forward to with interest, and had enjoyed. On the plea 
 that other States allowed the killing of these birds within 
 certain seasons, also saying that their dogs would become 
 useless, that others would not observe the law, they 
 sought to hinder its passage; but the law was passed, 
 went into effect, is generally observed, and to-day there 
 are more prairie chickens within the boundary of the 
 State of Illinois than there has been for years. Thus the 
 sportsmen were deceived in the effect of this law, for the 
 great ills they thought would happen by temporarily 
 depriving them of the pursuit of birds was only imagin- 
 ary, and the actual truth of the goodness of this wise 
 law showed itself in the ultimate result the great 
 increase of the birds. 
 
 Other States can follow the example of Illinois with 
 profit. We are all inclined to be a little selfish when 
 our ancient and long -established rights are threatened 
 with interference, and we dislike having any laws go into 
 effect that may in anywise preclude us from the enjoy- 
 ment of field sports. The greatest good to the many, 
 should be our motto. Can we not be generous, and help 
 to increase rather than diminish these birds ? Tempora- 
 rily we may be deprived of pleasures afield, but the in- 
 crease of birds will reward us, and our growing children 
 and their descendants will thank us for our forethought 
 in years to come. Unless we take wise and manly steps 
 toward the preservation and protection of game, the time 
 is not distant when game pictures, taxidermized speci- 
 mens, word paintings of birds, will be the only sources, 
 from which our descendants can obtain information of 
 birds that will be extinct, but which at this time we find 
 fairly plenty. At times during the past few weeks, I 
 have noticed one of my boys, a youth of twelve, intently 
 studying the pages of my shooting papers and sporting 
 
308 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 magazines. When I cautiously peeped over his shoulders, 
 I always found him looking at the cuts of guns. Of late, 
 he has asked me many questions concerning their 
 mechanism, the proper weight, bore, how to hold on moving 
 objects, etc., etc. I knew the latent fire that was raging 
 within him, for my boyhood days seemed just passed, and 
 vivid is my recollection of the time of my longing for a 
 gun my first gun. I was not surprised, therefore, when 
 last night he, with boyish enthusiasm, recounted to his 
 mother and me the successful shots he had made during 
 the day with his spring-gun; the sparrows he had killed, 
 the tin cans he had hit when thrown up by his compan- 
 ions. Finally he came to me when I was writing, and 
 gently threw his arm around me, looking tenderly into 
 my eyes with his deep-blue ones, while in timid voice he 
 said : c ' Papa, how old were you when your papa bought 
 you your first gun ?' ' And then his voice grew stronger, 
 and he continued with earnestness, ' ' I would rather have 
 a gun than any other thing in this world." When you 
 are fourteen, my son, said I, then I will 4 c Why, my 
 boy," exclaimed his mother, "when you are large enough 
 to go into the fields and hunt, the birds will all be gone 
 killed off.' ' The growing scarcity of game was so appar- 
 ent to her, that she made this remark. She was not 
 interested in the preservation of game, except so far as to 
 feel an interest in what she knew was of moment or 
 interest to me. There was solemn truth in what she said, 
 and unless we, whose place it is to obey the law and to 
 pass laws which in our wisdom and experience we know 
 to be for the protection and preservation of game, do our 
 duty, we are unfit to be classified as sportsmen, and 
 should hide our heads in shame, bury ourselves in our 
 several places of business, try to forget our early lives, 
 the days we spent with Nature in the forests, at the hill : 
 sides, by the gurgling brooks, on the silvery streams, on 
 
PRAIRIE CHICKENS PINNATED GROUSE. 
 
 309 
 
 the rolling prairies, in the pursuit of fin and feather; 
 forget all these ever living and recurring memories, and 
 through our selfishness fail to leave our children the 
 delights to be found in the field, which the poorest of us 
 have the power to leave them as our legacy, as their 
 inheritance. 
 
 A\ 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 
 
 BY C. R. TINAN 
 
 ERHAPS no game bird on the American 
 Continent is so generally known, and which, 
 in one sense, sportsmen are so little familiar 
 with, as the wild goose. By term "wild 
 goose ' ' I refer to all of the different varieties 
 of the goose family, including the brant. Covering almost 
 every portion of the United States in their migratory 
 flight to the frozen North in the early spring, and to the 
 sunny South with the first signs of cold weather, the 
 "honk! honk! honk!" of the Canada goose, and the 
 peculiar cries of the other varieties, are recognized by 
 everyone; but rearing their young in the wilderness 
 of the British Possessions, or in the icy fastnesses of the 
 Arctic regions, has made their habits during their breeding 
 season but little known, and the small area of the United 
 States which they frequent during their migratory flights, 
 leaves the great body of sportsmen practically unac- 
 quainted with the methods adapted to the successful 
 pursuit of them. 
 
 In a work of this kind especially in a chapter neces- 
 sarily limited in its length it is even quite impossible to 
 enter into a scientific ornithological treatment of the wild 
 goose, even were the writer competent to do so. The 
 naturalist or ornithological student would not be enlight- 
 ened further than what has already been written, and the 
 average reader would be more wearied than entertained. 
 It is my purpose to s.kip as lightly as possible over that 
 
 (311) 
 
312 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 portion of the subject, and, in imagination, take the 
 reader with me, properly equipped for the sport, out onto 
 the low, broad plains of Southern Texas, some pleasant 
 winter day, or, better yet, into the golden stubble-fields 
 of Nebraska or Dakota, where goose- shooting is to-day 
 seen at its best; but a chapter on the wild goose without 
 a partial description of the general appearance of the 
 bird it treats of, would be incomplete at its best. It would 
 be like a well-known Shakespearean drama with the 
 principal character left out. 
 
 The wild goose family contains not less than a dozen 
 different varieties. When the many different names 
 applied to the same species is taken into consideration, one 
 is inclined to believe the novice especially that there 
 must be ten times one dozen; but of the different varie- 
 ties, not over six or seven are well defined. In one of the 
 best known works on wild fowl shooting, only two varie- 
 ties are mentioned, the Canada goose and the white- 
 fronted goose, two of the best known to Western sports- 
 men in an early day. In a more recent and better work, 
 the author refers to four varieties the Canada, snow- 
 goose, brant or brent goose, and the white-fronted. 
 These four varieties comprise about all that are commonly 
 met with in the West, of which the last named is nowa- 
 days but seldom seen. 
 
 To attempt to so accurately describe the different vari- 
 eties of geese and brant that the novice would instantly 
 recognize them when seen, seems a hopeless task, so 
 mixed is the nomenclature of the goose family. It is a 
 clear case of making confusion worse confounded. As a 
 well-known writer on wild fowl truly says, ' ' The nomen- 
 clature of goose family will put in doubt and mystify 
 the wild fowl hunter greatly, for they receive their names 
 in the West, not scientifically and historically, but 
 locally." The same author then cites as an illustration 
 
THE WILD GOOSE 313 
 
 the fact that what are called "Hutchins" geese in 
 Nebraska are precisely like the Canadas, only smaller. 
 Incidentally, I believe that the variety referred to is rightly 
 named in Nebraska. I once thought to the contrary, 
 that the Hutchins geese were but the unmatured Cana- 
 das, but a subsequent study of the birds has altered the 
 early -formed opinion. In Dakota, many local sportsmen 
 call the Hutchins geese "Mexican" geese or "Texan" 
 geese. Everything else is a "brant," except the Cana- 
 das, which they call "old honkers," and the snow- 
 geese. The white-fronted geese they term "speckled 
 brant." 
 
 The following semi-ornithological descriptions and the 
 local names of the respective varieties of the goose family 
 will perhaps give the average sportsman as nearly a per- 
 fect idea of the appearance of the birds as will be found. 
 For the ornithological descriptions I am indebted to 
 Gordon Trumbuir s late work, ' ' Names and Portraits of 
 Birds." 
 
 Brant (Branta bernicla) (brent-goose brent brand- 
 goose common brant black brant). Head and bill, 
 with neck all around, and extreme fore part of body, 
 black; on either side of neck a group of white scratches. 
 The back, with front wings, brown; the feathers paler at 
 the ends; remainder of wings, black, or nearly so, as is 
 the tail, the latter, however, being almost concealed by a 
 covering of white feathers, technically called " coverts." 
 Under parts of plumage, grayish brown, the ends of the 
 feathers touched with white, this producing transverse 
 bars; legs, blackish; length, about twenty-four inches; 
 extent, forty-six to forty-eight inches; weight, about five 
 pounds. 
 
 Of the breeding-habits of the black brant but little is 
 known. They rear their young far into the frozen North, 
 and their domestic life may forever remain a mystery. 
 
314 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 When in captivity they show no disposition to breed, and 
 seemingly never become reconciled to the unnatural 
 restraint. Their food consists almost wholly of vegeta- 
 tion, but they readily subsist upon grains when in cap- 
 tivity. They are much more common on the sea-coast 
 than in the interior, and are rarely met with in the West. 
 
 Snow-goose (white brant wavey fish-brant Texas 
 goose blue goose blue snow-goose white-headed goose 
 bald brant). The true snow-goose is white, with end of 
 wing black; fore parts of plumage frequently stained with 
 reddish brown, this generally more ' noticeable on front 
 of head; bill, light purplish red, but variable from a 
 dusky tone to flesh-color, with black recess along its sides; 
 legs, deep purplish red, though variable. In the young, 
 the upper parts are bluish gray or lead -color, more or less 
 varied with white; end of wing as in adult; bill and legs, 
 dusky. 
 
 Two varieties are recognized by ornithologists, viz.: 
 lesser snow-goose and greater snow-goose. The smaller 
 bird measures twenty -five inches in length and about fifty- 
 two inches in extent; the larger, which has just been 
 described, measures several inches larger. The two 
 varieties grade toward one another confusingly. The 
 names snow-goose, fish-brant, and white brant are locally 
 applied to the larger variety, and the names blue goose, 
 bald brant, blue snow-goose, etc., to the smaller kind. 
 The smaller variety is the same shape and form as the 
 larger kind, and has the appearance of being arrayed in 
 the undeveloped plumage of the true snow -goose. The 
 head and neck of the lesser snow-goose is white, with the 
 remaining plumage principally grayish brown, with more 
 or less bluish gray, the feathers ending paler; wings, 
 plain, light bluish gray, with their flight-feathers black, 
 or nearly so; rump, light gray, or more whitish; legs and 
 bill, like the larger kind. 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 315 
 
 This latter variety is not common in the West, at least 
 not in those States and Territories most frequented by the 
 geese and brant. Their larger cousins the true snow- 
 geese are, however, found in countless numbers all over 
 the prairie States, and are common to all the country 
 between the Missouri River and the Pacific Coast. In 
 Dakota, they arrive at about the same time as the other 
 varieties, and are always found associated with the 
 Canadas. The Pacific Slope is a favorite winter home of 
 these birds, and large numbers are killed. The shooting, 
 in years past, has been equally as good in Dakota and 
 along the Platte River, in Nebraska, during the fall. Of 
 their breeding-habits but little is known. Like the black 
 brant and other varieties, they nest in the far North. 
 
 White-fronted goose (laughing goose harlequin brant 
 pied brant prairie brant speckled belly speckled 
 brant yellow-legged goose gray brant). Upper parts, 
 principally grayish brown, the broad ends of the feathers 
 narrowly edged with brownish white, the pale edgings 
 turned to pure white on tail and certain feathers of the 
 wings; the head and upper neck of closer mixture, or 
 nearly plain brown; extreme front of head, next to bill, 
 white, this white intensified by the brown just back of it, 
 which is of a deeper tint, or blackish; breast, in a high 
 state of plumage, blackish brown, broken only by a few 
 pale or white edgings to the feathers, but, as more often 
 seen, a blotchy mixture of black and white; the feathers 
 of rump, and those beneath the tail, pure white; color 
 of bill, varying with different specimens, from flesh-color 
 and yellowish to darker and more reddish tint; the nail 
 at end, white, or nearly so; legs and feet, orange, the 
 webs lighter, and the claws white. Length, twenty- seven 
 inches; extent, sixty inches; weight, six pounds. 
 
 The white-fronted goose, called "brant" or " speck- 
 led belly" by nearly all Western sportsmen, is rarely 
 
316 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ever found east of the Mississippi River, and, in these 
 days, is by no means common in Nebraska, Dakota, or 
 other Western States. During the first few years of set- 
 tlement of these States, they were very abundant, but 
 for the past few years seem to have surrendered the ter- 
 ritory to their cousins the Canadas and the snow-geese. 
 They generally arrive from the North early in September, 
 a few weeks in advance of the Canadas and Hutchins, 
 and leave for the South as much earlier. They breed 
 north of the 60th parallel, in the wooded districts, and 
 are found in great numbers in Alaska during the sum- 
 mer. Their favorite winter home is Mexico and the 
 .Pacific Slope. 
 
 Canada goose (common wild goose big gray goose 
 honker). Head, neck, bill, and legs, black; patch about 
 throat, and feathers above and below tail, white; upper 
 parts of plumage, principally brown, this fading into 
 light gray beneath; brown of rump and tail, darker, or 
 blackish. Length, thirty-six to forty inches; weight, ten 
 to eighteen pounds. 
 
 Hutchins goose (lesser Canada goose small gray 
 goose prairie goose little wild goose) . A small variety of 
 the common wild goose, and in appearance, excepting 
 size, like it in all respects. Length, about twenty-seven 
 inches; extent, forty-eight inches; weight, seven to ten 
 pounds. 
 
 I have grouped the description of these two birds 
 together, in that they are both known as the Canada or 
 common wild goose; but while the true Canada goose 
 is common to all parts of the United States, the Hutchins 
 goose is only found west of the Mississippi, I believe, 
 and throughout Dakota and Nebraska is more often met 
 with than the larger variety. The Hutchins goose breeds 
 in the Arctic regions, while the Canadas breed in isolated 
 lakes and streams throughout portions of the United 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 317 
 
 States, though, as a matter of fact, the great body of 
 them breed in the British Possessions. In all other 
 respects, the habits of the two varieties are identical. 
 Years ago, the Canadas bred in considerable numbers on 
 the northern tributaries of the Mississippi and Missouri 
 Rivers, but the rapid settlement of the country has driven 
 them farther north, except in rare instances, so that it 
 is safe to say that, in these days, no variety of the goose 
 family breeds within the boundaries of the United States. 
 
 The common wild goose is easily reared in captivity, 
 but never becomes thoroughly domesticated. Unless 
 their wings are clipped, they will at the first opportunity 
 join some passing flock. They cross readily with domestic 
 geese, and the flesh of the cross-bred bird is the superior 
 of either the wild or native. When three years old, in 
 captivity, they lay from three to five eggs, and gradually 
 increase the number as they grow older. In their wild 
 state, they frequently nest in trees. 
 
 The Canadas are the last of the geese or brant to 
 come down from the North in the fall, and the first to 
 arrive from the South in the spring, often coming before 
 the ponds, lakes, and rivers are open sufficiently to wet 
 their feet. 
 
 The Canada goose lives to a great age 100 years, it 
 is said. I believe it. I have eaten them or tried to. 
 A yound wild goose Canada, Hutchins, white-fronted, 
 or snow-goose, or brant is delicious eating, however, 
 when properly baked; but the trouble of it is,, sometimes, 
 a novice can not distinguish an old bird from a young 
 one, and when it comes to picking out a young goose 
 from a mixed lot of Canadas and Hutchins, it becomes a 
 most difficult task, one is so liable to select an old 
 Hutchins goose for a young Canada. 
 
 Standing on a bluff of old Lake Erie, thirty-five miles 
 east of Cleveland, one cold March morning way back in 
 
318 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 the '70s, I brought down an old gander, who was leading 
 his flock out for a midday drink in the lake, which I 
 have every reason to believe was piloting his fellows across 
 the country in Washington's time. If I remember 
 rightly, he weighed eighteen pounds, and an all-day' s par- 
 boiling in a wash-boiler and a half -day' s roasting in a hot 
 oven was not sufficent to get him in shape to set before 
 company. Tough? Well, he was tough enough to have 
 gotten up and walked out of the room with the invited 
 guests. Since that bit of cuisine experience, I have made 
 it a rule, when superintending the preparation of a goose 
 of uncertain age for the table, to place a robust and 
 healthy brick in the roasting-pan. When the brick is 
 easily pierced with a fork, it is safe to test your guests on 
 the goose. 
 
 The receipt for cooking a hare, "first catch your 
 hare," well applies to the wild goose. Now that I have 
 enabled the novice to readily distinguish any variety of 
 the goose family brought to bag, it is fit that he should 
 be instructed how to " catch his goose." 
 
 Space will not allow, nor is it necessary to go into 
 details over the different methods pursued in the capture 
 of each of the different varieties. It is safe to say that nine 
 out of every ten readers of this work will, if they ever go 
 upon a goose-hunting trip, encounter the Canadas or 
 Hutchins almost exclusively, and as all that may be said 
 of them and their habits applies to all the other varieties, 
 except as noted further on. I shall confine myself almost 
 wholly to them; but before coming to that, a few hints 
 about hunting some of the other varieties may be 
 instructive to the amateur and interesting to the old and 
 experienced hunter. 
 
 ' ' Silly as a goose' ' is a saying familiar to all, but it is 
 not, perhaps, until one has hunted them in their wild 
 state that the saying is given even a passing thought, and 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 319 
 
 but one opinion then prevails, that the author would have 
 qualified his expression had he been familiar with his 
 subject, for a keener, wilder, and a more difficult bird to 
 bring to bag does not exist. The manner of hunting 
 them depends somewhat on the variety at hand, and more 
 particularly upon the country and the season of the 
 year. 
 
 The sportsman who starts in search of a fortnight's 
 shooting at geese nowadays would, in almost all proba- 
 bility, make Dakota or Nebraska his objective point, and 
 the, fall of the year the time. The varieties he would 
 encounter in those States would be mostly the Hutchins, 
 Canadas, white geese, and a sprinkling of the white- 
 fronted geese. The white geese are seldom made a 
 sole object of pursuit by Western sportsmen. Unlike the 
 Canadas, they do not decoy readily; and although always 
 found associating with the Canada and Hutchins geese, 
 are more uncertain in their habits, and those I have shot 
 have been brought to bag more by some fortunate circum- 
 stance than any particular skill on my part. They are 
 strikingly handsome birds when flocked in large numbers, 
 and I know of nothing that will delight a sportsman's 
 eyes more than a sight at 1,000 or more of them sit- 
 ting upon some prairie knoll that has been burned 
 over and blackened, or when they are circling over some 
 stubble-lield on a bright, sunny afternoon. 
 
 One early morning, some five years ago, I lay in a 
 stubble-field located about two miles west of White Lake, 
 Aurora County, S. Dak., waiting the expected arrival 
 of the Canada geese for breakfast. Around me were 
 clustered a dozen profile Canada geese decoys and one 
 lone white goose decoy the latter a sample from the 
 manufacturers. As the sun rose above the low eastern 
 bank of the lake, a long, glistening white line arose from 
 the lake and bore down in my direction. On they came 
 
320 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 direct to the field, but instead of swinging into my decoys, 
 as expected, made .one or two circles at a safe distance, 
 and, with that irregular, snipe-like pitch peculiar to them, 
 dropped down in the corner of the stubble, 150 yards 
 away. Presently there came another flock, and with 
 much the same maneuvering they joined their fellows. 
 Had I had a little more experience with geese, I would 
 have at once arisen from my blind and frightened them 
 away, for as decoys they held over my insignificant dozen 
 most disastrously to me. While mentally trying to 
 decide how I would get a shot at the snowy mass of birds 
 at the end of the field, flock after flock came in and 
 joined the first arrivals, until it seemed to me that every 
 white goose in the West was sitting there before my 
 eyes, and, for all the execution I could do among them, 
 they might as well have been on top of the Rocky Mount- 
 ains. From where I lay, there appeared to be 1,000,000 
 of them there were probably close to 1,000 of them 
 and the sight they made in the bright morning sun will 
 never be forgotten. I tried to crawl within shooting dis- 
 tance, but the first move started them, and my two loads 
 of No. 1's sped harmlessly after them. 
 
 My experience is, that the white-fronted goose, or 
 " speckled belly," as they are termed in the West, is 
 the wildest variety in the family. Unless found in 
 abundance, the hunter will have unsatisfactory sport 
 hunting them exclusively. They decoy as readily if the 
 term "readily" may be used to Canada geese decoys 
 as to those of their own kind. The fact of the matter 
 is, they are very hard birds to decoy. They seem to be 
 of an unsociable nature, and pass over or by one' s decoys 
 may be to alight less than 200 yards away with the 
 most provoking indifference. Their feeding-habits are 
 identically the same as the Canadas. When their roost- 
 ing-places and feeding-grounds lie near together, they fly 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 321 
 
 low, and, if abundant in numbers, good shooting may be 
 had by locating upon an elevated piece of ground in line 
 with their flight. If convenient, it is a good plan to set 
 out decoys. They may not draw them in, but they serve 
 to disarm suspicion. When the hunter is located in a 
 stubble-field, with decoys set out, these birds have a 
 provoking habit of bearing down on the field with the 
 speed of an express train, seemingly bound straight for the 
 decoys, but when just out of shooting distance, sheer off, 
 and alight but a short distance away. When up to such 
 tricks, carefully note from which direction most of them 
 come, and then locate yourself 100 yards away from 
 your decoys in that direction. This will bring them 
 between you and the decoys, and give you many good 
 opportunities, if you are properly concealed and arise to 
 shoot at just the right moment. When using Canada 
 geese decoys, and they act in this manner, the novice is 
 apt to believe that if he but had decoys after their own 
 kind, they would come in readily. Well, they wouldn't 
 do anything of the kind. 
 
 The sportsman who yearns for goose- shooting will 
 never experience its delights and pleasures to the utmost 
 until he encounters the Canadas and the Hutchins. 
 While almost as wary, keen, and wild as any bird that 
 flies, they decoy readily under favorable circumstances, 
 and the sport is simply magnificent. 
 
 As previously stated, it is probably in Dakota that 
 goose-shooting is to-day seen at its best, though by no 
 means as good as was to be had a few years ago. During 
 the years of 1880-85, the goose-shooting in Dakota was 
 grand almost beyond belief. The very few cultivated 
 fields of grain at that time particularly during the 
 earlier years mentioned served to attract the great body 
 of birds then in the country during their southern migra- 
 tions, and a visit to any one of them, during an afternoon 
 21 
 
322 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 or morning flight, was all that was necessary to secure 
 splendid shooting. Decoys were not then necessary, and 
 a blind or other artificial place of concealment by no 
 means indispensable. You could fairly ' ' knock 'em 
 down with clubs," so plentiful they were, and so little 
 hunted. They were a terror and a source of annoyance 
 to farmers, picking out the seed-grain in the spring, and 
 making a ten-acre field of corn, in the fall, look as though 
 visited by a hail-storm. It was no uncommon occurrence 
 for the geese to completely ruin a field of corn in from 
 two to three days' time, leaving so little that it was not 
 worth gathering. Even nowadays, an isolated piece of 
 corn, left uncut and not shocked, is apt to fare badly at 
 their hands or bills, rather. 
 
 My first experience with wild geese in Dakota was in 
 the fall of 1883, the locality the same as that in which I 
 had my morning' s experience with the white geese. A 
 fellow sportsman whom I will call Tom and myself 
 had been told by a farmer acquaintance that large num- 
 bers of geese came into his wheat-stubble every after- 
 noon "thousands of 'em," he said. The next afternoon 
 found us in the immediate vicinity about 2.30 o'clock. 
 We knew the field by a fresh stack of straw on its edge; 
 then, too, we knew the place because there was no other 
 stubble for several miles around. The spot was an ele- 
 vated piece of prairie, in full view of White Lake a 
 great resort for ducks and geese and a more likely place 
 for the sport could hardly be conceived. The day, too, 
 was a grand one one of those perfect October days, rarely 
 seen in greater loveliness and more thoroughly enjoyed 
 than upon the broad, sweeping prairies of Dakota. The 
 air was heavily impregnated with that pure, invigorating, 
 life-giving ozone for which Dakota is so justly famous, 
 and a better day for the anticipated sport could not well 
 have been chosen. 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 323 
 
 It is such days as these in Dakota, the rule rather 
 than the exception all through the autumn that gives 
 to goose-shooting there one of its chiefest charms. 
 Despite the inevitable disappointment that often comes 
 in the pursuit of these wary, uncertain birds, there is, 
 nevertheless, that absence of excessive fatigue more or 
 less encountered in the hunting of alnlost ony other game 
 bird. It is a decided contrast to the suffocating heat and 
 eternal mosquito-fighting one must endure in search of 
 the long- billed woodcock; or the climbing, exhausting 
 work after that noble bird, the ruffed grouse; or the 
 blinding, burning heat of an August day on prairie 
 chickens; or the wearisome tramp, tramp, after the zig- 
 zag snipe which always is flying u zag" when your shot 
 goes "zig;" or the briers and thorns and tiresome march 
 to secure the little brown Bob Whites; or the cold, wet, 
 mud and general discomforts of duck-shooting. It is so 
 great a contrast to all these, that goose-shooting, when 
 the game is fairly plentiful, may be termed a deliciously 
 lazy sport, but one which, while it does not exhaust the 
 physical being, tires the mind and tests the nerve as few 
 things can. In some respects, it is like standing on a 
 deer-drive. The birds come to you; you do not go to 
 them. But when they do come, aye, there's the rub. 
 To lay in some large stubble-field on one of these lovely 
 October days, with just enough breeze sweeping across 
 the prairies to render the air fragrant and bracing, gives 
 to one who is a lover of Nature an indescribable sense of 
 pleasure that nothing can take away. It matters little 
 whether he has a feather to show for his afternoon' s out- 
 ing, he has enjoyed himself, and that thoroughly, and 
 his evening meal and night's rest is the sweeter there- 
 for. While this is true of all field sports to a certain 
 extent, yet the pure air and bright sun of the Dakota 
 prairies on an autumn day gives to the hunter a certain 
 
324 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 animation and buoyancy of spirits, and a peculiar sense 
 of enjoyment, found in but few places. 
 
 To the east, two miles away,. White Lake lay in the 
 gently sloping valley, shining like a massive sheet of 
 silver. As we busily unloaded our trappings, guns, shell- 
 boxes, etc., the sharp eyes of my companion, ever 
 on the alert with true hunter's instinct, espied a low 
 black line once seen, never afterward mistaken rise 
 slowly over the lake. With a warning exclamation, he 
 grabbed gun and shell -box, and started on a dead run for 
 the field, leaving me to secure the horse, and come on after 
 as best I could. As he passed the straw-pile, he hurriedly 
 gathered up an armful of straw, and then made another 
 start for the center of the stubble as fast as his legs could 
 carry him, looking back over his shoulder every rod or 
 two to see how near the geese were, for they were coming 
 directly toward the field. Meanwhile, I was not asleep, 
 but before I could get ready to leave the buggy in fight- 
 ing order, the geese had gotten so near that I saw it was 
 useless to attempt to get into the stubble in advance of 
 them; but I managed, by a brisk ran, to reach the straw- 
 stack, in hopes that they would swing over that and give 
 me a shot, in which I was not disappointed. On they 
 came, about fifty of them Hutchins geese flying nearly 
 abreast, and not over forty feet from the ground, and 
 although they must have caught sight of us when we ran 
 for the field, seemingly unconscious of any danger. 
 They swung directly over the stack, and without taking 
 any particular aim little excited, you know I let two 
 loads into them, and down tumbled one, with a thump on 
 the ground that, as it came to my ears, produced a sensa- 
 tion as delightful as ever experienced in the field. I had 
 killed my first Dakota goose. As the big fellows passed 
 out over Tom, they met a still warmer reception, and two 
 of their number fell to his cooler aim. Before we had 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 325 
 
 time to shake hands over the result, and form a mutual 
 admiration society, another flock was seen approaching, 
 and with a rapidity that warned us to get to cover as soon 
 as possible. I had hardly time to catch up an armful of 
 straw, and get into the stubble and lie down, before they 
 were over us. Just how many we dropped out of this 
 flock I can not at this day recall. Perhaps we didn't get 
 any. It was a poor time for book-keeping; I can distinctly 
 remember that; also recollect that we were just a little bit 
 rattled for a time. The ball was now fairly opened, and 
 how the geese did come into that field ! Never before or 
 since have I seen geese as we saw them that day. For 
 another such an opportunity I would willingly travel 
 hundreds of miles. For an hour the birds came in over 
 the field with but a few minutes interval between the 
 arrivals. Within the hour, and before we left the vicinity, 
 not less than fifty flocks came into the field, averaging 
 from twenty to fifty to the flock. We had no decoys, no 
 pits dug, and no blinds of any kind. We simply lay on 
 our backs in the stubble, with a little straw over our legs, 
 and as the geese would come in and circle over the field, 
 we would raise up to a sitting posture and let them have 
 it. Often they would be too high for effective work, and 
 all were killed at long distances. Once Tom killed three 
 out of the same flock, in three different shots, before they 
 could get away. That is what you might call quick work. 
 We exhausted about sixty shells each, and then, of course, 
 had to quit. We had seventeen geese to show for them. 
 Not very many for so much ammunition, you think? 
 Well, no, but under the conditions we labored it was a 
 fair bag, and we were too well satisfied to complain; but 
 often afterward we talked over that afternoon's sport, and 
 estimated how many we could bring to the earth did just 
 such an opportunity occur again, and we never placed it 
 much less than seventy-five. We found it impossible to 
 
326 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 transport the seventeen geese to town in our small buggy, 
 even after tying them on, and had to dispose of some of 
 them to people we met on the road. 
 
 The experience we had that afternoon, though never 
 afterward so fully realized, was by no means an uncom- 
 mon one at that time and during the few years preced- 
 ing. Even during the few years succeeding, fields of 
 small grain and corn were occasionally found into which 
 the geese were sure to come in large numbers; but now- 
 adays it is difficult to find a field in this same country into 
 which there is a reasonable certainty of over a half-dozen 
 flocks coming, more often less. There are exceptions, of 
 course, and it is to locate those favored spots that taxes 
 the patience and time of the hunter. The geese, too, are 
 better educated, more familiar with the tactics of the 
 enemy, and a correct knowledge of their habits is abso- 
 lutely essential to successful sport. 
 
 In these days, the best shooting in South Dakota is 
 found in the counties bordering on the Missouri River, 
 particularly Charles Mix and Brule, with a prefer- 
 ence for the latter. Bounded for over 100 miles by 
 the "Big Muddy," parallel with the course of which 
 the main flight of the geese in the spring and fall runs, 
 the frequent sand-bars and " tow-heads" small, low- 
 lying islands covered by little willows and cotton- woods 
 afford enticing resting-places and roosting-beds for the 
 geese. To follow the breaks in the bluffs out to the 
 adjacent feeding-grounds in the corn and grain fields is 
 natural, and it is here that the sportsman may be fairly 
 sure of a few days' happiness. 
 
 Next to a good gun and properly loaded shells, the 
 first essential of a goose-hunting expedition is decoys. 
 Better start out with an inferior gun and shells and plenty 
 of good decoys than a $300 hammerless and no decoys, 
 or poor ones. The proper decoys are what are called 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 327 
 
 "profiles," made from sheet-iron, and painted to resemble 
 a Canada goose. The necks and supports are fastened to 
 the bodies by rivets, and the decoys can be folded up to 
 occupy a small space. A dozen of them are enough for 
 one pit or blind. If two are shooting, it is better to have 
 a couple of dozen, one lot for each, as better shooting can 
 be had, as a rule, by locating either in separate fields or 
 on two different spots in the same field. 
 
 In searching about for a place to go when determined 
 upon a fortnight' s goose-shooting, it is a good idea to 
 have a bag of salt beside you figuratively speaking 
 when the answers to your numerous inquiries come in by 
 mail. You will need a few grains for each letter usually 
 and you will not be so disappointed then when you reach 
 the hunting-grounds; for, on the best of grounds, and 
 in the most likely territory, goose-shooting is very 
 uncertain sport, and is becoming more so every year; but 
 if you are bent upon having a little experience with the 
 geese, let me suggest that you make your trial trip upon 
 paper with me. It may save you a needless amount of 
 time and expense, and it would be strange were not your 
 total of geese larger. 
 
 You mast come with the expectation of roughing it 
 if necessary, and prepared to at any time exchange the 
 fairly comfortable quarters of the country hotel for the 
 humble lodging of a Bohemian cabin, or a night's roost 
 in his barn depending somewhat upon the size of the fam- 
 ily. ' ' Thought you said goose-shooting was deliciously 
 lazy sport," did I hear you say? Well, yes, er, er I did 
 sometimes. That was a few years ago I had reference 
 to. It isn't quite so "deliciously lazy" nowadays. The 
 birds are scarcer and wilder, and we may have fo do 
 considerable traveling and roughing to find them. 
 
 I want you to bring the decoys, as previously men- 
 tioned, a hunting-suit of dead grass color, and hat to 
 
328 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 match, plenty of heavy under-clothing, and a loose-fit- 
 ting, warm overcoat. Be sure that your hunting-suit and 
 hat is light enough in color. Nine-tenths of the regula- 
 tion canvas suits are too dark. About the gun, it does 
 not matter as to size and weight. A twelve-gauge will do, 
 but a ten-gauge is better, and an eight-gauge is better yet. 
 The principal thing is to hit the geese, and you will be 
 more certain to do it with a gun that you are accustomed 
 to be it light or heavy than one you are unfamiliar 
 with. Everything else being equal, the heavier gun is the 
 better. 
 
 For a ten-gauge gun, the best all-round load for geese is 
 five drams of powder and one ounce of No. 2 shot. When 
 they come in well to the decoys, No. 4's in the right bar- 
 rel and No. 2's in the left is about the thing. Do not 
 be misled into loading any larger shot under any circum- 
 stances. A few loads of heavier shot, for chance shots at 
 long distances, would, not be out of place in your car- 
 tridge-box, and always have a few dozen shells loaded 
 with 6' s for a stray prairie chicken or jack-rabbit. 
 
 Well, suppose you put in an appearance, properly 
 equipped, about November 1st, and find me somewhere 
 in the neighborhood of the Missouri River, in South 
 Dakota. "What is the prospect for geese?" is your first 
 natural inquiry. It's hard to tell; we will have to do a 
 little exploring on the morrow. I do not make a practice 
 of questioning farmers. The sources of information thus 
 taken are too uncertain in results. It has cost me many 
 a wild goose chase to learn this. Not one farmer in ten 
 is a sportsman, and not over one in ten hunt at all, and 
 only an insignificant few have any conception of what 
 constitutes satisfactory shooting. If a stray flock of 
 geese happens to alight on Mr. Farmer's stubble-field 
 or in his corn some morning or evening, it is likely that 
 he will say that "there's piles of 'em." If they chance to 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 329 
 
 come a few mornings or evenings in succession, he will 
 tell you that they are there every morning. You drive 
 out to his place, and find that only one flock has been 
 feeding on his farm any of the time, at which, perhaps, 
 you get an indifferent shot. It has taken a ten-mile 
 drive before daylight on a cold, frosty morning to learn 
 this, and as you slowly pick up your decoys, and place 
 your trappings in the buggy, you naturally fall to won- 
 dering if all men are liars, or are geese uncertain. As the 
 Bohemians say, ' 4 1 tank so. " 
 
 So we go to the livery stable in the morning, and secure 
 a light driving team, with a buggy or wagon to match. 
 We will put in but one box of a dozen decoys to-day, for 
 the chances are exceedingly slim for an opportunity of 
 setting any of them up, or securing any shooting what- 
 ever. This is more of an exploring trip than anything 
 else, remember. If we find any geese this morning, they 
 will either be in the stubbles or corn, and too late to get to 
 work on them; but we will put in a couple of shovels, 
 for we may want to use them. 
 
 We have traveled nearly all the morning, and most of 
 the geese we have seen have been on their way to the 
 river from their morning flight for food. You will 
 notice that they all fly in that peculiar drag-shape so 
 familiar from pictures you have seen. This is always 
 their manner of flight when bound for some particular 
 locality. When flying across the country in search of 
 food, with no definite spot in view, they move in a low, 
 sweeping, undulating line, and nearly abreast now ris- 
 ing high in the air at some suspicious object below, now 
 swerving down to within twenty feet of the ground, only 
 to arise again farther on, until lost to sight in the distant 
 horizon. 
 
 The geese we have seen hurrying for a drink in the 
 river will be coming back again this afternoon. As this 
 
330 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 is our first trip out, of course it is impossible to tell just 
 what time to look for them; but it is perfectly safe to 
 say that it will be at the same time as yesterday after- 
 noon, and that it will be the same time to-morrow after- 
 noon, for it is a remarkable peculiarity of wild geese 
 that they leave their roosting-grounds and go out to 
 feed with a regularity truly wonderful. I have fre- 
 quently timed their afternoon flights so accurately that 
 I would not have five minutes to wait after setting up my 
 decoys. 
 
 " Whoa!" 
 
 Look at that stubble-field yonder! it's full of 'em, just 
 as sure as you're alive. What! want to get out and 
 make a sneak on them? My dear fellow, you couldn't 
 get within rifle-shot of them to save your life. The grass 
 is high, to be sure, but the stubble-field is much larger 
 than it looks from this distance; they are near the center 
 of it, and if you could crawl to its edge without being 
 discovered which is extremely improbable you would 
 still be 150 yards away. Take my advice now, as well as 
 hereafter; don't ever waste your time trying to creep 
 upon geese sitting either on a stubble or in a corn-field. 
 It is an almost impossible task.' 
 
 There they go! They got suspicious at our stopping; 
 evidence to them that we were plotting them no good. 
 Lots of them, are there not? Must be a dozen or twenty 
 big flocks in that outfit. They are going to the river. 
 Let us drive over and take a look at the field. Had we 
 kept on driving, they would not have taken flight, unless 
 we drove very close to them. When there is a chance to 
 make a sneak on them, the team must not be stopped, but 
 the shooter drop out of the wagon into the grass while 
 the team is moving; and while the team and driver 
 endeavor to retain the attention of the geese, the hunter 
 crawls up on them from an opposite direction. We 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 331 
 
 reach the field, and find, upon looking it over carefully, 
 that while it does not give evidence of having been a 
 regular feeding-ground for any considerable length of 
 time, yet it is a likely looking spot not a house within a 
 mile of it, and away from any road. It is almost noon, 
 the sun is getting hot, and taking everything into consid- 
 eration, we might as well halt right here for a time. We 
 may get some good shooting here this afternoon, or 
 toward evening. We will unload our decoys and shovels, 
 and drive over into that swale a half-mile away, take the 
 horses from the buggy, and while they get a little fresh 
 grass, we will sample the contents of the lunch-basket, 
 which, aside from the substantiate, contains a few bottles 
 of ginger ale the best drink for prairie hunting you can 
 find. 
 
 As we have got several hours to dispose of here, per- 
 haps no better opportunity will come to give you a few 
 hints on goose-shooting in general, flavored, may be, with 
 some interesting personal reminiscences. 
 
 In the first place, there is quite a science in setting up 
 decoys properly, and in locating or arranging your pit or 
 blind in connection with them. The decoys should be 
 set at least ten feet apart, "With the face of the profiles 
 toward the direction from which the geese are most likely 
 to come. A part of the decoys want to be set at right 
 angles to the others, of course, so that the sides of some 
 of them show from any direction. W^hen set out ten feet 
 apart, they will look pretty well spread out; but if you 
 will step off a couple of hundred yards or so, they will 
 look much more like a genuine flock of geese than when 
 set closer together. It is strange how life-like they look 
 when set out properly. I have had mine crawled upon 
 and shot at on two different occasions, much to my 
 amusement. They present a much more natural appear- 
 ance than a decoy-duck, I think. By the way, let me 
 
332 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 tell you how to " catch on" to decoy-ducks when puzzled 
 over the matter. If you will notice, a decoy-duck always 
 rocks with the action of the waves or ripples on the 
 water; a live duck does not, but retains a perfect perpen- 
 dicular. In setting out your geese decoys, avoid setting 
 them with heads in one direction. This is the position 
 the geese assume when uneasy, or about to take flight, 
 and is not such as to gain the confidence of a passing 
 flock. If shooting alone, and there is a breeze blowing, 
 locate yourself about thirty yards on the leeward side of 
 the decoys. The reason of this is obvious. In common 
 with all wild fowl, geese always alight against the wind. 
 By being on the leeward side, they will, when through 
 circling around the field, fly over you with set wings 
 preparatory to settling among the decoys, and give you a 
 much better shot than you could possibly obtain were 
 you on the opposite side. If you have a companion with 
 you, place the decoys between you, and locate your pits 
 or blinds so that the geese will fly between you, as they 
 come into the decoys toward the wind. You then get a 
 deadly cross-fire on them. 
 
 A friend and myself were thus fixed one afternoon 
 when a flock of five Hutchins geese came in. We killed 
 them all. In a few minutes, another flock of seven came 
 in, and out of them we knocked down six. The poor, 
 lone goose remaining went across the field, turned and 
 came back to the decoys, and we downed him. On 
 another occasion we wiped out a flock of thirteen in 
 much the same manner the geese returning to the decoys 
 the second time. When not much hunted, it is a common 
 occurrence for them to act in this manner, if the hunter 
 or hunters drop into concealment immediately after the 
 first volley. Otherwise a very suspicious and wary bird, 
 the wild goose decoys more readily than any other. Let 
 me relate an instance. I was shooting in a stubble one 
 
334 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 afternoon, and lying on my back, with my feet to the 
 decoys. I caught sight of a flock of twenty or more 
 coming into the field directly toward me, and in line with 
 the direction in which I was lying. After coming to 
 within a 100 yards or so of the decoys, they suddenly 
 stopped, and there they hung in mid-air, neither advanc- 
 ing nor receding. After watching their strange actions for 
 a moment or two, I became satisfied that there was some- 
 thing unusual behind and beyond me to cause it, and 
 cautiously raising and turning my head, I looked around. 
 There sat a boy on a mule, not fifty yards away, evidently 
 waiting to see me kill some of those geese. I told him, in 
 language more forcible than elegant, that I would like to 
 have him make himself scarce, which he did in a hurry; 
 and he had no sooner left the field, when the geese, which 
 must have seen me when I raised up to read the riot act 
 to the boy, came right into the decoys, and I bagged a 
 couple of them. 
 
 No, I do not always dig a pit. In fact, I rarely dig 
 one. While much more effective shooting can be done 
 from a pit, it is considerable work to make one large 
 enough for practical purposes, and unless I am positive 
 that the field selected will be visited by enough flocks to 
 pay for the work, I do not use the shovel. If I can not 
 find a likely hiding-spot on the edge of a field, I select 
 the next best location in the stubble, and, with a tumble- 
 weed or two and a little old hay or straw, manage to fool 
 'em completely. It is a fact, nevertheless, that this 
 manner of shooting has its disadvantages, particularly to 
 one unaccustomed to goose-shooting. In shooting from 
 such a position, it is absolutely important that the 
 shooter lie as motionless as the stubble which surrounds 
 him as the geese approach, never moving a muscle until 
 the right moment comes to arise and shoot. When the 
 geese come in from one certain direction, this is not a 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 335 
 
 difficult thing to do, but when as liable to come into the 
 field from one direction as another, one must be some- 
 thing of a contortionist and acrobat to be in the best 
 position to shoot every time. It is also much more 
 difficult to judge of distances while lying flat in a stubble, 
 or below it, than when sitting upright in a pit. This 
 reminds me that the hardest lesson you will find to learn 
 is to know when the geese are within reasonable killing 
 distance. Ordinarily, a flock of geese 100 yards away do 
 not look to be over fifty, and the deception is even greater 
 when coming head on. You will find your greatest fault 
 and lack of success if success is lacking will be due 
 to shooting too soon. I can not impress this fact too 
 strongly. Let them come in. When once headed for the 
 decoys, let them approach as close as they will before you 
 move a muscle to shoot. When they sheer off, or have 
 gotten as near to you as it is possible for them to get, then 
 let them have it. Just as long as they keep approaching, 
 don't you move, no matter if you are positive that they 
 are within fifty feet of you; otherwise you are extremely 
 liable to discover that as a goose-hunter you are not a 
 glittering success. Often the geese will come into a field, 
 and pass within 100 yards or so of the decoys with 
 the appearance of not having seen them, or, if they have, 
 with no intention of coming any nearer something after 
 the manner of canvas-back ducks. Keep low, give them 
 time to circle around a few times to investigate the gen- 
 eral appearance of things, and your patience will be 
 rewarded. They are just as anxious to see what that 
 other flock (decoys) have got for supper as you are to 
 have them. Don't spoil it all. 
 
 The flight of wild geese is very deceptive. To the 
 casual observer, they have the appearance of a slow and 
 lazy flight. Nothing could be further from the truth. 
 The rapidity with which they can cover five or ten miles 
 
336 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of space is simply astonishing. It will be well for you to 
 remember this when you come to shooting at them over 
 decoys, instead , of deluding yourself with the idea that 
 because they are a big bird you could not miss one if you 
 tried. You heard about the chap, didn't you, that com- 
 plained that "all the rabbits hereabouts are about six 
 inches too short ? ' ' You have had enough experience on 
 other game birds to know that when a flock arises you 
 must single out your bird instead of shooting into the 
 flock at random. Well, the same rule holds good on 
 goose-shooting. Always try, too, to get your gun on one 
 in a bunch; if you miss it, you may catch one next to it, 
 and you stand a good chance of knocking down two or 
 more with one barrel. If a goose falls on the stubble or 
 prairie out of your sight, go and get it at once, unless 
 there are particular reasons why you should not leave 
 your position. Often birds that you may think fell stone 
 dead are only winged or badly wounded, and the read- 
 iness and facility with which a wounded goose will hide 
 in six inches of grass is astonishing. I have had wounded 
 geese get away from me on a prairie under circumstances 
 in which it would not seem possible for a quail to escape. 
 
 Just reach me another sandwich, please. 
 
 Did I ever use live decoys 1 Well, yes, after a fash- 
 ion. I do not think much of them, and, furthermore, I 
 never talked with an experienced goose-hunter who did. 
 We read considerable about them in books and writings 
 on field sports, but my own experience and the experi- 
 ence of others leads me to believe that live geese decoys 
 are a delusion and a fraud. AH that I have ever seen, 
 when taken into a field and picketed out, would go the 
 length of the string, and then stretch flat on the ground 
 and lie there. A friend of mine had three which, when 
 at home in the yard, would pretty near burst their 
 throats calling when a flock went over the house, but 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 337 
 
 when taken into a field would act just as stated. Winged 
 geese, if placed among the decoys, will remain with them 
 of their own accord, and it is amusing, often, to watch 
 them. When you approach the decoys they will scamper 
 off across the field, and as often return after you are hid- 
 den in your pit or blind; but I never saw or knew of 
 one so situated to call a passing flock, or do anything 
 else but lie flat on the ground when a flock was hovering 
 near. 
 
 Well, I don't know but what we had better be mov- 
 ing toward the field. By the time we get our pits dug 
 and the decoys set out, it will be time for the geese to be 
 coming out for supper. 
 
 Here we are. You dig your pit here, and I will dig 
 mine over there. Dig it with a seat in one end, and deep 
 enough so that when sitting down your shoulders will be 
 about on a line with the stubble. After your pit is com- 
 pleted, go and get a small armful of that old hay on the 
 edge of the stubble and strew it around the edge 
 of the pit, but not too thickly just enough to cover 
 the fresh dirt. I have given you the best side, for, as the 
 geese come in over the decoys against the wind, you will 
 be able to swing your gun from right to left instead of 
 the more awkward way, from left to right. 
 
 There, everything is in ship-shape style, as they say 
 on the water, and now if the geese will only make us a 
 few friendly - 
 
 Mark west ! See them, eh ? All right. Now bear in 
 mind what I told you at luncheon. Let them come in if 
 they come this way. 
 
 They didn't come in, did they? though they must have 
 heard me calling. Got more important business farther 
 east; I saw them go down in a stubble about a mile away. 
 There comes another flock, and there's another right 
 
 behind it. Get down ! 
 22 
 
338 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 All right. You know how to keep down, that's cer- 
 tain. Both those flocks have gone where the first one 
 went. Wish we were over there, but it's too late to make 
 a change now. Get down! 
 
 This is interesting, isn't it, to sit in these pits and 
 watch flock after flock pass within a quarter of a mile, 
 and go to another field? That is a regular feeding-ground 
 where they have gone. You will notice that each flock 
 turns neither to the right or left, but flies straight to that 
 one field, and that, too, without having seen any other 
 flock go there. That is a sure sign of a regular feeding- 
 ground. Such a place is absolutely sure of affording 
 good shooting for several consecutive mornings or even- 
 ings, depending somewhat upon whether they visit the 
 field once or twice a day, and when. To-morrow after- 
 noon I want you to come out to this field. I may not be 
 able to get away and go with you, and it is not necessary 
 that I should. After what you have seen to-day, and 
 the few hints I have given you, you can scarcely fail to 
 bring in a dozen geese to-morrow night. Where are the 
 geese that were in this field this morning? You mean the 
 ones we frightened away, I suppose? You tell I don't 
 know; possibly we might have seen some of them in the 
 flock going over to that other field. They probably 
 dropped in here by chance this morning. Some flock 
 happened to stop here, and others saw them and followed 
 suit. You don' t understand why they should go a mile 
 or two farther on for no better food. Bless your soul! 
 neither does anyone else. There is just as good feeding- 
 grounds within a mile of the river as there is out here 
 ten miles away, and possibly better. Why they fly 
 across ten or fifteen miles of good feeding-grounds for 
 something no better, no man can find out, but do it they 
 do, and elsewhere as well as in Dakota. Perhaps they 
 like to work up an appetite. 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 339 
 
 Well, the show is over, and we might as well pull up 
 and go home. By staying here an hour longer we might 
 catch a goose or two from some stray flock, but it would 
 hardly pay. You will have all the fun you want to-mor- 
 row. We will drive over and locate that field exactly, 
 so you will have no trouble in finding it again, stop and 
 dig a pit for you, and then we will take the nearest road 
 home. It's a little hard luck to go back without a 
 feather, but if you hunt geese much, you will soon learn 
 not to mind a day like this. Remember, all is not lost. 
 What you lack in game, you have gained in knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 If the reader has patiently followed me thus far, not 
 much can be added that will prove either interesting or 
 instructive. Possibly it would have added to the imag- 
 inative afternoon' s hunt to have capped it with a score 
 or more of geese, but I have written it from many days' 
 actual experience. 
 
 As the season advances, along toward the middle of 
 November and Thanksgiving, the geese begin to seek the 
 corn-fields, and the hunting of them becomes more 
 tinged with disappointment than pleasure. About this 
 time they make but one trip a day for food, that in the 
 morning, and they generally remain out all day. After 
 feeding, they will seek some bare knoll or burnt piece of 
 prairie in the vicinity of the corn-field for a loafing-place 
 until again hungry. They never alight in a corn-field, 
 but always on the edge, and walk in. They prefer corn 
 planted upon sod (first breaking), in that such fields of 
 corn are usually of thin stand, the stalks short, and the 
 ears easily reached, and they can readily see around and 
 about them. At this time of year they do not decoy 
 readily, each flock seeming to prefer its own company. 
 When the geese are known to be feeding upon a certain 
 field of corn, make a blind, about fifty feet from its edge, 
 
340 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 by pulling up several hills of corn and standing them 
 together ; then set the decoys out a rod or two from the 
 edge of the corn. If a stubble adjoins the field, set them 
 on the stubble. While it is not probable that they will 
 come in directly to the decoys, yet they will be less sus- 
 picious upon seeing what, to them, appears to be another 
 flock. 
 
 In the spring of the year, wild geese are so uncertain 
 in their habits, and so erratic in their flights, in Nebraska 
 and Dakota, that even were not spring shooting to be 
 discountenanced on general principles, it is poor sport 
 hunting them. I have never known them to decoy at 
 this season of the year; and they never seem to be twice 
 in the same place. 
 
 The general directions I have given for hunting the 
 wild goose in Dakota, will apply to Nebraska and all 
 the Western States and Territories, where their habits are 
 nearly the same. Years ago, the best goose-shooting in 
 the United States was jbo be had along the Platte River, 
 in Nebraska. Aside from excellent stubble-field and corn- 
 field shooting, there was superb shooting on the sand- 
 bars of the river. The usual method of building a blind 
 on a sand-bar is to sink a barrel, or water-tight box, in 
 the sand, around which is thrown pieces of drift-wood or 
 brush, the whole so constructed as to leave the imme- 
 diate surroundings as natural and undisturbed as possible. 
 If the box is clear from brush or debris, none should be 
 employed in arranging the blind. Into the box a shal- 
 low one can be placed some hay for the hunter to lie 
 on, and around about it are placed the decoys. If the 
 weather is clear and fair, and particularly on moonlight 
 nights, the geese prolong their afternoon visits to the 
 stubbles until late in the evening, and the concealed 
 hunter often gets fine shooting by the light of the 
 moon. 
 
THE WILD GOOSE. 341 
 
 The sportsman whose business is such that a goose- 
 hunt is only permissible during the winter months will find 
 a visit to Texas filled with pleasant results. The geese 
 generally arrive in that locality about November 1st, and 
 keep coming until the middle of December. The natives 
 will tell you that but three varieties winter there, namely, 
 the Canadas and the white and black brant. As in 
 many other localities, everything in the goose family is 
 a brant except the Canadas. In Texas the geese resort 
 to the pond-holes and marshy grounds as a loafing-place 
 and to the high, dry, upland prairies for feed. The hours 
 for feeding are the same as in more northern localities. 
 They feed chiefly on the young sprouts of green grass 
 and such insects as they can pick up on the prairie. As 
 the prairies are studded all over with pond-holes and 
 marshes in many portions of the State, the geese have no 
 trouble in finding ample feeding-grounds in close prox- 
 imity to their roosting-places; hence they fly very low in 
 going and coming, and in moving about from place to 
 place in search of food, in localities where not much 
 hunted, they also fly close to the ground, not over twenty 
 or thirty feet high. The sportsman can therefore find 
 good shooting by roaming the prairies in a hap-hazard 
 manner, and keeping both eyes open for passing flocks. 
 The general plan of hunting them, however, and the most 
 successful one, is by building a blind upon the shore of 
 some marshy place, or, if the indications are better, in 
 the center. If the hunter is supplied with profile decoys, 
 they can be set out by binding a stick to the supporting 
 rod, and shoving it into the mud, until the decoy presents 
 a life-like appearance. A dead goose may be set up as a 
 decoy by pushing one end of a stick in the mud and the 
 other end, sharpened, up through the neck into the head. 
 This is easier written than done, however, as it is quite a 
 trick to set up a dead goose or duck so that it will look 
 
342 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 life-like; but practice and a little patience will soon 
 enable the amateur to do the work successfully. Inci- 
 dentally and conclusively it is such seemingly trifling 
 things that characterize the successful sportsman. As 
 in everything else, it is the sum total of the little details 
 that go to make a perfect whole. 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 
 
 BY GEORGE W. BAINES (" FUSIL"). 
 
 Meleagris gallopavo is essentially an 
 American fowl, and in these late years 
 has come to be a genuine southerner, 
 being found but seldom in sections 
 north of the historic Mason and Dixon' s 
 line. He flourishes also in Mexico and 
 Central America. 
 As this article is not designed nor desired to be a 
 treatise, I shall not take up space with facts and observa- 
 tions easily found in standard works on natural history 
 and in encyclopedias. The wild turkey is a turkey, 
 and compares with the domestic fowl about as a game 
 chicken does with the common mixed-blooded dunghill, 
 being a, trimmer and more symmetrical fowl, with longer 
 neck, wings, and legs. The wild turkey varies slightly 
 in color according to the various sections where found, 
 the lighter shades predominating as the equator is neared. 
 The hen is a dusty-brown color on the breast, neck, and 
 upper back, and the lower back is a dirty gray, or rusty 
 brown. The gobbler is about the same color of the hen, 
 except on the breast, neck, and upper back, which are a, 
 glossy, green-tinted black, or silk} T , purplish hue. Some- 
 times, as he stands in the sun, he appears to be a rich 
 bronze. Generally the heads of wild turkeys are light 
 bluish color, often more white than blue, especially with 
 gobblers in the spring, they having the power to change 
 color from blue to white or red at will. Both hens and 
 
 (343) 
 
344 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 gobblers have large wattles, that are nearly always white. 
 In the spring, an ardent gobbler's wattles are red. 
 Gobblers are always armed with spurs, and ornamented 
 with beards, varying in length according to age, the 
 former sometimes measuring an inch and a quarter long 
 and the latter twelve inches. Hens sometimes have 
 beards, but they are not very common; on my last turkey- 
 hunt, of the three hens bagged, two wore beards. I have 
 seen a few gobblers in my long experience that had more 
 than one beard one that had three. In weight, the wild 
 and domestic turkeys are about the same, the tendency 
 of the former being to grow slightly heavier with the 
 gobblers, and with the hens lighter. Sixteen pounds for 
 gobblers and eight for hens, I believe to be a fair average 
 in weight. Still it is not uncommon to find gobblers that 
 will pull the scales to twenty pounds, and sometimes 
 but rarely one will be brought in that will weigh twenty- 
 five, six, or seven. I myself killed in one day two that 
 weighed tw^enty-five and twenty -seven, respectively. A 
 friend of mine in the Indian Territory tells of killing one 
 that tipped the beam at twenty-eight; and Prof. J. L. 
 Smith, one of the Texas pioneers, and one of the most 
 truthful men I ever knew, told me of one he killed that 
 weighed even thirty pounds. 
 
 The wild turkey is a much hardier and stronger f owl 
 than those we rear at home, and so the gobblers put 
 more vim into their gobbling and strutting. How the 
 gobbler makes that thunder-like sound when he struts, I 
 do not know, but am certain that it is not by scraping 
 his wings on the ground, since he struts as loudly in a 
 tree, where his wings touch nothing, and where he can 
 not walk at all, as when on the ground. I am also sure 
 that his crop, puffed full of air, is an important factor, 
 since no turkey ever struts without this. It is easy to 
 distinguish a fat gobbler from a poor one, or an old one 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 
 
 345 
 
 from a young one, by the character of his gobbling. If the 
 hunter hears several gobblers, and wishes to select the 
 fattest, let him go after the one whose gobble is the 
 
 THE WILD TURKEY. Meleagris ocellata. 
 
 heaviest and most muffled. Beware of the one with the 
 tenor voice, especially if he cuts his gobble short. 
 
 Wild turkeys always go in flocks except in the spring, 
 and often, in small flocks, then; but the old gobblers will 
 
346 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 be found associating together, while the hens and young 
 gobblers will be together, except at this season. 
 
 When spring fairly opens, the flocks break up, and 
 the breeding season begins. The old hens are the first to 
 go off and make their nests, always followed By the 
 gobblers to the vicinity where they are going to hatch 
 their young. Gobblers always open the love-making 
 season, the hens seeming to be very coy at first. At this 
 time, the gobblers fight each other vigorously, break up 
 the flocks, scatter out over the country, and give them- 
 selves up to gobbling, strutting, and rambling. At this 
 early period, as they have no hens with them, they come 
 to call very promptly. In a week or ten days the flocks 
 of hens break up, and they scatter out into the hills to 
 make their nests, and soon become "located," as the old 
 hunters say, by which is meant that they settle down to 
 a certain range in the vicinity of their nests. At this 
 time an old gobbler is very apt to have from one to four 
 sometimes more hens with him, and he manages to 
 have them pretty well bound to him, so that they are not 
 likely to go off to other gobblers. They know his gob- 
 ble, and go to him when they hear him. Any gobbler in 
 this fortunate situation is likely to be very hard to call 
 up by the hunter, either morning or evening. The best 
 way to call such is to get near him while he is gobbling 
 on his roost, and select an open space into which he can 
 and will be likely to go when he flies down. A few 
 low yelps, given bef ore he flies down, will generally bring 
 him, and if he gobbles to call promptly, let the hunter 
 yelp no more, but be ready for business. Nine chances 
 to one, he will go in shooting distance of the well-hid 
 yelper as soon as he is off his roost, especially if there be 
 an open spot for him to get into; for he likes such a place 
 early in the morning, before there is much light, and at 
 this season he is apt to fly down very early, sometimes 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 347 
 
 while it is very dusky. His purpose seems to be to get 
 somewhere near the hen, and wait for her to fly down to 
 him. The hunter will find it very fortunate if he can get 
 on an open hill-side above the gobbler. Those gobblers 
 that are unprovided with hens, from any cause whatever 
 and where turkeys are plentiful there will always be 
 some of this sort are easily called up at any time, morn- 
 ings or evenings. 
 
 The hen lays from ten to fifteen eggs, in a rudely con- 
 structed nest, scratched out in the ground, and filled with 
 leaves or grass. The eggs are always covered up with 
 leaves or grass when she goes away. It is not uncommon 
 for nests to be made near houses, roads, and in fields or 
 orchards. A wheat, oat, or barley field is a fine place for 
 them. The period of incubation is twenty-eight days. 
 The young are hardy, active, and shy from the first, and 
 in two or three weeks are able to fly a little, from which 
 time they go into bushes, and soon into trees, to roost. 
 The mother is a model for care and good management, and 
 is usually very successful in bringing up her young. Soon 
 after the hens begin to sit upon their nests, the gobblers 
 again flock together, and remain so until the next spring. 
 The hens also drift into flocks, with their young, along in 
 August and September, and it is often the case that three 
 or four broods will be combined. 
 
 Unquestionably, the wild turkey is rapidly decreasing 
 in this country, owing chiefly to the want of suitable 
 game laws, and the murderous work of the market-hunter. 
 My opinion is, that the open season should embrace the 
 months of November, December, January, and February 
 alone. I know that many will object to being shut up 
 during the gobbling season, but I see no good reason why 
 other game should be protected during breeding-time 
 and the turkey not. Fond as I am of hunting at this sea- 
 son, I am ready to see spring shooting forbidden. The 
 
348 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 one reason for keeping the season open during the spring 
 is the fact that comparatively few hens are killed then; 
 but more gobblers are than at any other time, and the 
 killing of gobblers in any section does not materially 
 interfere with breeding, unless all should be killed, which 
 is not likely, for if there be a gobbler in the country, the 
 hens will iind him when they need him, and he is such a 
 thorough polygamist that he will file no objection. One 
 gobbler can fertilize all the eggs in his section, and then 
 gobble for more. Still, I can not resist the force of the 
 fable of the hen (or goose) that laid the golden egg, and 
 can not see why the turkey should not have just as fair a 
 chance to perpetuate its species as other kinds of game. 
 I must confess, however, that I would listen to a strong 
 argument in favor of spring shooting at gobblers only 
 with a partial ear, and my great fondness for pitting 
 skill against turkey wariness would prejudice me largely 
 in its favor; and, if not convinced, I fear I should be 
 like the regulation New Year's reformers defer reforma- 
 tion until next year. Were the framing of a law left to 
 me, there would be great danger of an exception or two 
 being introduced, as is reported of a law against fire- 
 hunting for deer in an early day in Arkansas. It was 
 said that a representative introduced a bill on this sub- 
 ject, when the most influential member, an inveterate 
 fire-hunter, made a vigorous speech in its favor, and con- 
 cluded by saying that he would vote for the bill, provided 
 he could get an amendment excepting any night when 
 it was "very still, very dark, and a leetle misting of 
 rain. ' ' The temptation to fire-hunt on such a night was too 
 strong; and so the temptation to go for a gobbler would 
 be very great, any still, clear morning in the early spring, 
 especially if a light shower had fallen during the night. 
 I have hunted nearly all kinds of game in the United 
 States and Mexico, from the buffalo down to blackbirds, 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 349 
 
 and I know of nothing that taxes the skill and patience 
 of the hunter more than the wild turkey. It is wild, and 
 no mistake. It is also wily. It has the keenest eye and 
 quickest ear of anything I have hunted. The hunter 
 must know turkeys as a pilot knows the channel, if he 
 succeed well. He must have a keen eye, quick decision, 
 and the patience of a statue. Besides, he must be able to 
 ' ' talk turkey ' ' as well as understand it. 
 
 For turkey-shooting, both the shot-gun and rifle have 
 their advocates; and it must be confessed that both have 
 their advantages. I like both, and often when I have 
 one I wish I had the other. The ideal turkey-gun is a 
 three-barrel, weighing nine or ten pounds., I speak from 
 experience. The rifle ought to take the 38-55 cartridge, 
 and must be an accurate shooter. The shot barrels ought to 
 be ten-gauge, and be loaded with 4 drams of powder and 
 1J ounces of No. 6 shot in the left barrel, and five drams 
 of powder and 1 J ounces 00 shot in the right. They must 
 be extra-good shooters, or the user of them will be tempted 
 to say ugly words quite often. At all distances under 
 forty yards, the small shot should be fired, at the necks 
 of turkeys, just under their heads, and the large shot, at 
 their bodies, all distances over forty and up to sixty 
 yards; at distances beyond these, use the rifle. When I 
 have used a three-barrel, I seldom fired the large shot at 
 turkeys at all, except when running, flying, or on the 
 roost when it was too dark to shoot at their necks. If a 
 turkey was not near enough for the small shot, I gen- 
 erally used the rifle. The surest load ever sent after a 
 turkey when no farther than forty yards, is the No. 6's, 
 fired at the neck. 
 
 As to "callers," I hardly know what to write, since 
 every hunter who has been successful with any particular 
 kind thinks that the best to be found anywhere. I have my- 
 self used seven different kinds of callers, always returning 
 
350 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to the use of a green leaf, especially when I had a sharp 
 gobbler to deal with. I never could make the thin rubber 
 sheets used by dentists answer my purpose so well as 
 the leaf. For a beginner, I believe there is no caller so 
 easily learned to use as one made as follows: Saw out 
 a section of a cow' s horn two inches long, the larger end 
 being about two inches in diameter, and plug with some 
 hard, well-seasoned wood the smaller end. It must be a 
 perfect-fitting plug, very tight, and about half an inch 
 thick. Trim out the open end of the horn for a quarter 
 of an inch, until the edges are nearly sharp; and then, 
 with glass or steel, scrape the horn on the outside until 
 it is about an eighth of an inch thick all round. Get a 
 four-penny nail with a very large head the larger the 
 better and drive it squarely into the center of the plug, 
 on the outside, taking care to leave a full inch of the 
 nail sticking out on the outside. By holding this in 
 the right hand, cupped over the hollow of the horn, and 
 scraping the nail on a very fine but rather soft whet- 
 stone a razor hone is best a good call is produced, 
 by patient and intelligent practice. The whetstone 
 should be very small and thin. Practice will show any- 
 one how to use this kind of a caller. Always hold the 
 nail slightly off perpendicular to the stone, and scrape 
 toward you, drawing the edge of the nail-head against it. 
 A favorite method of hunting turkeys in heavily tim- 
 bered sections, especially in the bottoms, is with a dog. 
 This has the double advantage of giving the hunter a 
 chance at them in the trees, if they do not fly into pines 
 or other thick-leaved or mossy trees, and also a good 
 chance at calling them, since they generally are well scat- 
 tered when flushed by a cbog. Almost any kind of dog, 
 keen of nose and still of tongue when running a trail, can 
 be made good for turkeys, but I have found that pointers, 
 or mongrels having pointer blood, usually turn out best. 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 351 
 
 No dog that gives tongue while trailing can ever be first- 
 class for turkey-hunting, since turkeys are easily alarmed, 
 and will run like deer, taking care to cross all the 
 streams and sloughs possible, or go to the hills, when 
 chased, from which they can fly off to other hills, very 
 often before the dog gets' near them. The best dog is 
 very swift on a hot track, always running still, and hence 
 usually dashes right into a flock before they know he is 
 coming, putting them into the first trees they can reach. 
 He ought to be noisy enough after he flushes them, as 
 this shows the hunter where they are, and also distracts 
 their attention. Then he must be well trained, and kept 
 always under good control, so that he can be whistled to 
 heel, or made to lie like a chunk when necessary. One 
 of the best turkey-dogs I ever hunted with was a dropper, 
 good alike for quail, prairie chicken and turkey yes, 
 even for squirrels and a crippled deer; but the very best 
 I ever knew, I owned and trained myself (of course). His 
 mother was called a Scotch terrier, and his sire was 
 unknown. After hunting with him three years, it did 
 seem that he knew everything necessary for a dog to 
 know about turkey-hunting, and surely was as devoted 
 to his master and as fond of hunting as any dog could 
 be. When my father wrote me of his death, at ten years 
 of age, it was impossible to hide my grief. 
 
 It is December, and the trees are naked and dead-like 
 on this chilly day. Their ashy-tinted branches had snow 
 on them last week, and they seem to be still shivering as 
 a gentle breeze sweeps through them. The dull, dead 
 leaves cover the earth everywhere, hiding acorn and 
 hackberry and elm-seed, good food for the turkey. A 
 friend of mine, Bob by name, is with me, and we have 
 come horseback, two miles from home, for the purpose of 
 laying in a supply of turkeys for Christmas, and have 
 hitched our horses in the edge of Caney Bottom, which 
 
352 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 at this place is about half a mile wide, and is a splendid 
 place for the game we hunt. I know that there is a flock 
 of about thirty turkeys ranging here, and with my famous 
 dog, Jeff, to find them, feel absolutely certain of getting 
 all we want to-day. Bob is a novice after turkeys, and 
 carries a heavy double-barrel shot-gun, which he knows 
 well how to use on other kinds of game. I carry a rifle, 
 the companion of years, the delight of my heart, the 
 winner of many a trophy from the forest. 
 
 "We will walk, Bob, because the Bottom is very 
 thick in many places, and we can do better every way. 
 We will hunt up this side of the creek for half a mile, and 
 if unsuccessful, then down the other until opposite here." 
 On entering the Bottom, Jeff is told to go, and he is off 
 like a well-trained pointer, and not unlike him, either, in 
 his ranging back and forth across our course. Every 
 now and then he looks to see which way we are going, 
 always keeping in sight. Here and there we see where 
 turkeys have been scratching, turning up the leaves as 
 they searched for their food. After having gone half a 
 mile, we come to the Jones field, and stop for a short rest. 
 Though we have seen plenty of fresh signs, Jeff caught 
 no scent, and I am sure the turkeys are on the other .side 
 of the creek. While we sit and talk, we hear some noisy 
 mallards over in the field, where there is a grassy pond 
 that has afforded me much sport many a time, for it is a 
 famous place for ducks. Bob insists upon trying to get 
 a shot at those mallards, urging as a reason that we may 
 not find the turkeys; but he is restrained by the strong- 
 assurance that we will find them, and besides, when after 
 turkeys, there should be no promiscuous shooting, since 
 turkeys easily take fright if a gun be fired near them, 
 and will get away as fast as possible, going into the hills, 
 if near enough, so that a dog can do but little with 
 them. 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTIJSTG. 353 
 
 It is now 11 o'clock, and we cross the creek on a drift, 
 taking a course angling toward the hills, down the Bot- 
 tom; and, before we have gone 300 yards, Jeff begins to 
 sniff the air significantly, and touch his cold, damp nose 
 to a twig or vine here and there, all the while wagging his 
 bushy tail energetically. There are very fresh scratchings, 
 and some tracks seen in the damp soil indicate the direc- 
 tion the turkeys have gone. " It is a cold trail, Bob, but- 
 Jeff will find them, sure." The faithful, intelligent ani- 
 mal trots from side to side, keeping the general course of 
 the tracks. Every now and then he stops and takes a 
 good long smell in some moist place where a turkey has 
 walked. After we have gone perhaps 200 yards, it is 
 easy to see that Jeff is getting livelier, and is beginning 
 to settle so well on the scent that he hardly sways from 
 one course. Now he straightens out, stops wagging his 
 tail, and goes as straight as though he knows exactly 
 where the turkeys are, and, before we are aware of it, he 
 is out of sight, though we run after him as fast as we can. 
 All at once we run on him, for he lost the trail, and is 
 busy trying to get it again, which enabled us to overtake 
 him. In a moment he is off again, and we rush after him, 
 only to lose sight of him in a few seconds. Still we run 
 as fast as possible, while I keep one ear turned somewhat 
 to the course we travel. All at once I hear the well- 
 known and welcome "put, put, put," and we stop at 
 once. " Here, Bob, squat right here by me, and cock both 
 barrels of your gun. Keep still." We hear the turkeys 
 flying in different directions, and lighting in the trees; 
 one is seen to stop in a tall pin-oak about sixty yards 
 from us; but I am watching intently under the bushes, 
 for I know what may happen. Long ago I learned the 
 trick turkeys often play on a dog, dodging around and 
 behind him, and running straight back on the track, with- 
 out taking wing at all. Some are almost sure to try it, 
 
 23 
 
354 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 where there is a flock. Sure enough, there they come, a 
 hen and a young gobbler, right at us. ' ; Take them, Bob, ' ' 
 I say, and he fires both barrels quickly. The hen, with 
 rapid wing, climbs the air, right out to the top of the 
 trees, and sails away untouched, while the gobbler, with 
 leg hanging down, goes swinging through the timber, to 
 fall, with a crash, in the bushes a short distance from 
 us, but out of sight. "That's all right, Bob; we'll get 
 him after awhile." As Bob loads his gun, I slip to a 
 large tree near by, and laying my rifle up beside it, take a 
 shot at the turkey we saw light, and which had the 
 temerity to remain after Bob' s shooting. It wilts at the 
 keen rifle-crack, and falls like a chunk. "Now, Bob, fol- 
 low my instructions already given. Go to where you 
 hear Jeff barking, for there are several turkeys there. 
 Don't be uneasy about my part of the sport; you just 
 take care of yourself." I pass along where my turkey 
 fell, and hang it in a bush. After going a short distance, 
 a young gobbler is seen sitting high up in a tall pin-oak, 
 about 100 feet from me. It would be a nice shot to 
 take him now, but there are too many intervening 
 limbs. My plan is soon formed. There is a large over- 
 cup oak about half-way between me and him, and nearly 
 in line. Behind this I slip, and then on noiselessly to it, 
 taking care to keep the turkey exactly behind it from 
 me. I peep out, to make the discovery that I am in a 
 bad place to shoot, as there are so many twigs in the line 
 of sight. Both sides of the tree are tried, and then I 
 squat down, and see how the prospect is. I see the 
 turkey is growing restless, and so I step out from the tree, 
 in the hope of finding an open space through the limbs, 
 through which to shoot, but can' t find it, and in sheer 
 desperation, since I must shoot very quickly, I do my 
 best at him; but he goes away unhurt, while I have 
 the poor satisfaction of seeing a limb half an inch thick 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 355 
 
 fall to the ground, cut by my bullet. Some 150 yards 
 farther on, I see a small hen standing straight up, very 
 high, in a tall cotton- wood, and she doesn't look bigger 
 than a crow, though she is not more than seventy-five yards 
 from me. Just in front, a little to my right, is an old 
 dead tree, and to this I quickly step, to find that there is 
 a clean, open way for my bullet. Squatting down, and 
 laying my rifle on a knot of the old tree, a fine bead is 
 drawn on that turkey' s breast, which is a hard thing to 
 do, as she stands clean against the open sky beyond. 
 Hunters know how trying it is to make a rifle-shot under 
 these conditions; but I make it successfully. Taking my 
 game on my shoulder, I go to find Bob, who has not fired 
 since I left him, but has succeeded in scaring away a 
 number of turkeys. He answers my whistle, and I soon 
 reach him. " Bob, you are not doing as you were told, 
 or you would have had several shots before this." He 
 confessed he had not obeyed orders. " Now I'll show 
 you." Jeff is barking not far from us, and, on going in 
 that direction, we find he has a young gobbler. "Walk 
 right after me, and when I say shoot, lose no time." 
 The turkey is seventy-five or eighty yards away, sitting 
 with its left side toward us. We walk swiftly, almost 
 trotting sometimes, as though we were going to pass well 
 to the front, and gradually circle nearer and nearer, 
 until we are about to pass to the turkey 1 s right side, at 
 which time we are not more than thirty yards from him. 
 I have kept an eye on him all the while, and now say 
 " shoot." In an instant, Bob throws up his gun, but I 
 walk on. It is a good kill, and Bob is happy. " Oh, I 
 can do it now right along. I was afraid I might scare 
 them before; but I see now how it is done," said my com- 
 panion, enthusiastically. Pretty soon, Jeff has found 
 another, and so I send Bob to try his skill by himself. 
 Sure enough, he gets his turkey. When turkeys have 
 
356 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 been flushed by a dog into the trees, and one uses a shot- 
 gun, it is often impossible to slip near enough to shoot 
 them, and the best way is to walk right ahead as though 
 you were going to pass by them, always circling gradu- 
 ally nearer, and avoid getting behind them. If one hesi- 
 tate or waver, he is almost sure to scare his turkey when 
 employing this method. As in courting, so in this, ' ' Faint 
 heart never won fair lady." But the trustful, confident, 
 steady-going, quick-moving soul is very apt to win; still, 
 of course, he will sometimes fall, though less often than 
 when the slipping process is tried. When using a rifle, 
 I generally try to slip on turkeys in the trees, because 
 when they are approached openly they watch the 
 hunter closely, and when he stops to shoot they often fly 
 at once, giving him no chance to draw a bead ; and then, 
 when I have a rifle, I can make much longer shots, and 
 take more time in selecting an open place through which 
 to send my bullet. I have never found this way of walk- 
 ing openly around them to succeed, .except when they 
 had been flushed by a dog or by shooting at them. On 
 the roost, they do not sit so well. They seem to think 
 that the hunter has not seen them, and is going to pass 
 them, not noticing that he is gradually getting nearer to 
 them. Whenever he stops, though, they have their fears 
 fully aroused, and are off like a shot, as a rule. 
 
 Calling Jeff to heel, we go to where Bob shot the 
 young gobbler that flew away crippled, and taking the 
 course he flew, Jeff is sent out to find him, a task soon 
 performed. Five turkeys now swing by their necks to 
 trees; three fell to Bob's gun. I am glad for him, and 
 give him my congratulations. 
 
 "Well, Bob, we could doubtless find other turkeys 
 scattered through the Bottom, if we would take time to 
 hunt them, but I believe we can do better by calling 
 them." So we go out near where Jeff flushed the flock, 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 357 
 
 everywhere looking for a suitable place for our purpose. 
 Finally we find a tolerably open space, sixty or seventy 
 yards across, in the very center of which there are some 
 old rotten logs. Rolling two together, so as to make a 
 V, we pile brush and sticks on them and about them, 
 making a very natural -looking blind, that will completely 
 hide us on all sides, at the same time allowing plenty of 
 openings to see and shoot through. We have left an 
 open space on the inside, from which we scrape away all 
 the leaves, so that if we have to move we will make no 
 noise. There is plenty of room within, and we sit down, 
 back to back, so as to command a good view in every 
 direction. Two hunters, understanding each other well, 
 can always do better than one, because by sitting as we 
 sit, those startling and confusing ' ' back surprises ' ' are 
 effectually prevented. Jeff lies snugly by my side, but 
 shows himself to be wide-awake to every proceeding. 
 The leaves are all dead, and I have no caller except my 
 lips, which always serve me, as a dernier ressort. By 
 folding the lower lip under the upper, and sucking, while 
 holding my hands closely cupped over my mouth, pretty 
 good yelping can be done. When all is ready, a few low, 
 muffled yelps are given, rather long drawn out. It has 
 been half an hour since the last shot was fired. Quietness 
 reigns in the solemn forest. Not even a noisy crow is 
 heard, near or far. In a few minutes, I yelp again, and 
 immediately we hear a long, keen, loud Jcee-ouTc on Bob's 
 side. I whisper: " Get ready; that's a fool of a young 
 gobbler, and he' 11 be on you before you know it. " A yelp 
 or two by me, and we hear the pattering of his feet in the 
 leaves as he comes rushing to destruction. Jeff gives a 
 convulsive shiver, for he has heard everything, and 
 knows what is going on as well as either of us. The 
 deadly gun booms, and the young fellow, deceived by a 
 motherly yelp, lies fluttering in death. Jeff springs out 
 
358 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and on him in a jiffy, and fondles him, not tearing out a 
 feather, seeming to say: " I wish you would get up and 
 run, so I could have the fun of catching you. It is too 
 bad to kill turkeys so dead as this." Into our blind we 
 get, and in ten or fifteen minutes I yelp again, about as 
 at first, when we immediately hear a young hen, 200 
 yards or more away to my left. Her call is a sort of 
 half- whistle and half -yelp, and that is how I know what 
 she is. I yelp again, a little louder than before, to indi- 
 cate confidence and unconsciousness of danger. She 
 yelps repeatedly, drawing nearer fast. Pretty soon she 
 steps into the opening, as she passes from my left to my 
 front. The faithful gun comes to my face; a quick 
 whistle stops her; the bullet crashes through her, and, 
 with outspread wings, she lies quivering on the ground. 
 This one is gathered in, and we again seat ourselves in 
 the blind. We wait half an hour, but bring nothing in 
 sight, though we have heard yelps in two or three direc- 
 tions. We wait half an hour longer, and have heard four 
 or five turkeys, one that came quite near, but failed to 
 show itself to us. Bob suggests that we go, as we have 
 plenty, and he is growing hungry and tired. I plead for 
 only a few minutes longer; it was a wise thing to do this 
 time, for in less than five minutes an old hen walked 
 shyly into the opening in front of me, and I dropped her 
 dead before either Bob or Jeff knew what I was about. 
 
 "Now we will go, as I am even with you. Four to 
 four, we stand. Good shooting we have done; and we've 
 had a splendid day, haven't we?" " The best I ever had, 
 and I'll hardly ever have another so good, I fear," Bob 
 responds, as he heaves a big sigh. Leaving Bob with the 
 turkeys, I go and bring the horses, that soon carry us and 
 our game home, where, of course, we are warmly welcomed 
 and given a good dinner by my folks. Jeff assumes 
 guard over the turkeys as they hang by their necks to a 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 359 
 
 post, and will not let another dog, or even the negro 
 children, get near them. They are his game as well as 
 ours. Faithful dog! I recall even now that self -satis- 
 fied air of his, as he lay beneath the ma,ss of legs and 
 wings, every now and then looking up to see if they were 
 all there, or just to feast his eyes on them and exult over 
 the achievements of the day. 
 
 In the piny woods, or where the trees are very mossy 
 and thick, or in the hills anywhere, but few opportuni- 
 ties are given the hunter to shoot turkeys in the trees 
 after they have been flushed by a dog, but always, in such 
 places, he has a good chance to call them up. It is always 
 advisable to build a blind near where the turkeys flushed, 
 selecting every time an open place, if possible, so that 
 one can easily see a turkey as soon as it gets near. Too 
 much care can not be bestowed upon a blind, to make it 
 safe, and at the same time natural looking. As said 
 before, two men, sitting back to back, are far more suc- 
 cessful than one, in a blind, for there is no telling on 
 which side a turkey is going to come when called. Some 
 have thought that it is not best to use a dog in flushing 
 turkeys, when one wishes to scatter them before calling, 
 preferring to run them up or fire into the flock; but my 
 experience does not justify this, and so I always use a 
 dog, when one can be had. 
 
 When the warm, sunny days of spring arrive, and 
 shrub and tree and earth don their new light-green robes 
 when the buds are bursting into leaf and flower, and 
 the woodland songsters tune their voices for their merry 
 concerts in the wildwoods then the old gobblers burnish 
 up their armor, and put on their handsomest suits of 
 silky, plushy feather, and go forth for battle and for love. 
 I frankly confess that I love them best at this time. My 
 sentiments about protecting them at this time have been 
 expressed; yet, outwitinga really sharp old gobbler is far 
 
UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 more interesting to me than killing half a dozen that know 
 nothing of the hunter' s wiles and arts. No gobbler ever 
 gets too sharp for a good hunter, and sooner or later falls 
 to his gun, if he persist in pursuit. I have never failed to 
 bag the wiliest, best-educated gobbler, when I have had 
 time to spend on him; and I am sure this is the general 
 experience of good turkey-hunters. 
 
 I have known men to use domestic gobblers, trained 
 for hunting, but I never tried them myself. From what 
 they say, it must be a very successful method. I can not 
 gobble very well, yet I have brought both gobblers and 
 hens to me repeatedly by gobbling in my poor way. 
 
 As to hiding when calling gobblers, men differ; but 
 my preference always is for a blind, hastily constructed 
 of green bushes, if possible to obtain them. Generally, 
 some can be found standing to suit my purpose, and 
 these I cut so as to leave them about as high as my head 
 while sitting on the ground. I add to them as may be 
 necessary, taking care to protect myself on every side, 
 especially behind. The bushes can be stuck in the 
 ground, as though they grew there. On the inside, there 
 should be space enough to allow the hunter to turn about 
 if necessary, and so it is well to brush away dead leaves. 
 I have tried getting behind trees and before them, behind 
 logs and lying dow^n in brush-piles in fact, almost every 
 way, but the one for which I here express preference 
 has given best results. The hunter ought to be well liid, 
 and keep hid, w^hen he is calling. He ought to get his 
 gun to his face as soon as a turkey is in sight, for the 
 slightest movement is almost sure to be seen after he 
 gets near. I have lost many a gobbler by not adhering 
 strictly to this rule. I remember, once, calling up an old 
 gobbler for a friend, and, when about thirty yards from 
 us, he tried to shoot; but the gobbler stepped behind a 
 tree, and did not show himself plainly until he had 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 361 
 
 moved about ten feet. This necessitated moving the gun 
 a little something that ought to have been done while 
 he was moving and out of sight which movement was at 
 once caught by the keen-eyed fowl, and he was off like 
 a flash. We were as well hid as it is possible to be, and 
 the morning was cloudy, so there was no glittering of 
 the sun on the barrels. The only thing he could see was 
 the movement of the gun. I made my friend fix himself 
 as before in the blind, and I went to where the turkey 
 was when he took fright ; and I could not see anything 
 except the barrel of his rifle. 
 
 Ordinarily, if gobblers have no hens with thenl, and 
 have not grown smart by experience with human decep- 
 tions, they are easily called up by an expert; and some- 
 times the hunter will be able to call hens and gobblers 
 up together, in which case the former will always be in 
 advance of the latter, so that, if he has his heart set on a 
 gobbler, he must either make a long shot, or let the hens 
 pass on by him. In such cases, he must be well hid, 
 and keep very still. 
 
 A party of ladies and gentlemen were camping on 
 Little River, Texas, fishing and hunting. It was a jolly, 
 lively company of cultivated, refined persons, who had 
 met there for a week of wildwood enjoyment ; and they 
 got all there was to get, for they knew how. My wife 
 had gone out with them at first, and I joined them about 
 three days afterward. Soon after my arrival, the wel 
 come information was imparted that there was a very 
 smart old gobbler in the neighborhood that could not be 
 fooled by any human device. Several of the party had 
 tried him, only to fail; and, though he gobbled every 
 morning, it was never until he had left his roost. A 
 meeting was held, and a solemn resolution was passed, to 
 the effect that that turkey was a nuisance, and that I be 
 appointed to abate it forthwith, under penalty of ban- 
 
362 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 ishment from camp in case of failure two days being 
 allowed in which to accomplish it. 
 
 Before sunrise next morning I was seated on a log, 
 half a mile from camp, anxiously waiting for Mr. 
 Gobbler to open the game at which he and I were to 
 play. It was a lovely spring morning. The violets and 
 the daisies had, ere this, breathed out their sweet 
 lives; the "red buds," that erstwhile wreathed with 
 pinkish blossoms every branch of the dark, polished 
 iron-wood trees, had all fallen, faded and limp, to the 
 earth in showers of sweetness, and, in the dim morning 
 light, looked like rose-leaves on the floor of a deserted 
 banquet-hall. The heavy, humid air still retained a faint 
 odor of the dying wild-plum blossoms, while the snowy 
 dogwood flowers were busily breaking their buds into 
 bloom, bridal-wreathing the gladsome spring. A mag- 
 nificent trumpet- vine, right over me, clinging to a dead 
 tree, and enwrapping itself around and about it, embow- 
 ering it in a shaft of living green, reaching skyward, 
 reminds me of Wirt' s beautiful words about the vine and 
 the oak the wife, and the broken, discouraged husband. 
 The time of its flowers, grand carnation trumpets, is not 
 yet. Delicate silvery-green leaves are struggling into 
 form and dimension on elm, and oak, and blackberry, 
 and alder, while, here and there, a, greenbrier-vine 
 unfolds its broad young leaves, ruddy with vigor, and 
 lovely with blushing beauty, not unlike delicate-tinted 
 Venetian gloss. The woods teem with life, and a thou- 
 sand wildwood voices are heard, from the scarlet song- 
 ster right in front of me, sending forth every few 
 moments his praiseful "tube, tube, tube," as he sits on 
 topmost twig of a tall elm, whose gracefully rounded and 
 upr caching bowers make for him a throne, silvery- 
 sheeny in the first rays of the morning sun, to the blue- 
 backed, white-breasted chorister whose name I never 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTHSTG. 363 
 
 knew hopping from twig to twig, always followed by 
 his less handsome mate, wooed continuously after him 
 by his clear, musical " chick-' twill-a- wee." A stick 
 cracks to my right, and the sharp sound shoots into me 
 like an arrow, causing me to start suddenly. What a 
 sight greets my vision ! There are three deer leisurely 
 walking past me, and I instinctively grasp my rifle, and 
 begin to raise it. No, no; they are does heavy with 
 young, so I remain perfectly still, as they, in absolute 
 fearlessness, ramble slowly by, stopping to examine some 
 suspicious-looking stump, or to listen to some unusual 
 sound, or to nibble the dainty buds of some vine or bush. 
 So they wander on, passing within twenty yards of me, 
 never looking at me once; and the last I see of them is 
 the swish of one' s tail, as it signals its movement 
 onward. Graceful, innocent creatures ! How can we 
 hunters have the heart to kill you ? But we have, some- 
 times. 
 
 Humph! my right leg has become benumbed, sitting 
 so long and so still in one position, and I rise up to work 
 it about, to start the circulation. I wonder if my gobbler 
 has not taken fright by my happening to pass near him 
 as I walked through the dark woods to this place; or, if 
 some other hunter has not disturbed him; or, if my friends 
 at camp have not played a trick on me, there being no 
 gobbler at all in these woods. 
 
 The sun is now well up, and is climbing higher and 
 higher, driving away all duskiness, spangling the polished 
 leaves of greenbrier and haw with a thousand miniature 
 suns, and making the grass at my feet fairly dazzling 
 with diamonds of dew. 
 
 "Ah, there he is!" It is spoken quickly and audibly. 
 My heart beats harder and quicker. The object of my 
 search is in 200 yards of me. Standing like a statue, 
 I listen with that intensity peculiar to the hunter 
 
364 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 and the startled deer. Again the interesting sound is 
 borne to my ears; but I wait. He gobbles again and 
 again. He has not moved since he first gobbled; certainly 
 not far. "Til try him, right here." If he were mov- 
 ing, I would try to work in ahead of him; but he isn't. 
 There is a big tree- top, several years fallen, that offers a 
 very good hiding-place, and, after placing a few chunks 
 and a green bush or two in necessary places, I step into 
 this hastily constructed blind, plucking a young haw- 
 leaf from a convenient bush. This is adjusted to my lip, 
 and I wait for him to gobble. The instant he does, I 
 give two or three yelps, short and smothered, just loud 
 enough to be heard by him. He vigorously gobbles 
 twice in quick succession, so I know he has heard me. 
 His strutting is more frequent and louder than before. 
 Again and again he gobbles, but gets no nearer. I wish 
 he gobbled less. His frequent gobbling is not a good 
 indication, for it tells me that he is not going to be in a 
 hurry about drawing nearer, and that he is going to do 
 his best to woo the yelper to him. He hasn't drawn an 
 inch nearer. In about ten minutes, I yelp again, about 
 as at first. Again he gobbles and struts, but does not 
 move. I know exactly how far he is, and that he can't 
 see me if I move, and so I get out of my blind, after 
 about ten minutes, and walk quickly, but noiselessly, 
 about 100 yards to the left, getting no farther from the 
 turkey, and get into a hiding-place of bushes. As soon 
 as he gobbles, I yelp again, and he answers quickly. The 
 yelping has been faultless, and I know he is not alarmed 
 at any bad note. My object in moving was to make him 
 think that the hen was feeding along, and not going to 
 him. To stay in one place all the time is not hen-like, 
 and any sharp gobbler knows it. Ordinarily, it is best to 
 stay in one place, but when dealing with an ' ' educated ' ' 
 gobbler, it is often best to move occasionally, especially 
 
WILD TUKKEY SHOOTING. 365 
 
 early in the morning. He gobbles and struts right along, 
 but gets no nearer. Soon everything is quiet, and I 
 know he is moving, but which way I can not tell, and so 
 keep my eyes busy, and my gun in a convenient position. 
 The swish of a squirrel's tail, seventy yards from me, 
 causes me to start my gun to my face; but the mistake is 
 detected instantly. I bear him strut, and know he is 
 nearer, but can't locate him. I give an easy yelp, and 
 he instantly gobbles, squarely off to my left, not over 
 100 yards away. Quietly turning to face him, I watch, 
 in the hope that he may circle near enough for a 
 shot; but he doesn't, and the next I hear of him is when 
 he gobbles, about the same distance away, and exactly to 
 my left. If I had not turned, he would now be behind 
 me. Keeping my front to him, a close watch is kept up, 
 and developments are awaited. Here he stops, gobbles, 
 and struts for fifteen minutes, while I yelp just a very 
 little. 'Now he strikes off down the Bottom, going to my 
 left still, but going straight; every few minutes he gobbles, 
 so that I can course him exactly. Believing that he will 
 swing round farther to my left, and keep an ear in my 
 direction, I cast off to his left, leaving him on my right, 
 and travel fast until I am a little ahead of him. He 
 gobbles a good deal, which convinces me that he is still 
 hopeful of results from the yelping he has heard. All at 
 once, I come to an, open glade, about 100 yards long 
 and sixty wide, in the edge of which there is a small, thick 
 cluster of bushes, exactly suited to my purpose, and in 
 the very center of this I squat flat down on the ground. 
 " I can make him show himself here, sure," is the con- 
 fident thought in my mind. He is not more than 
 200 yards away, when a few low yelps are given 
 with a green-brier leaf, to which he makes no response 
 except to strut. In about five minutes, he gobbles low, 
 to which I respond at once, and he gobbles again. Two 
 
366 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 or three minutes elapse, when he gobbles a sort of 
 chuckle much nearer than before. A couple of very 
 low, short yelps are given, and I drop the leaf from my 
 fingers, cock my rifle, raise it to my face, resting both 
 elbows on my knees, for I am confident he is going to 
 pass in sight somewhere along the glade, my expectation 
 being that he will show up opposite me, on the other side. 
 Not a strut or a gobble is heard, and I know he is moving 
 slowly and carefully. The silence heightens the intensity 
 of my feelings; my nerves are strung to tightest tension; 
 nothing could escape my eye now. In about two minutes 
 ten, it seems I catch a glimpse of his white head across 
 the glade in the bushes; it is held perfectly still for a 
 moment, and, as it moves, there comes gliding from the 
 bushes, easily as oil, noiselessly as a spirit, shyly as 
 modesty undressed the very embodiment of suspicion 
 and wariness the glossy form of this wily knight of the 
 forest. Before he reaches the glade, he stops and stands 
 erect, his neck stretched high, his head turned to one side 
 in listening attitude, his feathers pressed close like mail 
 of steel; and, as he stands, he looks as though he could 
 dissolve from view in the twinkling of an eye. I 
 know that he has come just to take a peep out into 
 the glade, and that no time is to be lost. There is a 
 quick but steady glance along the barrel, and the silver 
 bead freezes in the notch of the rear sight, and settles, 
 with the steadiness and fixedness of a ton weight, right 
 on the center line of his body, just above the point of the 
 breast-bone, when instantly the hair-trigger is touched, 
 followed by the murderous crash of the report, and a 
 quick vision of flying feathers, right and left, outspread 
 wings, and head thrown convulsively back. Springing 
 instantly up, I go to him at once, stepping the distance, 
 which is exactly sixty -nine steps. He seemed to have 
 been paralyzed by the shot, so, when I reached him, I saw 
 
(367) 
 
368 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 only a slight tremor of his wings and one dying gasp. 
 In all my experience, but a very few times have I ever 
 seen a turkey killed so very dead. Without touching 
 him, I stood close by and looked at this splendid fowl. 
 He lay upon his breast, slightly turned to one side; his 
 legs stretched straight behind him, as he fell forward; 
 his wings were about half-spread, the white spots glister- 
 ing in the bright light; his tail, so perfect of feather and 
 rich, of dark, rich russet, was partly spread, and lay gently 
 touching the ground; his neck, with a very life-like curve, 
 lay prone upon the earth, while his head lay on one side, 
 showing an eye half -closed, and his mouth partly open, 
 with a few drops of blood about his tongue. 
 
 Gathering him up carefully, I went to camp as fast as 
 possible, exulting over my skill, and eagerly anticipating 
 the warm congratulations awaiting me, in which I was 
 not disappointed. A bright little woman, with blue eyes 
 and auburn hair, triumphantly said: " I knew my hus- 
 band would bring him." He weighed twenty-four 
 pounds, and was a most splendid fowl every way. The 
 next day we had him for dinner, cooked to perfection, and 
 a vote of thanks was tendered me. 
 
 A favorite way of hunting turkeys, with many sports- 
 men, is to roost them, and shoot as many as they can 
 before it becomes too dark, and then call them the next 
 morning. A good hunter will hardly ever fail to get 
 several shots in the morning, after they Jiave been scat- 
 tered the evening before. Many points could here be 
 given on roosting turkeys, but the limits of this article 
 forbid; and so I give an experience. 
 
 In the month of February, several years ago, two 
 friends and myself camp on Cedar Creek, Burleson 
 County, Texas, for the purpose of turkey-hunting; and, 
 as we wish to roost them, each goes in a different direc- 
 tion "every fellow for himself." After half an hour 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 369 
 
 spent in the creek bottom, I have made the discovery 
 that the turkeys are not feeding there, and so I go to 
 the hills, where, by numerous fresh scratchings, as well 
 as tracks in the soft earth, it becomes evident that they 
 are ranging. The fact is plain to me 'that, while they 
 range in the hills during the day, they go to the bottom 
 to roost at night, as the tracks next to the bottom are all 
 seen to have been made going and coming, and it is their 
 custom to roost in the bottoms at this season. After 
 looking around among the hills for an hour, a descent is 
 made into the bottom, where, from observations carefully 
 made, it seems most likely turkeys may roost. This 
 is a place where the creek comes squarely against the 
 hills, forming a horseshoe bend, in which there is a 
 shallow pond, of perhaps five acres, full of tall trees, 
 many of them being pecans. Turkeys are fond of roost- 
 ing over water, when they can find good trees. 
 
 Finding a large tree-top, broken off during the sum- 
 mer, and now retaining its dead leaves, I slip into it, and 
 happily find it to be a splendid blind, well located, as it 
 is, between the pond and the creek, at a point where the 
 distance between them is about sixty yards. Across the 
 creek, the hills rise abruptly, furnishing a good place for 
 the turkeys to take wing when they go to roost. Having 
 found some smart- weed leaves growing in a protected, 
 sunny spot on the edge of the pond though spring has 
 not yet begun to show any indications of being near 
 a few are gathered for callers. The sun is about half 
 an hour high, when I hide in my blind, and make my- 
 self comfortable. As a general thing, turkeys are very 
 easily drawn to a good roosting-place by yelping, espe- 
 cially if the hunter begin before they have decided to go 
 to any particular place. A few long, whining yelps are 
 given, as nearly like the notes of an old hen as possible. 
 No response; it was hardly expected, my purpose being 
 
 24 
 
370 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 to notify turkeys in hearing that this place was going to 
 be occupied to-night by some of their friends. In about 
 ten minutes, a few more yelps are given, and at once a 
 hen out in the hills responds with a few lively yelps, 
 which say: "Never mind; we will soon be there, too." 
 I yelp a few times more, in a low, careless sort of way, 
 and then drop my leaf, as I feel sure it will not have to 
 be used again. Pretty soon, turkeys are heard scratch- 
 ing in the leaves on the hill-side, and occasionally yelp- 
 ing in a low, muffled tone. The hunter is now confident 
 of his game, and, patiently and contentedly, waits. A 
 gray squirrel playfully interviews him, and then goes 
 away. A couple of wood-ducks swim along the edge of 
 the pond, within thirty feet of their dangerous foe, 
 unconcerned, and busily engaged in their evening meal. 
 The fiery eyes and silky green crest of the male well 
 become him this gallant knight of the woody ponds 
 and creeks. A buzzard sails lazily, easily past, and 
 lightly drops on the jagged limb of a dead tree standing 
 out in the pond, and is soon joined by several others. 
 "A good omen," I say. I am not superstitious, but I 
 have often observed that turkeys frequently roost near 
 buzzards. It is very still, so still that a wagon on the 
 road, half a mile below, seems to be within a quarter, 
 and the whir of a sparrow' s wings can be heard seventy 
 yards or more. The last gleam of the sun on the ashy 
 limbs of the forest-trees has faded away; dusk comes on 
 apace; the air grows chilly; the chirping of the birds 
 ceases; and the last gray squirrel has slipped into his 
 hole for the night, bidding me adieu with a few graceful 
 swishes of his beautiful tail. I am alone, and lonesome. 
 There isn't a sound to be heard, except the rippling of 
 water going over a log in the creek and the far-oif low- 
 ing of some cattle coming into the bottom to spend the 
 night. Suddenly is heard the welcome whiff! whiff ! 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 871 
 
 whiff! of a turkey's wings, as it rises on the hill-side, 
 and comes past me into a tree not forty yards away, on 
 the edge of the pond. It is a hen turkey, and wears a 
 beard. She turns her head about, and carefully looks in 
 every direction, to see if anything dangerous can be dis- 
 covered. Here comes another; but this one goes on, and 
 lights near the buzzards. Soon a dozen or more have 
 gone to roost, but not an old gobbler has yet been 
 heard. The hunter waits; for, while two fine hens and a 
 young gobbler are in easy reach of his shot-gun, the time 
 has not yet come for work, it not being dark enough; 
 and then he wants to see if some old gobblers are not 
 coming, too. They nearly always are later than the hens 
 about going to roost very like the male of the ' ' genus 
 homo" in these degenerate days. Ah, there's a gob- 
 bler ! His heavy flight can not be mistaken; he can not 
 be seen, but he is marked, nevertheless, and is not 
 100 yards up the creek. Sakes alive ! Here comes 
 one right at me, passing so near that I instinctively 
 duck my head, though he passed thirty feet over me. 
 In a big pecan-tree, twenty steps away, he stops on the 
 very scaffold of death. He is mine. Two others are 
 heard above, in the creek, and then all is quiet again. 
 From his secure hiding-place, the hunter contentedly 
 watches his game, and plans the assault, while he waits 
 for the darkness to deepen. There they stand, their 
 feathers hanging loosely, indicating that they are not 
 alarmed one bit; but they peer about, dropping their 
 heads below the line of their bodies, until at last, one by 
 one, they ease themselves down upon their perches, their 
 tails hanging almost straight down; and then they look 
 to be satisfied that all is well for one more night. Alas 
 for them ! how often security is only fancied ! It is now 
 dark enough so dark that a man can not be distin- 
 guished from a tree thirty yards; but above it is light 
 
372 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 enough to easily see a turkey's head against the sky. 
 The trusty double-barrel, loaded with 6' s in the left and 
 OO's in the right, is cocked, and the hunter slowly rises to 
 his feet, to bring death and confusion into that flock of 
 turkeys. On rising, a very little noise is made, and the 
 old gobbler that flew so near me when going to roost 
 stretches his long neck, and looks about suspiciously. 
 The gun comes to the face, and, as the head is seen just 
 above the barrel, the trigger is pulled, and a load of 6's 
 crashes through his head and neck, making him tumble 
 out limp and lifeless. Before he strikes the ground, and 
 while a hen near by is rushing on the wings of fear from 
 out a tree to my left, the faithful old gun glides in just 
 ahead, and, as its bang breaks upon the confusion, she 
 folds her wings, and strikes the water with a mighty 
 splash. Turkeys, alarmed at the firing, are now flying 
 in almost every direction, and by the time I have loaded 
 my gun not one is in sight. It is growing darker fast. 
 Gliding along near the edge of the pond, I carefully look 
 in every tree, to see if some one of the many has not had 
 temerity enough to remain on its roost, and, after going 
 about 100 yards, make the glad discovery that two in one 
 tree remain; but they are out in the pond so far that I must 
 wade in something willingly done, though the water is 
 cold and rubbers are absent. Against the sky, their 
 long necks can be seen moving suspiciously, and the 
 decision is made that it will not be best to try to get 
 close, and I fire away at one with OO's, only to badly 
 cripple it, and lose it in the darkness, though I found it 
 the next morning, and carried it home, it having fallen 
 about 100 yards out in the bottom. Gathering up the 
 two previously killed, I go up the creek toward camp, 
 all the way closely watching in the trees against the 
 western sky, where linger yet the dying beams of day- 
 light. I know there are some gobblers somewhere near, 
 
WILD TURKEY SHOOTING. 873 
 
 for I did not hear them fly at the firing. Before I have 
 gone 150 yards, a fine fellow is seen clearly outlined 
 against the western sky, and plenty near for a good kill; 
 and it is made with 6's. The load is too heavy to carry, 
 and so, after drawing the turkeys, they are hung in a 
 tree, far out on a swinging limb, and high enough to be 
 secure from wild animals. 
 
 On arriving at camp, my companions report two 
 turkeys to one gun; nothing to the other. A good sup- 
 per, hunting- yarns, and some plans for the morrow, are 
 all properly attended to, and we sleep soundly. Early 
 next morning we are out, I taking with me my friend, 
 who came empty-handed to supper, for wjiom I call up, 
 of the flock scattered the evening before, two turkeys 
 which he bags and two which he misses. I bag two 
 myself. Our other friend brings in one. Eleven in all! 
 It does not always turn out so well. Is there anything 
 in luck ? 
 
 It is with reluctance that these lines are brought to a 
 close, for the writer is conscious that the half has not 
 been told; and, writing hastily, as he has been compelled 
 to do, under many pressing duties, he feels sure that he 
 has not properly accomplished his task, though he has 
 filled his allotted space. 
 
CONCERNING POINTERS AND SETTERS. 
 
 WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY JNO. M. TRACY. 
 
 choosing a dog for upland shooting, the American 
 s P ortsman must beware of the influence of Euro- 
 pean taste and opinion which pervades sporting lit- 
 erature, and, while good for Europeans on their own 
 ground, is utterly misleading in America. In Europe, 
 game is so preserved and protected that birds are very 
 abundant; land-holdings are comparatively small, save 
 the estates of the nobility, covert is sparse, and tres- 
 pass on another's ground is not to be thought of. It 
 follows that a slow, cautious dog is needed, one that can 
 be relied on to cover every inch of his master's little pre- 
 serve, and nose out all the birds, without dashing off into 
 neighboring fields and getting into trouble with jeal- 
 ous game-keepers. 
 
 Here all is different. The farms are large, covert is 
 exceedingly dense, restrictions as to trespass on private 
 property are quite rare, and may generally be removed 
 by a polite word. Game, also, is less abundant, save in 
 exceptional localities. 
 
 We therefore need a fast dog, who can cover a great 
 deal of ground, high-spirited and dashing, with plenty 
 of intelligence to think and judge of the ground he works 
 over, and go to the likely places without losing time in 
 useless "quartering." A tough, wiry, hardy fellow he 
 must be, able to endure heat, not afraid of briers, and 
 staunch to the last degree when birds are found. At the 
 same time, the greatest delicacy of nose is required to 
 
 (375) 
 
376 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 locate birds in thick weeds in our dry, scent-killing 
 atmosphere. 
 
 We have not here the immense hares that dogs in 
 Continental Europe are required to retrieve, nor the 
 chance of a wounded roebuck to pull down, or a wild 
 boar to bring to bay, so we need no such great weight 
 or power as is required in France and in Germany. 
 
 Our dog must be as small and light as is consistent 
 with speed and endurance. We need a portable dog to 
 take in the buggy or on the cars, on trips to distant 
 hunting-grounds. Such gad-abouts as we Americans 
 can not afford to be burdened with any surplus weight. 
 
 My personal experience leads me to differ most posi- 
 tively from many good sportsmen and able writers regard- 
 ing the value of high breeding in dogs. ' ' Blood will 
 tell" is my doctrine. Since 1852, when I first began 
 acquaintance with field dogs, I have seen many a scrub 
 and mongrel who would work fairly well some few, 
 indeed, that could be classed as very "killing" dogs 
 but never one that could compare, even for pot-hunting, 
 let alone style, with blue-blood pointers or Llewellyn 
 setters of the field-trial kind. 
 
 It has been my privilege, since the establishment of 
 trials, not only to see a good deal of the running, but to 
 work many of the winners in private, as well as to own 
 and train highly-bred puppies for my own use; and I 
 must say that the worst of all these was far better than 
 the best mongrel I have ever seen. I regard the merito- 
 rious scrub as a highly improbable possibility, while the 
 good blue-blood is an every-day occurrence. 
 
 The great trouble with highly bred dogs is, that few 
 owners take the precaution to begin training by bringing 
 their dogs into complete and willing general obedience, 
 but put them on game too soon, and let them in an 
 uncontrolled' state form a habit of yielding to excitement. 
 
(377) 
 
378 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 It should be remembered that a dog hunts and points 
 by natural instinct, and only needs to be trained to 
 adjust his movements to those of his master. 
 
 With only such training as is needed to make any 
 kind of dog fit for a companion or guard, your pointer 
 or setter becomes a useful ally in the field. 
 
 I would rather pay a trainer $100 to teach my pup to 
 come quickly when called, stop instantly when ordered, 
 and walk quietly at heel, than to get him " well broken" 
 (as the thing is usually done) "free of charge, and a 
 
 HINTS ON AMATEUR TRAINING. 
 
 While not pretending to rival the instructions given by 
 Waters, Hammond, and other eminent trainers, I can 
 assure the sportsman that, if he has the gift to handle a 
 dog at all, he can, by following the ensuing few direc- 
 tions, bring a green puppy into sufficient training to be 
 useful in the field in a week's time, with not very long 
 daily lessons. 
 
 The same system, with a little more vigorous use of the 
 spike-collar, will do for bringing a recalcitrant old dog to 
 a sense of his duty. 
 
 Begin by teaching your dog to come, to go, and to stop at 
 command. Have a stout check-cord sixty or eighty feet 
 long, and tie both ends to his collar a spike-collar with 
 blunt points, if the animal is so self-willed as to require 
 punishment. This will subdue without terrifying him 
 out of his senses, as a whip does. 
 
 Plant a smooth, round stake in the ground (a broom or 
 hoe handle will do), and pass the cord over it. Now take 
 a position as far from the stake as the cord will allow, 
 holding the latter loosely in your hand. The dog can 
 now come and go easily, the cord running around the 
 stake as through a pulley; and you can pull him in either 
 
POINTERS AND SETTEES. 379 
 
 direction, at will, when lie does not obey commands. You 
 should have a good many small pieces of meat at hand, to 
 serve as rewards of merit. Now tell him, " Come here," 
 and if he obeys, praise him and give him a taste of meat. 
 If he does not, pull him to you by the cord and soothe 
 him a little, to show that you mean him no h'arm. Then 
 say "hie on," and wave him gently away with your 
 hand. He will probably not understand this, so by pull- 
 ing on. the other side of the cord you draw him slowly 
 out toward the stake, repeating the command a couple of 
 times as you do so. When he has gone far enough, you 
 call " to-ho," and stop him by the cord. Holding both 
 strands taut, so that he can not move, go up to him and 
 pet him a little; then return to your place, and repeat the 
 performance. Give your commands in an ordinary tone 
 of voice, and do not repeat more than twice before 
 enforcing compliance by means of the cord. Be exact 
 about this, as it insures promptness. Keep your temper, 
 be kind, but firm, and reward every symptom of volun- 
 tary obedience with a piece of meat. Let the lessons be 
 short, but as frequent as possible. Give each lesson on 
 different ground, and change your position with reference 
 to the stake very frequently during the lesson. 
 
 When he has learned to obey the commands without 
 any pull on the cord, take him away from the stake, but 
 leave the cord on him for awhile; then gradually dispense 
 with it, but have it handy, so that you can clap it on him 
 if needed. 
 
 Absolute perfection in stopping at the word " to-ho," 
 and remaining motionless until ordered on, is the key to 
 field work, so you must give extra lessons on this. 
 Throw down a little piece of meat, and let him approach 
 within a few feet of it; say " to-ho," and stop him with 
 the check-cord. Make him stand rigidly in place. If he 
 moves, put him back in the same position, and repeat 
 
380 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 "to-ho." If he moves Ms head or foot, put it back 
 exactly as it was. He must not even wag his tail. At 
 every sign of movement, check it with the hand, and 
 repeat " to-ho." When he has been perfectly still for 
 a few seconds, say ' i hie on, ' ' and let him take the meat. 
 As he becomes more perfect in the exercise, try him 
 without meat, rewarding his obedience with praise and 
 caresses. Finally, exercise him without the cord; he 
 will be perfect in a few days, but you should watch for 
 opportunities to make him " to-ho " under circumstances 
 of great excitement, such as the presence of strange dogs 
 or of people he does not like. 
 
 Your dog being now thoroughly under control, it is 
 time to acquaint him with game. Take him out in the 
 field, put him through all his lessons, and allow him to 
 run awhile, until his first exuberance at the outing is over. 
 Then take him to a place where you are confident of find- 
 ing birds quail preferably. Let him work at will on the 
 scent until he locates them for himself. He will probably 
 point them; if so, let him stand two or three minutes, 
 checking every symptom of restlessness by the word 
 " to-ho." When you have seen that he is really settled 
 on a steady point, walk up and flush the birds, keeping 
 your eye on him all the while, to check any disposition 
 to move with your advance or at the rise of the birds. 
 Should he move, put him right back in the same place, 
 and settle him again into a rigid position. This putting 
 back into place is of the very greatest importance. Above 
 all, don't shoot, no matter how well he does, until you 
 have seen him steady on several points and flushes. If he 
 seems deficient in pointing instinct, or tries to work in too 
 near, and flushes birds, you must stop him with " to-ho" 
 when you see by his actions that scent is very hot; and in 
 every case stop him for a couple of minutes at all acci- 
 dental flushes. He will soon point staunchly. 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 381 
 
 When he has found and pointed a few times, and 
 become steady at the rise, begin to shoot, using at first 
 wood-powder; but on no account must you shoot at a 
 bevy rise until several singles have been killed over him. 
 The excitement of such a powerful scent, and the roar of 
 so many wings, with the added crack of a gun, is too much 
 for the high-strung nerves of a thorough-bred; and you 
 are liable to make your puppj- gun-shy, even though he 
 has been fully accustomed to the gun by presence at 
 tar get- shooting, etc. 
 
 Begin by shooting only at well-pointed singles. Keep 
 the dog still for a minute or so after firing; then make 
 him find and point the dead bird, but do not allow him to 
 retrieve. Pick it up carefully, and allow him to smell 
 but not to mouth it, and show him that you handle it 
 with care. When you see that he is steady on singles, 
 you may shoot at bevies. Do not shoot at any accidental 
 flushes until he is thoroughly trained and steady in his 
 work. When punishment is necessary, do not call the 
 dog in to receive it, but making him " to-ho " at some dis- 
 tance from you, walk up and take him by the collar. If 
 you proceed otherwise, he will learn to run away to avoid 
 punishment. To control his motions in the field, call his 
 attention, and wave your hand in the direction you wish 
 him to go, and start that way yourself; but it is best to 
 let him work the ground in his own way as much as pos- 
 sible, so as to exercise his judgment about likely places. 
 In using the whistle, it is best to adopt a system of calls; 
 say a single short blast for calling attention, and two 
 longer repeated blasts for him to come in. You can begin 
 the whistle instruction at the end of the check-cord and 
 stake course mentioned above. 
 
 If your dog is gun-shy, get rid of him, unless you see 
 that he has remarkable qualities otherwise. In that case, 
 take him out hunting frequently, and have him find and 
 
382 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 point birds, taking especial care to make him steady at 
 the rise; but do not shoot until his passion for the sport 
 has become very strong; then you can begin on singles, 
 using wood-powder. Your only chance of failure is in 
 commencing to shoot too soon. If you have a perfectly 
 staunch dog to take with him, so much the better. 
 
 Yard lessons in retrieving may begin as soon as ' ' to-ho' ' 
 has been mastered. Use any soft object, such as a roll 
 of cloth or a leather glove. Show this to him; say 
 "fetch," and put it gently in his mouth; make him hold 
 it an instant, and then take it away, saying ' ' give. ' ' You 
 can gradually take a step or two away as he holds it, and 
 draw him to you with the check cord, repeating all the 
 time, ' ' fetch. ' ' He will soon take it from your hand, hold 
 it, and bring it to you, at command. Then you have to lay 
 it on the ground and make him pick it up. He may be 
 induced to do this by blowing or spitting on it, and wav- 
 ing it to excite his interest, before you throw it down; 
 or you may have to take his nose in your hands, bring it 
 down to the object, open and close his mouth upon it, 
 using force, but quietly and gently. All severity is worse 
 than wasted. Patience, firmness, and gentleness will 
 insure success in every case. I have tried severe force 
 systems without success, but on the above plan have 
 never failed. Eemember that lessons must be short; so 
 do not try to do too much at once. From the first, 
 accustom the dog to remain quiet while the object is 
 being put or thrown down for him, and to go out for it 
 only at the word " fetch." 
 
 When you begin to let your dog retrieve birds, he must 
 be sent for such only as are cleanly killed. Cripples 
 may be tried w^hen he has had more experience. When 
 he has become very fond of retrieving, he will probably 
 begin to pinch the birds. To cure this, take him by the 
 lower jaw and ram the mangled bird down his throat until 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 383 
 
 it nearly chokes him, twisting and turning it about, hurt- 
 ing his mouth, filling it full of feathers, and making the 
 whole performance very disagreeable to him. Throw the 
 bird down before him, and do not allow him to go near 
 it. You must make him understand that the bird is 
 spoiled. A few repetitions of this will cure the fault. 
 Never allow him to go for a dead bird until ordered, and 
 on no account take him out with an unsteady dog. 
 
 By all means teach him to walk at heel. Any pains 
 you may take to attain this object will be amply repaid 
 in the increased comfort you will have in his company. 
 Carry a little switch or cane. Call the dog in and put 
 him behind you, repeating the word "heel." Walk on 
 slowly, and if he does not follow, call him, and if he 
 attempts to pass you, motion him back with the switch, 
 or tap him lightly with it, if necessary. Exercise him in 
 this every time you take him out for a run. If I could 
 make and enforce a dog law, its first provision would be 
 that no person should be allowed to keep a dog that was 
 not perfectly obedient to the commands ' ' come here, ' ' 
 "to-ho," and "heel." With one ill-trained in these 
 respects, the best-intentioned master is not able to 
 prevent his dog from injuring persons or stock, if so 
 inclined. 
 
 To teach him to lie down at command, first say "to-ho," 
 then go up to him, and repeating the command "down 
 charge 1 ' in a quiet tone of voice, take him by the collar, 
 put one hand on his withers, and push him downward 
 and backward until you force him to the ground. Be 
 sure to push backward as well as downward, otherwise 
 you might injure him. Make him lie still, with fore legs 
 extended to the front and hind legs well drawn under. 
 Do not allow him to turn on his side. A moderate use of 
 the whip is useful in this lesson, if the dog is stubborn. 
 For this one purpose it is better than the spike- collar. 
 
384 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 THE POINTER. 
 
 My favorite dog for upland shooting is the pointer; yet 
 I can not claim for him any superiority over the setter, 
 save that his coat does not gather burrs. Other claims 
 that are urged seem to me without foundation; and my 
 preference is founded solely on the pleasure I take in 
 watching the play of the muscles unhidden by long hair. 
 
 The breed is very ancient. As far back as we can trace 
 it, through descriptions by writers and by old pictures, 
 we find that it has not changed in the least in form, size, 
 color, or habits. In certain localities where special work 
 was required, varieties have been developed by outcross- 
 ing to other breeds and by selection; but as regards the 
 breed in general, there has been no change. As to its 
 origin, nothing is known. Italy, Spain, France, and 
 England have in succession excelled in its production, as 
 each has for the time led the taste of the world in sport. 
 
 Regarding the notion of a hound origin, that theory 
 was framed when natural science was less advanced than 
 now, and nothing has been proved to support it. For all 
 we know, it is quite as likely that the hound is derived 
 from the pointer. 
 
 But we do know, to our sorrow, that there have been 
 hound crosses which have greatly injured the pointer in 
 speed, staunchness, and obedience. Generations of care- 
 ful breeding and inbreeding have been required to bring 
 him back to his old-time quality, which we are now 
 beginning to reach in the best strains. 
 
 Under careful breeding for field use, the pointer, 
 wherever found, tends to assume a certain type, which I 
 will now describe: 
 
 The pointer should weigh from fifty to sixty pounds, 
 though good ones are often of greater or less weight. 
 (I must here correct an almost universal error regarding 
 the Spanish pointer 1 s weight, which was not anywhere 
 
25 
 
386 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 near so great as is usually supposed; not above that of 
 the heavy-weight dogs now common in our shows. ) In 
 color he may be white, with liver, lemon, orange, or black 
 spots; or he may be solid white, black, or liver. Liver 
 and white and lemon and white are now the favorite colors. 
 His general appearance gives the impression of a bold, 
 frank, dashing dog, carrying his head high, and having 
 his shoulders quite above the level of his quarters, thus 
 giving a decided slope to the line of his back. 
 
 He should be bony and rugged in form. Smoothly 
 pretty dogs are sometimes good, but should be distrusted. 
 
 In detail, the description is as follows, with scale of 
 points adapted from Stonehenge, but with valuations 
 further subdivided for the more easy use of amateurs: 
 
 The general aspect of the head must be lean and bony. 
 The skull (ten points) should be of good size, wider 
 between the ears than that of the setter, with forehead 
 rising well at the brows. There must be a well-developed 
 occipital protuberance (P. 385, Fig. 1), and the upper sur- 
 face must be in two slightly rounded flats, with a furrow 
 between. The nose (ten points) should be long (about 4 
 inches) and broad, with widely open nostrils. The end 
 must be moist and cool to the touch. Its color should be 
 black or dark brown, but in lemon and white dogs may 
 be of a deep flesh-color. It should be cut off square, 
 and not pointed; teeth meeting evenly. An upper jaw 
 projecting far over the lower is called " snipey" (Fig. 3), 
 and is a grave defect, which superficial' judges confound 
 with lack of lip, which is a trifling defect. Ears 
 (1J points) soft in coat, moderately long, and thin 
 in leather, set on low, and flat to the cheeks, without 
 any tendency to prick. Eyes (1J points) soft, and of 
 medium size, brown in color, varying in shade according 
 to that of the coat. Lips (one point) sufficiently devel- 
 oped to give a square appearance to the muzzle, but not 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 
 
 387 
 
 pendulous, like those of the hound. The neck (six 
 points) should be arched toward the head, long and 
 round, without dewlap or " throatiness" (Fig. 2). The 
 shoulders (seven points) should slope backward, like 
 those of a race-horse, and be strongly muscled and very 
 
 Fig. 2. "THROATY." Fig. 3. "SNIPEY." 
 
 loosely set on, so as to have perfect freedom of action. 
 The chest (eight points) must be deep and narrow, with 
 breast-bone sloping rapidly upward in front. Behind 
 the shoulders the ribs should gradually spring to 
 greater width with extreme fullness well back where 
 it will not interfere with shoulder action (Fig. 4, A B). 
 The back ribs should also be deep to give room for 
 well-developed internal organs. The back (seven points) 
 should present the general outline of a low arch, sprung 
 
 Fig. 4.-TOP VIEW. 
 
 from a point as close behind the shoulders as possible, 
 and extending to the root of the tail, the curvature being 
 somewhat lessened toward the hips, whence it droops 
 slightly to the quarters. The loin should be full of 
 muscle, running well up on the back ribs, but must 
 
388 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 not be so heavy as to lose its suppleness. The hips 
 should be wide and bony, with jjronounced angles. 
 
 The quarters (five points) should be powerfully 
 muscled, but their best quality is indicated by width 
 rather than thickness of the ham. Thick, showy hams 
 indicate great development of certain muscles little used 
 in the work of running, while the wide ham indicates 
 the development of those most needed. The after-part 
 of the ham should seem to reach low down on the ' ' second 
 thigh" (Fig. 5, A). The stifles (three points) should be 
 letdown low by great length of femur (thigh-bone); must 
 
 be well bent, and carried widely 
 apart, so as to allow the legs to be 
 reached well forward in the gal- 
 lop, giving a long stride. The 
 bend of stifle comes from the 
 length of femur and the dog's habit 
 of hunting with head up, to feel 
 for the body scent; whereas a fast 
 hound must also have a long 
 femur, without which his action 
 would be weak, but from his habit 
 of carrying his head low he stands 
 high behind and has a straight 
 stifle. Legs (four points) must be 
 straight ; should have good strength 
 of bone in both shanks and joints, 
 and the "second thigh" should 
 be well muscled (Fig. 5, A). The 
 elbows (three points) must be let 
 down as far as possible, and should 
 be turned neither out nor in the former being the 
 lesser fault. They should be very loose and free in their 
 action, not closely bound to the side. The hocks (three 
 points) should be strong, bony, and very firm against flex- 
 
 pig. 5.-REAR VIEW. 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 389 
 
 ion to the rear. They should be slightly turned in, or 
 " cow-hocked," a formation necessarily accompanying 
 the out-turned stifle (Fig. 5, B). The pasterns (two points) 
 should be short, nearly but not quite upright, and suffi- 
 ciently strong in bone. The feet (eight points) should 
 have strong, well-arched toes, set close together, with 
 hard, horny pads beneath. Strength and arch of toe and 
 hardness of pads are for work; closeness of toes, for 
 beauty rather than for use. 
 
 The tail (five points) must be strong in bone at the 
 root, but diminish as it leaves the body, and gradually 
 taper to a point. It should be carried a little above the 
 line of the back, without any tendency to curl at the tip. 
 Symmetry and quality (seven points) involve what is 
 usually expressed by the word style, as well as a gener- 
 ally high and well-balanced endowment of the essential 
 features of the breed. As an indication of good breed- 
 ingj this is a very important count in selecting a 
 pointer. 
 
 The coat (three points) should be soft to the eye, but 
 hard and dense to the touch. The color (five points) 
 admits of great variety, as above stated, but should be 
 bright and clear, with distinct markings. (Total 100 
 points. ) 
 
 The " speed lines," so called, are identical in both 
 pointers and setters. While their possession is the proof 
 of great merit, one should not accept an animal for 
 breeding purposes that does not also possess in a high 
 degree the distinctive characteristics of the breed. Beware 
 of hound-like or greyhound-like pointers, or of setters 
 with spaniel or collie appearances about them. In regard 
 to strength of limbs, that depends not on bulk of bone so 
 much as on good articulation. Short and square joints 
 are weak, no matter how much bone. Good joints 
 should reach far up and down the limb, while their 
 
390 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 points of junction with the shank on one side of the joint 
 should be much higher or lower than on the other, but 
 never squarely opposite (as A B and C D, Fig. 6). 
 On one side of the limb, a good joint will seem to reach 
 far up, and on the other side far down it. 
 
 Pay great attention to this, as it has much to do with 
 soundness and endurance. The speed lines require (Fig. 
 1) A B long and sloping (can be tested by touch better 
 
 than by sight), B C, D E, E 
 F, and F G as long as possi- 
 ble. A good arch of back, 
 I H, with point H as far for- 
 ward as possible. Great 
 depth from L to K. G M 
 and N O quite short. Line 
 of breast-bone from K to J 
 sloping rapidly upward (Fig. 
 1). This analysis of the lines 
 applies to all the setters as 
 well as pointers. The pointer 
 has been used for illustra- 
 tions of these points, because 
 his hair does not obscure the 
 form. 
 
 I will also explain that 
 pig. e.-FRONT VIEW. f or mj illustrations I have 
 
 preferred to take from my portfolio exact drawings of 
 dogs of known merit, without idealizing any features to 
 give what I conceive to be ultimate perfection in any 
 part. I think it better to familiarize the eye with such 
 degrees of merit as are often to be met, rather than with 
 ideals that might never be realized. 
 
 In considering the action of pointers and setters, we 
 must keep in view the fact that the animals are required 
 to run for a long time at great speed, therefore their 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 391 
 
 form must be such as to promote the best staying gait, 
 which is quite different from that which would give the 
 most rapid spurt. 
 
 The action in a staying gallop consists mainly in pro- 
 pulsion from the shoulder. A fore foot moved by mus- 
 cles connected with the shoulder, throws the animal clear 
 of the ground when he makes his spring. As he flies 
 through the air, he reaches forward with his hind feet, 
 and, touching the ground first with one and then the 
 other, carries the body forward until one fore foot has 
 touched the ground, when the hind feet are successively 
 drawn up, and the other fore foot is brought down in 
 position to repeat the spring. I find the popular opin- 
 ion is that the dog springs off with his hind feet, and 
 alights on his fore feet, but this is only true when he is 
 jumping over obstacles, or when pushed to the utmost 
 speed. In the latter case, when he can run no faster on 
 his shoulder action, he begins also to spring off with one 
 hind foot, and alight on one fore foot, but this spring is 
 never as long as the fore foot spring, which is still kept 
 up. This run consists of alternate springs from fore and 
 hind feet, and represents the extreme of possible speed. 
 No animal can long endure the shock at shoulders and 
 pasterns of alighting on the fore feet after a spring from 
 behind, so this gait is useful only for a spurt; but an 
 animal wtyo is light both in build and actual weight, can 
 endure it longer than a heavier one. The greyhound is 
 especially adapted to this form of running. 
 
 Pointers and setters should be chosen with especial 
 reference to their shoulders, rather than to their hind 
 quarters. 
 
 THE ENGLISH SETTER. 
 
 I have just observed that Webster's Dictionary 
 describes the setter as "a hunting dog of the hound 
 kind." Other authorities describe him as a kind of 
 
392 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 spaniel.* But I discover, on study of old books and old 
 pictures, that these breeds have been separate and distinct 
 in the most ancient times of which we have any record. 
 Science may indeed hold that ages ago they had a 
 common origin, and to a naturalist their resemblances 
 are of interest; but their value to the sportsman depends 
 upon their differences of form and habit, and he is prin- 
 cipally interested in knowing that they have been so 
 long and so entirely distinct that any result of inter- 
 crossing can be easily bred out again. In the year 1700, 
 
 Fig. 7. ENGLISH SETTERS. BY FRANCOIS DESPORTES. 
 
 the fashionable type of English setter was what is shown 
 in the illustration, from a painting by Frangois Desportes 
 (Fig. 7). It will be observed that it was then the practice 
 to clip the feather of the tail. The other drawing shows 
 the field-trial type of to-day. Barring the fact that many 
 Laverack and Llewellyn setters have too much occipital 
 protuberance, the legacy, perhaps, of a Gordon or Irish 
 
 * I find it stated in various encyclopedias that the setter results from a 
 cross between the spaniel and the pointer. I think this is completely dis- 
 proved by the fact that in crosses between the setter and the spaniel the 
 setter blood is most prepotent, and stamps itself most strongly on the prog- 
 eny, which would not be the case if the spaniel were the purer breed. 
 
POINTERS AND SETTEES. 393 
 
 cross, they give us the true race type of the English 
 setter as he existed in Europe for several centuries. In 
 stating that for a number of years this breed has eclipsed 
 all others in the field, I wish to record my belief that it 
 results from the fact that the appearance of the coat has 
 protected the breed from the hound, greyhound, and 
 bull-dog crosses that have so injured the pointer. 
 
 Such crosses injure the appearance of the setter's coat 
 so much that their results are weeded out. 
 
 Spaniel, collie, and poodle crosses hurt the coat less, 
 and are, to some degree, allowed to remain, but they do 
 infinitely less damage to the working instincts of a bird 
 dog than the smooth-haired crosses that have been 
 allowed to pollute the best pointer blood, and which 
 have only been bred out again in a few strains. 
 
 The weight of the English setter should approximate 
 that of the pointer, but will average a little less. 
 
 Like the pointer, the setter should stand high at the 
 shoulder and low at the rump, and there is much that is 
 identical in the proportions of working parts. But there 
 are essential differences marking the race type, and these 
 are important as indices of merit, although we should be 
 at a loss to explain their connection with the dog' s work. 
 
 The scale of points is the same as for the pointer, 
 except in regard to coat, and to symmetry and quality, 
 which are rated at five points each. 
 
 The skull should be lighter and narrower between the 
 ears than the pointer's, and should be without the occipi- 
 tal protuberance, although when that is present it is but 
 a trifling fault. The nose should be at least four inches 
 long, and wide at the end. Between the point and root 
 there should be no fullness, and the brows must rise 
 sharply from it. The nostrils should be wide apart, with 
 large openings; end moist and cool; color, black, or dark 
 brown; jaws exactly equal in length. The ears should be 
 
394 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 shorter than those of the pointer, slightly rounded, thin, 
 and soft in leather; carried flat to the cheeks, so as not to 
 show the inside; destitute of tendency to prick, and 
 clothed with silky hair about two inches long. 
 
 The eyes should be of medium size, bright, rich brown 
 in color, and set with angles straight across. Lips not so 
 long as the pointer' s, but slightly full at the angles. 
 
 The neck is thinner and flatter than the pointer's, and 
 less arched, though still slightly so. It should be well 
 
 Fig. 8. -ENGLISH SETTER. 
 
 set on the shoulders, not " ewe-necked." Though the 
 skin is loose, there must be no throatiness. The shoul- 
 ders and chest must be as described for the pointer. The 
 same is true of back, quarters, stifles, legs, elbows, and 
 hocks, save that the hips should be less angular and 
 bony. 
 
 The feet differ in having a good deal of hair between 
 the toes, owing to which advantage they will do with less 
 arch of toe. The tail should be carried slightly above 
 the line of the back, though a higher carriage is admissi- 
 ble if there be no curl. The feather should be of straight, 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 395 
 
 silky hair, and of good length, tapering to the point, and 
 giving an outline like a scythe-blade. 
 
 Symmetry and quality form a less valuable index to 
 a setter's merit than to a pointer's, and are rated at only 
 five points. In general terms, they should give a style 
 suggesting more of softness and grace and less of rugged 
 strength than the pointers. While smooth prettiness of 
 form is of bad augury as to working ability in the 
 pointer, it is, on the contrary, a very good sign of field 
 quality in an English setter. The coat is rated at five 
 points, and is very important. It should be soft and 
 silky, without curl. The color should be bright and 
 clean. It offers the same variety as the pointer's, with 
 the addition that tan-markings are often found with 
 black and white, and are very much admired. When the 
 white is interspersed with a profusion of small, delicately 
 shaded ticks it is called u belton," and is very handsome. 
 
 THE BLACK- AND-T AN, OR GORDON, SETTER. 
 
 The black-and-tan, or Gordon, setter has appeared to 
 less advantage in America than other breeds. In public 
 trials he has done little, and in private I have not been so 
 fortunate as to see a brilliant performer, though of 
 good, steady, practical dogs not a few, especially show- 
 ing to advantage on snipe-marshes or in dense coverts. 
 It has been claimed by some breeders that a smaller and 
 more lightly built Gordon could be bred, which would 
 equal the English setter in speed and endurance. 
 
 On theoretical grounds, I have been inclined to favor 
 this idea, and were I breeding Gordons, would certainly 
 try it. Unfortunately, such light weights as I have seen 
 in the field were inferior to those of heavier build. 
 Speaking, then, from what knowledge I have been able 
 to gain, I must prefer the heavy type until the advan- 
 tages of the light dogs shall have been demonstrated. 
 
396 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 These dogs are to be recommended chiefly for their 
 great beauty, and for their special adaptation to the use 
 of the sportsmen of the North and the East, where small 
 fields, swampy ground, and dense coverts are principally 
 to be worked. The points of the Gordon setter are the 
 same as those of the English, but the appearance of the 
 dogs differs in many respects, as follows: 
 
 Fig. 9. GORDON SETTER. 
 
 The general outline of the dog is more square and 
 massive, and the actual weight is considerably greater. 
 
 The skull is heavier, and has more occipital protuber- 
 ance. 
 
 The nose is a little wider; the feather of the tail is 
 shorter, and does not begin so near the root. 
 
 The coat is harder and coarser, and shows more dispo- 
 sition to curl, though the less of this the better. 
 
 The color should be a rich black, without mixture 
 with the tan, and the latter should be of a deep ma- 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 397 
 
 hogany tone, appearing on lips, cheeks, throat, spot over 
 eyes, fore legs nearly to elbow, hind legs up to stifles, 
 and on under side of flag, but not running into 'the long 
 hair. There may be a spot of white on breast or toes, 
 but the less the better. 
 
 Many of the best specimens of this breed are too 
 straight in stifles and tight in shoulders to run well, but 
 the proper type, as I conceive it, should be built much 
 like a bear loose- jointed y with elbows let far down and 
 hocks very low, giving an easy, rolling gait, admirably 
 adapted to getting over bad ground. 
 
 Such dogs are rare, and the owner of one has a treas- 
 ure he can not too highly prize. 
 
 I consider this to be distinctly a Scotch breed, and 
 probably quite ancient, though I have not been able to 
 trace it to such antiquity as the English setter. 
 
 THE IRISH SETTER. 
 
 The very best field dog I ever saw was an Irish setter; 
 yet, seek as I will, I do not find enough such dogs to put 
 the breed on a par with either English setters or pointers. 
 It is common to account for the infrequency of good per- 
 formers by saying that the Irish dog needs more train- 
 ing and constant work; but this will not account for 
 the fact that these exceptionally good dogs are very 
 tractable and easy to handle, and are no more rank than 
 other dogs at the beginning of the open season. 
 My own way of accounting for the facts is this : 
 I consider that the "bird dogs" are true and ancient 
 breeds, whose instincts regarding their approach to game 
 have been fixed for ages so firmly, that they can only be 
 disturbed by the introduction of the blood of some other 
 breed having conflicting instincts. Such outcrosses have 
 been frequent in all times, and the remedy for the 
 damage they occasion is usually found in inbreeding, 
 
398 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 whereby the proportion of the alien blood is speedily 
 diminished. 
 
 But it may happen that the outcross has been to some 
 extremely prepotent breed, when, if the infusion be 
 strong in a given strain, inbreeding will rather strengthen 
 than diminish its effects. Something like this seems 
 to have happened to some of the Irish setter strains most 
 
 Fig. 10. IRISH SETTER. 
 
 extensively bred here. Their faults appear to be aug- 
 mented rather than diminished by inbreeding. 
 
 The remedy will be found in uniting the blood of 
 many separate strains, in order to get in as much as pos- 
 sible that is free from the particular taint in question. 
 A good Irish dog is so exceedingly good, that no pains 
 should be spared to make the breeding of them more sure. 
 
 For those who shoot a great deal, and work the same 
 dog on a great variety of game, there is no dog like a 
 good Irish setter. 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 399 
 
 Hard, courageous, fast, and with endurance une- 
 qualed, with a beautiful coat and cleanly habits to rec- 
 ommend him as a house dog, he will always be a favorite 
 with the men who keep but one dog. 
 
 The points are the same as for the English setter, but 
 the description differs materially, and while such has not 
 been the practice in show- judging, I believe it is of the 
 highest importance to this breed that all such differences 
 should be made the most of. 
 
 The skull should be longer and narrower than the 
 English setter' s, with strong occipital protuberance. 
 
 The nose is longer, and the end is of a reddish brown 
 color, and should not be pink or black. 
 
 The eyes should be deep brown in color a pale eye is 
 a blemish. Ears long enough to reach within about half 
 an inch of the end of the nose, set on low and well back, 
 hanging close to the cheeks. Lips deep enough to give 
 a square appearance to the muzzle, but not pendulous; 
 whiskers red. The shoulders are very long and sloping; 
 chest deep and narrow, with back ribs shorter than the 
 English setter's, giving more the appearance of being cut 
 up under the loin. Loin narrower than the English set- 
 ter's, yet well arched and strong; hips also narrower, and 
 more bony. Legs rather long, with elbows well let down, 
 and very free ; stifles very much bent ; quarters quite 
 sloping, and, though muscular, not heavy. The tail is 
 clothed with straight hair, falling down like a comb; 
 never bushy nor curly. 
 
 The coat should be of moderately coarse, but glossy, 
 hair, which may be wavy, but not curly. The legs are 
 well, but not profusely, feathered. The color should be 
 a rich red, of a burnt sienna tone, without any black 
 hairs interspersed. There may be a little white on the 
 breast or toes, or a blaze in the face, but the less the 
 better. 
 
400 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The general appearance of the Irish setter is of a slen- 
 der, rather leggy dog, somewhat gaunt, his ribs showing, 
 even when in good condition. His style is most taking, 
 being very bold, free, and dashing. I have found an old 
 dog of this breed to be the best of all for use on ruffed 
 grouse. This bird flushes very wild before a white or 
 black dog, but apparently mistakes the red dog for a fox, 
 and lies much better, since it expects to escape easily 
 from any closer approach, and, seeing the dog motionless, 
 does not take wing until alarmed by the approach of the 
 hunter, thus affording a shot; or, if flushed by the dog, 
 the bird will usually alight in some tree near by. 
 
 In concluding this brief review of our field dogs, I 
 would be glad to dispel the doubts and distrust so many 
 entertain regarding our dog shows and trials. Accus- 
 tomed to take part in public competitions of various 
 kinds, I have ever found these to be the best-conducted 
 and most correctly judged of all, and I am able to act in 
 reliance on their results as a guide to merit. The often 
 assumed discrepancy between field trials and shows is 
 merely imaginary. The dog who wins in the one will 
 make a good record in the other so constantly as to be a 
 matter of surprise. Theory and practice are not always to 
 be found in such good accord as here. Yet there are 
 influences, coming mostly from across the ocean, that are 
 seeking to create and uphold a purely show type for 
 these dogs, in complete antagonism to that which has 
 been established and confirmed by centuries of field work. 
 It is for our practical sportsmen to unite in resistance to 
 such innovations, and jealously to preserve the ancestral 
 form of each breed. 
 
 To all who love dogs, there is the constant temptation 
 to have too many, resulting in the necessity of confining 
 them to the kennel-yard, where they will not thrive. No 
 dog can be happy and well unless free to enjoy the 
 
POINTERS AND SETTERS. 
 
 401 
 
 society of his master, and be in truth a member of his 
 family. To have the best results, therefore, one should 
 keep only as many as can be admitted to such privileges. 
 I have never looked in one of the great kennels where a 
 swarm of dogs was kept, without thinking of children in 
 some great asylum, where there might indeed be every 
 comfort and luxury, but, after all, no home. Though 
 the fare be coarse and scanty, still man or dog will thrive 
 best where there is close personal sympathy and compan- 
 ionship. 
 
 26 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 
 
 BY WILLIAM BRUCE LEFFINGWELL. 
 
 I HERE is a charm in the scenes of early life 
 that passing years can only recall in 
 most delightful memories, and 
 things we loved best, when 
 children, still cling fondly to 
 us, and our riper years only add to 
 their remembrances. Then it is that the boyish 
 hunter, when he arrives at manhood's estate, 
 recalls with deepest fervor those incidents which 
 afforded him the greatest pleasure, when, as a child, he 
 trod the carpet of the forest green, clambering the hill- 
 sides, or communed in sweetest harmony with the feath- 
 ered songsters in the glen, or, with hook, rod, and line, 
 made by his own ingenious lingers, captured the finny 
 tribe, in tempting spots, where his inquisitiveness taught 
 him to try; and so the man, when called upon by some 
 enthusiast to name the bird he prizes above all others, 
 will at once recall to mind the days when he was a 
 boy, and the lessons he learned then, under the silent 
 trees, studying the birds as Nature made them, in the 
 warm and budding spring-time, when the mellow wind 
 pervades forest, stream, and field, and instinct told these 
 birds to mate, build their nests, and rear their young. 
 
 When one has, as a boy, had opportunities for study 
 and observation, has grown up among the wilds of semi- 
 civilization, and has passed hours, and days, watching 
 and studying birds in their wild state, the silvered years 
 
 (403) 
 
404 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of manhood touch the chords of departed years, and his 
 heart vibrates with the memories of those days, gone for- 
 ever, but engraved for life upon his mind, never to be 
 effaced; and so it is that every experienced hunter 
 loves some particular bird best. The foundation on 
 which is built his love was formed in years gone by; for, 
 if the pinnated grouse, the vision of the past is before his 
 ,eyes the boundless prairies he visited and settled on in 
 
 early days, the constant 
 presence of these birds, 
 their booming cries in 
 early spring, the pursuit 
 of them in autumnal days, 
 and their most excellent 
 flavor. 
 
 Another mind reverts to 
 a time when there floated, 
 in sweet, delicious strains, 
 through the dewy morn- 
 ing a plaintive "Bob 
 White, Bob White,'' and 
 silvered fields were white 
 in shrouds of frost, while 
 dogs were racing in 
 fevered anticipation of 
 secreted game. While another, whose heart is softened 
 by the sweet solitude of pathless woods, is bound, by the 
 strongest ties of early affection, to the bosky wood, 
 beneath whose silent trees his very being has time and 
 again been startled into feverish excitement, -as the ruffed 
 grouse sprang from its hiding-place, or when, in stealthy 
 silence, he has tried to draw himself into faintest obscurity 
 on hearing the distant gobble, or the nearer "put, put," 
 of the much-prized wild turkey. And so it is that to 
 assemble a body of sportsmen, each individual would 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 405 
 
 champion some game bird as the one par excellence, in 
 Ms estimation, one fit to be crowned king of game birds. 
 
 It is the belief of many, that the height of sporting 
 pleasures, with the gun, can only be obtained in conjunc- 
 tion with a setter or pointer, and this is the opinion gen- 
 erally, and has been from time immemorial. Kings and 
 princes have enjoyed their greatest sport when in com- 
 pany with well-trained dogs. While we can not boast of 
 the blood-royal coursing through our veins, still, there 
 has never existed one of royal birth who enjoys sports 
 afield more than the average citizen of America. 
 
 It is our existence, born free, breathing the pure air 
 of the grandest country on the face of the earth from 
 toddling infancy, having our ears filled with tales of 
 the chase, seeing our fathers and brothers going forth in 
 the morning, wandering where they chose, returning at 
 night laden with game the game belonging to no man 
 until captured no wonder that we inherit a love for 
 shooting, and fishing, and all out-of-door recreation. 
 
 I had sent me, the other day, a proof of the excellent 
 illustration gracing Mr. Baines' article on " Wild Tur- 
 key Shooting" in this book. While looking at it, and 
 admiring the alert expression, the bold, yet startled, 
 look of the bird, a friend of mine called. I knew him to 
 have had great experience in hunting turkeys, and, with- 
 out saying a word, handed him the illustration. He 
 gazed at it intently, studied it fully a minute, then, lay- 
 ing it down on my desk, said: ' ' There is a perfect portrait 
 of the shrewdest, wildest, and most cunning bird that 
 ever spread wings. Look at him! He was traveling 
 along without any suspicion; he has heard a stick break, 
 a distant voice, or some noise he mistrusts, and now he 
 listens to learn what' s up. I tell you, the American wild 
 turkey ought to have been selected as the bird emblem- 
 atic of our country, for he is the king of game birds." 
 
406 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 " Why," said I, laughingly, "I have just received a let- 
 ter from a friend on the Chesapeake, and he uses almost 
 your language, only he says the canvas-back duck is 
 entitled to the crown." I wished so much, then, that 
 the two advocates could have been present, for their 
 discussion would have afforded me both pleasure and 
 profit. Both past the middle age of life, one reared in 
 the East, on the Chesapeake, the other brought up in the 
 West, where game could be had for the seeking, and who 
 had bagged hundreds of turkeys, surely none could be 
 found more competent or experienced than they, and 
 yet each proclaimed the bird he knew best as the noblest 
 game bird in existence. 
 
 When one seeks the canvas-back duck of to-day, he 
 little knows, that is, if a young man, of the great abun- 
 dance that once existed of these birds. It is generally 
 supposed that, in the Chesapeake Bay and Eastern 
 waters, the birds are found in greatest plenty, and many 
 believe that they are a bird so rare, and so delicious in 
 their flavor, that they confine their presence entirely to the 
 East. This is not so, as they are found, at times, in the 
 Middle and Western States, while in California and 
 Oregon they are fully as plenty as in the regions of the 
 Chesapeake. Where food is plenty the food which 
 they especially like, and which gives to them the deli- 
 cious flavor for which they are noted, the Valisneria 
 spiralis there they may be found. Some are shot in 
 the marshes and lakes of Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa, Indi- 
 ana, Minnesota, and other Northern and Western States, 
 the places they go to depending entirely upon the food 
 to be obtained. 
 
 Canvas-back ducks are deep-water ducks, and seek 
 their food in an entirely different manner from the mal- 
 lards and other shoal-water ducks, which feed similarly 
 to tame ducks, for canvas-backs get their food by div- 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 407 
 
 ing, disappearing completely from the surface of the 
 water, and re-appearing with the food in their mouths. 
 Their food, the Valisneria spiralis, is a bulbous plant 
 which grows in deep water in some inland lakes and 
 bays. The plant is described scientifically as follows: 
 
 " Valisneria spiralis. A genus of plant remarkable 
 on account of the very curious manner in which the pro- 
 cess of fertilization is effected. A perennial herb, bearing 
 a tuft of thin, narrow, green, grass-like leaves. The two 
 sexes are borne on separate plants. The male flowers are 
 extremely minute and sensile, but when mature they 
 become detached and rise to the surface of the water. 
 The female plants, on the other hand, are borne singly on 
 the end of a long, slender, spirally -twisted stalk, uncoils 
 more or less, according to the depth of the water, so as 
 to allow .the flower to float on the surface, where it 
 expands, and is fertilized by the floating pollen, after 
 which the spiral stem coils up again and conveys the 
 flowers to the bottom of the water." 
 
 Mr. E. Hough, in a recent communication to the Forest 
 and Stream, having investigated the Valisneria spiralis 
 in its home, thus writes of it: 
 
 During a recent visit to Lake Koshkonong, Wis- 
 consin, I had opportunity to learn something of the wild 
 celery which gives that lake such a reputation as a resort 
 for the canvas-back duck. In company with Mr. W. Y. 
 Wentworth, superintendent of the Blackhawk Club, and 
 Mr. Buane Starin, perhaps the best-known shooter of 
 that locality, I went out on the lake, and was shown how 
 the wild celery seeds are gathered from the bottom of the 
 lake for that is where they must be gathered, if at all. 
 These gentlemen probably have more practical knowl- 
 edge of the wild celery plant and its seed than anyone 
 else, for they used to sell the seed to parties wishing to 
 plant waters to wild celery. They experimented for 
 themselves, and found that the seed taken from the bot- 
 tom of the lake would grow, and they have heard from 
 
408 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 successful results from different lots of seed they have 
 shipped to clubs, etc. It is a simple matter to plant the 
 seed, the only thing necessary being to drop the pods at 
 the spot where the celery is wished to grow. The seeds 
 should doubtless be kept wet all the time, as that is their 
 natural condition. In Koshkonong Lake the wild celery 
 grows out of sand, clay, mud, or almost any other kind 
 of bottom, and there is no apparent reason why it 
 should not grow in any shallow water where it is well 
 planted. 
 
 At the bottom of the water the fertilized seed-pod lies 
 until moisture and decomposition have released the seeds 
 from their covering. At any time before the pods have 
 reached the bottom on their return journey, it is prob- 
 able they are not fertilized sufficiently for growth. It is 
 on the bottom-, therefore, that the celery hunters look for 
 the seed. The only implement they use is a rake with a 
 wooden head about sixteen inches long, into which are 
 set ten inch teeth of stiff wire, about three-fourths of an 
 inch apart. Koshkonong is a shallow lake, hardly more 
 than six or eight feet at its deepest, so that the rake 
 need not be very long or ponderous. 
 
 We rowed out of the mouth of the pretty Rock River, 
 crossed the head of the lake, along where the canvas- 
 back blinds are, and in front of the big bluff where 
 " Koshkonong Place" sits looking out over the lake. 
 We fell to raking like toilers of the sea. Three or four 
 ineffectual hauls were made, bringing up moss, pickerel 
 weed, decayed stems, and a few young croppies and bull- 
 heads, when Mr. Went worth called my attention to a 
 long, dark, slim-looking affair, tapered at both ends and 
 slightly curved. It was five or six inches long, and an 
 eighth of an inch thick, and looked more like a frozen 
 and disgruntled angleworm than anything else. 
 
 ' i There' s your celery seed, ' ' said he. And in this way, 
 after a half-hour of hard work in the icy water this 
 was November 24th we got half a dozen pods or so, 
 including a good specimen, and several in which the 
 natural decomposition had gone so far as to leave the 
 seeds exposed to view. We then went home, and it 
 appeared to us that the acquisition of wild celery seeds 
 was a very slow and laborious process. 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 409 
 
 That night we divided a pod into one-inch sections, 
 and counted the number of seeds carried in a one-inch 
 length of the pod. We found that the seeds ran about 
 sixty to the inch, and we figured that from this there 
 must be about 500,000 seeds in a quart jar of the pods. 
 It is very probable that there are normally more than 
 sixty seeds to the inch, as the specimens we counted had 
 already partly opened, and perhaps some of the seeds 
 had escaped. The seeds are very minute, slender, and 
 pointed. They resemble ant-eggs, but are very much 
 smaller and a little darker in color. 
 
 From what we saw of the seeds, and their great num- 
 bers, it would appear that the wild celery is a plant 
 which could easily and abundantly be sown and grown 
 in any shallow waters. I have heard of, and I believe in 
 the mention of the Hennepin Club last winter I described, 
 an attempt to plant the wild celery roots. This attempt 
 was, I believe, unsuccessful. I don't believe it is the 
 natural or rational way to plant wild celery, and I think 
 anyone who would tear up the roots of this plant from a 
 water where it was native, would be doing a very unwise, 
 wasteful, and foolish thing. 
 
 The delicacy of flavor found in the canvas-back is 
 lacking in others of the duck species, and epicures pride 
 themselves that, so infallible is their taste, in no pos- 
 sible manner can they be deceived, even going so far 
 as claiming that the locality where a bird has been shot 
 can be told by the flavor of the bird. This peculiar flavor 
 is produced by the wild celery they have eaten. Now, 
 this assertion is not made in an unauthorized manner, for 
 it came within my knowledge, about a year ago, that 
 certain connoisseurs claimed the canvas-backs of the 
 Potomac to be superior to any of the Western birds, and 
 two game dinners were served in New York City, to six 
 persons at each cover, and they were unable to decide, 
 three claiming the Eastern birds much the finer flavored, 
 while the other three could see no difference. The gentle- 
 men who forwarded the Western birds submitted the cor- 
 
410 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 respondence to me, also the verdict, which was a dis- 
 agreement, and the trial is to be made again. 
 
 As the Valisneria spiralis is the same wherever 
 found, and imparts to and thoroughly impregnates the 
 bird with its celery taste, there ought not to be, and can 
 not be, any difference in the birds when they have par- 
 taken of these bulbous roots to the exclusion of other 
 food. When, through overflows, droughts, or other 
 causes, the canvas-backs are deprived of this Valisneria 
 spiralis they feed on other food, snails and fish. This 
 gives them a dry, leathery taste, that makes them almost 
 unfit for food. 
 
 But there is another duck, the companion of the can- 
 vas-back, that vies with it as a table luxury. That bird 
 is the red-head, so similar to the canvas-back that thou- 
 sands have been sold and eaten for canvas-backs, and 
 where one is acquainted with them, their habits, feeding, 
 and resorts, it is not to be wondered at. The difference 
 between them is not great, and one is often mistaken for 
 the other. The canvas-back is larger, plumper, with 
 darker coloring on the head and neck; but the dis- 
 tinguishing difference is the bill. As in the canvas-back, 
 the bill begins high up on the head, is jet-black, and runs 
 in a straight line to its tip, being quite narrow. In the red- 
 head, the bill is of a bluish slate, broader than in the 
 canvas-back, and slightly concave. Gastronomically 
 speaking, let both be shot after weeks of feasting in 
 beds of wild celery, and the man who can discover a 
 finer flavor in the canvas-back has a much more acute 
 sense of taste than I. 
 
 Where these birds breed, while definitely known, is a 
 source of astonishment; for, while they are with us in the 
 fall, remaining in southern climes throughout the winter, 
 when the wintry months have passed, they fly in tireless 
 flight, traversing thousands of miles of settlements and 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 411 
 
 solitudes, to breed in Alaska and the extreme North. 
 The Canada goose is much the same in taking such long 
 flights, and yet they will often stop and rear their young 
 in Dakota or Minnesota. Not so with the canvas-back, 
 for their desire seems to be to always seek the impene- 
 trable wilds of the far North, and only to return when 
 the cold blasts warn them to depart from their summer 
 homes. 
 
 I have been in correspondence with a gentleman in 
 San Francisco, Cal., and his description of shooting can- 
 vas-backs on the Coast will open wide the eyes of some 
 of the Eastern hunters. It is nothing unusual for him to 
 bag from sixty to eighty canvas-backs in a day' s hunt to 
 his gun. Their food in California and Oregon is the same 
 as in the East, and epicures there claim there is no bird 
 on earth that equals their bird when properly placed on 
 the table; but, as I said before, the food makes the bird, 
 and let the canvas -back be fattened on wild celery, and 
 it will taste the same whether it comes from Maryland, 
 Wisconsin, Iowa, or California. 
 
 There seems to be a local prejudice about these birds 
 that is highly amusing. As an illustration, one writer 
 says: u ln the Chesapeake alone are they perfect; of 
 course they are all canvas-back ducks from the point of 
 view of the gastronomic enthusiast. The bird only reaches 
 culinary superiority when it alights on the Chesapeake 
 Bay and its myriad arms. Here, its flesh acquires a 
 peculiarly delicious and indescribable taste, which is 
 largely owing to its feeding on a plant called wild celery. 
 Water and climate in the Chesapeake must contain some 
 other and unknown quality or condition which brings 
 the canvas-back ducks to a state of perfection, for I am 
 told that California and Illinois I am not certain about 
 Texas and North Carolina also supply wild celery as 
 food for the canvas-back, and yet it permits no dispute, 
 
412 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 that the fowls which come from those States are no more 
 akin to the Chesapeake canvas-back than the rice-bird 
 of the South is equal to its own self when, under another 
 name and different food conditions, it furnishes an 
 incomparable morsel as the buttery reed-bird of the 
 Delaware marshes. As to the canvas-backs which are 
 occasionally found along the shores of Long Island, their 
 flesh is not distinguishable from the ordinary duck's, 
 because, in the absence of the wild celery, they demean 
 themselves by feeding upon fish." 
 
 I hope the reader will not deem me guilty of agreeing 
 with such broad assertions, for I do not, but simply 
 quote from him, that you may see how prejudice will 
 affect a man; but when we read further, that "decoys 
 are not used because the canvas-back, unlike his more 
 plebeian brothers, will not fly to them, ' ' we feel our hearts 
 tempered with charity, for our experience has been that, 
 tempted by good decoys, properly placed and set out by 
 an expert, one of the easiest ducks to decoy is the can- 
 vas-back. When a man says a duck will not decoy, 
 he simply asserts that it will not alight among its kind. 
 I have shot thousands of ducks, and have yet to find 
 the species that will not decoy at the right time and 
 place. 
 
 Some months ago, when in the office of Robert Law, 
 one of the most prominent citizens of Chicago, he said to 
 me: " I see, Mr. Leffingwell, you have written a book on 
 wild fowl shooting. I wish I had known you intended 
 doing so, for I would liked to have told you what I know 
 about canvas-back ducks." Imagine my surprise, for 
 here was a man talking duck-shooting to me, who I sup- 
 posed never fired a gun. "Why, Mr. Law," said I, 
 " do you mean to say you have had experience with can- 
 vas-back ducks?" He invited me to be seated, and this 
 is the story he told me: 
 
(413) 
 
414 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 " When a young man, my capital consisted of health 
 and perseverance. I found myself on the shores of the 
 Chesapeake Bay, where my mother bought a large farm. 
 The only labor obtainable, at that time, were slaves, that 
 I hired from their masters. I boarded these negroes, and 
 their meat-bill was a serious item, for I had many 
 iinder my control. What do you suppose I fed them on? 
 Canvas -back ducks! Yes, canvas-back ducks; and at this 
 late date, you can form no idea of how plenty they were. 
 Why, I have seen the sky darkened with them, the bay 
 like the driven snow, as their white backs glistened in 
 the sun, and when they arose, it seemed like one con- 
 tinuous roar of thunder. I hired a man to shoot them 
 for me, simply to keep our men supplied with meat. It 
 was no trick to kill them, for they abounded in countless 
 thousands. All through the winter, we lived on canvas- 
 back ducks, served three times a day, until salt pork 
 became a delicacy, and canvas-back ducks, which now 
 command $6 or $7 a pair, were set aside by slaves in dis- 
 gust. Toward spring, my men threatened to quit me. I 
 could not stand this, for no other help could be had; but 
 they threatened to leave me, and I called in their leader, 
 and wanted to know if I ever abused them. ' No, Massa 
 Law,' said he; 'but facts am, we's gwine to quit 'less 
 you stop feedin' us on canvas-back, for de Lawd knows 
 dat a nigger's stomach can't allus be punished wid can- 
 vas-backs, an' 'less you feed us on po'k, least twice a day, 
 we's gwine to go back to de plantation.' Of course I 
 gave in; but I often think of it now, when canvas-backs 
 are worth $7 a pair, -of how those niggers refused them, 
 and made me supply them with pork. Another thing, 
 do you know I believe that winter was when decoys were 
 first discovered? Tell you how it was; we were repairing 
 a vessel, and ducks were flying thick. The day was a 
 cloudy, blustery one, and the birds flew near the shore. 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 415 
 
 Some boys threw some whitish-colored blocks into the 
 water, and the canvas-backs kept darting to them. I 
 noticed an old gunner watching this performance, and 
 the next day the old fellow went out with a gunny-sack 
 half-filled with blocks, hewn to resemble ducks. That 
 night he returned with his boat half-full of ducks. 
 Every time, after that, he took the same bag along, and 
 some other hunters watched him, and found the ducks 
 were constantly sailing in to these imitations he had out. 
 After this, they all got to using them, with added 
 improvements; but I am satisfied that those boys throw- 
 ing blocks were the origin of decoys. Soon after this, I 
 began using decoys, also sink-boxes, with the best of 
 results. You can form no idea how plenty canvas-backs 
 were through the late fall and winter. One winter, a 
 neighbor of mine, who was blessed with some ice, packed 
 at least 1,000. They were so plenty that they com- 
 manded a very small price. A shilling apiece was con- 
 sidered high, and hundreds were sold at a sixpence apiece, 
 or given away. The exceedingly low prices that could 
 be obtained for them were no inducement for market- 
 shooters, and the ducks were not sought after much, 
 except by local hunters; but soon after this, New York, 
 Philadelphia, Boston, and other cities began to learn and 
 appreciate the delicacy of the canvas-back. They brought, 
 at the bay, 50 cents a pair, and, even at that price, a good 
 shot would make from $10 to $20 a day. As the demand 
 increased, so the ingenuity of the hunters was taxed to 
 capture the birds, and they were coaxed near shore by 
 the process known as 'toling,' that is, by a little 
 spaniel trained to romp and play along the shore, while 
 the hunters lay concealed in blinds within gun-range; 
 but the sportsman delighted most to shoot them over 
 decoys, as they came into the little bays or pockets to 
 feed on the wild celery. They were plenty then, and we 
 
416 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 shot them from blinds, made of cedar boughs stuck into 
 the mud or sink-boxes. They flew across from place to 
 place, and there were plenty of points where we got pass- 
 shooting, or caught them sitting among our decoys. I 
 wish you could have seen some of those birds. When 
 they fell, and struck the frozen ground, the concussion 
 often split them wide open, they were so fat from feeding 
 on wild celery. 
 
 "I notice many authorities state 'that the widgeon 
 is a daring thief, and robs the canvas-back of its food, 
 after the canvas-back has dived and brought it to the 
 surface.' Now, when it comes to stealing wild celery 
 sprouts, the canvas-back is the biggest thief on record. 
 There used to be another duck associating with the 
 canvas-back. It wasn't the red-head,^ and I don't now 
 recall its name. It was rather a small duck, but a great 
 diver. It used to dive down and bring up the wild celery 
 bulbs and sprouts, but it would no sooner appear than 
 three or four canvas-backs would rush for it, and snatch 
 away the celery. I have seen this done scores of times; 
 and, before one of these ducks could get a decent meal, 
 it would have to supply celery for perhaps half a dozen 
 big, fat, lazy canvas-backs. Am sorry I don't remember 
 the name of this industrious duck, but we never shot 
 them. They were small, with slim bodies, while their 
 bills were long and powerful; besides, they seemed to 
 enjoy pulling up the celery, and left plenty floating 
 around, which enticed the canvas-backs in. 
 
 "You never saw a swivel-gun, did you ? Of course you 
 didn't, for they were before your day; but I tell you, they 
 were murderous things. Just imagine a gun loaded with 
 a couple of pounds of shot, with powder enough to throw 
 it with great penetration. These swivel-guns were used 
 at night, by poachers and men who didn't care how 
 many ducks they destroyed or crippled. The gun was 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 417 
 
 fastened on the bow of the boat; then, on moonlight 
 nights, or with artificial lights thrown on the drifting or 
 sleeping birds, the ducks, naturally inquisitive, would 
 gently swim aside from the boat that was being slowly 
 sculled among them, and, when an immense body of 
 them were together, the death-dealing gun would 
 belch forth, killing anywhere from twenty to fifty, while 
 the cripples dove, or sneaked away, to be gobbled up the 
 next day by fish-hawks. Why, these guns were young 
 cannons, and I have heard them roar over the bay all 
 night long. At break of day, one could see these 
 immense hawks hovering, circling, and darting after the 
 cripples. Of course the ducks would dive, but the mid- 
 dle of the bay afforded them no hiding-place, and, at 
 last, the persevering hawk would tire them out. A 
 quick dart, and then we would see a whitish object hang- 
 ing below the hawk, as it flew to some tree to devour 
 the bird. The hawks were immense, and looked as large 
 as eagles. This shooting of the ducks at night was simply 
 scandalous, for it was bound to exterminate them. 
 Between being hunted in the day-time and persecuted 
 at night, there was no time or place in which they could 
 feel secure or obtain rest. So outrageous did this appear, 
 that (I think it was in the winter of 1845) the Legislature 
 of Maryland passed a law prohibiting the use of swivel- 
 guns and shooting the birds after dark. 
 
 "I wish you could have seen the birds in some of 
 their great flights. Why, that was forty-five years ago! 
 Great Scott, man! Here I have been telling you of scenes 
 in my early life that I haven't thought of for years and 
 years, and look at the time of day! Why, I promised to 
 have been home an hour ago. You must excuse me, 
 for I must go." 
 
 He buttoned up his great -coat, and laying his hand 
 fondly on my shoulder, as he bade me good-night, there 
 27 
 
418 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 shone in his handsome face the delight of happy days, 
 recalled in telling me some of the scenes of his early life; 
 for, in imparting what he had seen to me, the pleasant 
 years he passed on the shores of the Chesapeake were 
 once again before him, and I don' t know who was the 
 more pleased, he in recalling or I in listening to his fas- 
 cinating stories descriptions of days long since passed 
 among the canvas -backs. I could imagine I was with 
 him in all the sights he described, for I have seen acres 
 and acres of mallards, blue-bills, and other ducks float- 
 ing in dark squares on the bosom of the Mississippi, and 
 have seen the sky, at evening-time, just as it was crimson 
 and purple in the light of the setting sun, filled and 
 flecked with thousands of mallards, as they flew hither 
 and thither, seeking their roosting-grounds, while the air 
 resounded with their "m'amph, m'amph," and "quack, 
 quack, quack," as the birds dropped softly into the 
 marsh. 
 
 In shooting canvas-backs over decoys, great judg- 
 ment must be displayed in placing out the decoys, select- 
 ing the place and building the blind, the desire, at all 
 times, being to place one's self as near as possible to 
 the place where they habitually feed. 
 
 Cold, blustery days are the best, for on such days 
 they are less suspicious. While they are exceedingly 
 wary, and are blessed with eyes of the keenest percep- 
 tion, yet they are as full of curiosity as a woman, and 
 while at times they will not come in to the decoys with- 
 out much coaxing, at others they rush in with the 
 greatest recklessness. 
 
 There is no duck in which the bump of inquisitive- 
 ness is as fully developed as in the canvas-back. They 
 seek to know the meaning of every uncertain movement 
 or suspicious object. I have seen them sit with their long 
 necks stretched up, staring with intense curiosity at a 
 
THE CANVAS-BACK DUCK. 419 
 
 passing steamboat, and then, flying, make an almost com- 
 plete circuit around the boat, to see if there wasn' t some- 
 thing they had overlooked. I have seen them alight far 
 outside of decoys, then, after gradually swimming nearer, 
 at last boldly swim among the decoys, within fifty feet 
 of our concealed boat. It fills the soul of the hunter 
 with delight to see them dart down to decoys. Down they 
 come, aided by the strong wind, at a 100-mile gait, flying 
 past the decoys as if they did not see them, just out of 
 gun-range; then, with a wide circle, return up-wind with 
 a speed almost as great, and with set wing and unabated 
 speed slide into the water, shoving the water ahead of 
 them in crested foam. 
 
 They are very cunning when wounded, great divers, 
 and cripples should at once be shot. There is no bird in 
 the world, that is hunted as a game bird, that so taxes the 
 endurance of a dog, and the dog, to retrieve them, must 
 be brave as a lion, entirely devoid of fear, hardy enough 
 to withstand cold, snow, and to retrieve among floating 
 ice as well as in early fall. When a man has a dog like 
 this, he is blessed with a jewel almost beyond price. 
 
 I will forbear the discussion of the breed of dogs to 
 use, the kind of guns best adapted, and the charge to be 
 used, for Mr. John Gr. Smith, in his most excellent article 
 on " Inland Duck-shooting," has given his views on those 
 subjects, which fully accord with my many years of 
 experience in the pursuit of wild fowl. 
 
 There is a charm in duck-shooting which defies the 
 pen of the most gifted writer to explain, and only the 
 experienced can enjoy; and to-day, as I write this article, 
 seeing before me the little group of red-heads that 
 appear in this article, they recall to mind many days in 
 departed years, when the frost had gilded the meadows, 
 and I had sat reclining in my boat, watching red-heads 
 basking in the October sun, while starlings and black- 
 
420 
 
 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 birds, in their suits of black, red, and gold, were teeter- 
 ing on the waving rice-stalks, as they sang their merry 
 songs, a fit accompaniment to music of 1,000 harps, that 
 the winds imitated, as they played through the seared 
 and yellow rushes in the marsh, making the sweetest 
 music in the world for the man who loves the fields and 
 streams. 
 
GUISTS. 
 
 BY ARTHUR W. DU BRAY ("GAUCHO"). 
 
 WILL endeavor, to the best of my ability, to 
 treat on the subject of guns in as brief and 
 concise a manner as possible brief, because 
 my tether is limited as to space; concise, 
 because I will deal with nothing further 
 than the practical part, leaving all theoret- 
 ical points to other pens and wiser heads. 
 
 The shot-gun of to-day is the breech- 
 loader, fast tending to the hammerless, and gradually 
 leaning toward the ejector; therefore, descriptions of 
 antiquated fire-arms, be they ever so elaborate, can be 
 of little practical value nowadays, excepting insomuch 
 that the younger sportsman will do well to read of these 
 old-fashioned guns and rifles, and then compare them with 
 what he can obtain now, and thereafter thank his stars 
 that he was not contemporaneous with flint-locks, which 
 went off with a whiz-bang that rendered wing- shooting 
 decidedly uncertain to any but a first-class marks- 
 man. 
 
 I will divide my subject into three parts, viz. : Field- 
 guns, Trap-guns, and Duck-guns, and endeavor to 
 describe each from a thoroughly practical standpoint, 
 and from the education gained by twenty -five years of 
 experience over thousands of miles of ground some in 
 Europe, but more particularly over the vast area con- 
 tained between the British frontier of North America 
 and that of Patagonia in the far South while my range 
 
 (421) 
 
\ 
 422 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of guns embraces Purdey, Westley Richards, Lancaster, 
 in years gone by, latterly, Scott and Parker, besides 
 many an odd gun, here and there, of both English and 
 American makes. I may furthermore add that I never 
 have let the opportunity go by to test a reputedly good 
 gun, and that I have fired thousands of shots for pattern 
 and penetration, with all kinds of guns and about every 
 variety of ammunition, so that, if my knowledge is 
 meagre on these subjects, it is purely from want of ability 
 to comprehend, as my opportunities have been legion. 
 
 FIELD-GUNS. 
 
 The sine qua non of a fowling-piece is that it be a 
 perfect fit the bore, weight, length, and make are, 
 individually or in the aggregate, as nothing compared 
 to the fit and in this most essential feature no man can 
 impart much more than the most superficial information; 
 while nothing short of actual trial on game will reveal 
 the hidden mystery contained in every gun-stock, or, 
 rather, peculiar manner, position, style, or action of the 
 man that stands behind it. One man mounts a gun with 
 a jerk, aligns it, and shoots; another brings it up deliber- 
 ately, but the moment the heel -plate touches his shoulder, 
 the trigger is pulled. Now, in the first case, though not 
 an exact fit, yet moderately good shooting can be done, 
 because a certain aim is taken, while in the second by 
 far the better way no gun that is a misfit will do good 
 execution, for the simple reason that this style of shooter 
 does not see his gun, but is staring, both eyes wide open, 
 at his quarry; so that a poor shot, who only shoots a 
 little now and then, will generally go nearer his aver- 
 age with any borrowed gun than the good shot, who 
 never troubles himself about breech or muzzle, but rather 
 shoots from intuition trusting entirely to his hands get- 
 ting the proper direction, while his head instantly 
 
GUNS. 423 
 
 calculates the amount of leading required for every shot. 
 Beware of any gun that is nearly a fit; for with one 
 that is clearly a misfit one will take more pains, and 
 be sure to, at any rate, try to direct it, whereas the gun 
 that seemingly is pointed right, but in reality is a little 
 high or low, right or left why, this kind of gun is a 
 nuisance, and has made many an otherwise good shot 
 give up wing-shooting in despair. Standing opposite a 
 mirror, placed perpendicularly in front of the shooter, may 
 help him to know where the muzzle and breech of his gun 
 are the instant he mounts it; so, also, will this be discovered 
 by standing in a dark room, and sighting quickly at a 
 light, when wheeling about, in some other room or hall- 
 way as far distant as possible. These are make-shifts, 
 and may teach the rudiments, as it were; but actual cer- 
 tainty can only be reached by frequent trials at moving 
 objects birds flying in all directions, inanimate targets 
 going high or low, swift or slow, and particularly all 
 shots going fast and low to the right (these, to the 
 right-handed man, are hardest of all). 
 
 A gun should never be bought, out and out, in a gun- 
 store without the privilege of trying it on game or at the 
 trap; for, be it ever so good a shooter according to its 
 tag, or even its tested performance before the intending 
 purchaser, yet there is always a much more important 
 point to decide, and one that can only be settled by a 
 real test, so that, to save much trouble and annoyance, 
 the gun should be taken to some shooting-ground, loaded 
 with smokeless powder, and then tried at all angles and 
 elevations obtainable; then, if found to come to place 
 without any adjustment after touching the shoulder, 
 that gun is a fit. 
 
 I lay particular stress on using smokeless powder- 
 preferably Schultze as when this kind, in light loads, is 
 used, the shooter can tell at once just where his gun is 
 
424 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 pointing, even in the act of discharge; while, what with 
 the noise, smoke, and recoil incident to the explosion of 
 black powder, it is extremely difficult to locate both gun 
 and object aimed at in fact it can't be done by any but a 
 person of great experience, and to all such I can give no 
 pointers, while I merely write this article for the guid- 
 ance and help of beginners. Don't be guided in the way 
 of how to handle the gun by the one who is trying to sell 
 it; for, aside from any pecuniary motives, it is always 
 best to put up a gun in the most natural way, and, as 
 nature needs but little instruction, the easiest and quick- 
 est manner will generally prove the best. 
 
 The bore of the gun is, fortunately, a point on which 
 there can not be so much difference of opinion; for, 
 although some isolated cases are found where men stren- 
 uously uphold that a twenty -gauge gun is equal as a 
 game-killer to a ten, yet, fortunately, these are rare; and as 
 the penetration and pattern of any two guns can be readily 
 ascertained, the merits of all bores can easily be discov- 
 ered. For all field-shooting a twelve-gauge gun should 
 be large enough, while such a one, if of sufficient weight 
 to withstand heavy charges with comfort to the shooter, 
 is also a very serviceable weapon on wild fowl. Such 
 game as prairie chickens, quail, snipe, woodcock, all of 
 which are usually killed inside of thirty-five yards, 
 excepting the first mentioned where cover is short, or late 
 in the season, can readily be killed with twelve or six- 
 teen gauge guns, and as every ounce in weight operates 
 against the sportsman in a hard day's tramp, a field-gun 
 should not weigh over 7 to eight pounds, while if a gen- 
 eral utility gun is needed, a twelve of 8-J to nine pounds 
 will prove a very handy weapon; yet it will not be 
 the equal of a nine-pound, ten -gauge, neither will it 
 handle as easily or freely as one of small bore and less 
 weight. 
 
GUNS. 425 
 
 The penchant for feather-weight guns is, unfortu- 
 nately, leading many otherwise level-headed men to such 
 extremes, that many English sportsmen are to-day using 
 twelve-gauge guns of less than six pounds in weight. 
 Such guns, to be reasonably safe, must be of very best 
 material; and, as no man can with comfort shoot many 
 shots with the full charge of a twelve-gauge gun in such 
 extremely light tubes, the load is usually cut down in 
 powder and lead to about what would be the equiva- 
 lent of a sixteen-gauge charge. While a gun of this bore 
 would answer every purpose, and be much more sym- 
 metrical than a wider one, on such a light frame and 
 aerial stock cliacun d son gout and while men with 
 perfect vision will encumber themselves with eye glasses 
 in the endeavor to adorn their physiognomies, it is 
 quite to be expected that others will claim that their 
 pet little twelve-bores are the equals of any. Actual 
 tests prove to the contrary; but, none being so deaf as 
 those who won't hear, it is useless to reason against 
 reason. It is safe to say that a twelve-gauge gun, 
 with thirty-inch barrels, and weighing about 7J pounds, 
 is about right as a field-gun, and if properly bored 
 will answer every purpose. 
 
 When choke -boring first came out, the man who had 
 nothing better than a cylinder was unhappy in the 
 extreme; for the man with the choke-bore was relentless, 
 cruel, and so selfish that he lost no opportunity of display- 
 ing the marvelous performance of his improved weapon 
 by sieving paper targets at long range, and making, 
 by contrast with his, the unfortunate owner of the 
 cylinder go fairly crazy with chagrin and mortification in 
 seeing his expensive old pet completely distanced by a 
 common, though closer-shooting, rival. The superiority of 
 the choke-bore was simply squelching; it threw its charge, 
 particularly when loaded with small shot, so much 
 
426 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 more compactly, and with fully as much or more penetra- 
 tion, that the poor old gun was discarded, and the full- 
 choked one took its place. 
 
 There were some men, though, who, content to let well 
 enough alone, stuck to their colors, or, if they did modify 
 their views, so did they modify their chokes; and expe- 
 rience has clearly proved that this class went in the right 
 direction, for it is much easier nowadays to get too close 
 a shooting gun than one that is too open. A field-gun 
 that makes the greatest killing-circle in one barrel at 
 thirty to thirty -five yards, and ten yards farther with the 
 other, is just as much superior to an excruciatingly close 
 shooter as the choke is to the cylinder, for all distances 
 over forty-five yards, while for all shooting in cover, 
 even a wider spread is an advantage. In the hands of 
 an expert, perhaps as many quail flying through thickets, 
 or ruffed grouse darting between leaves and branches, 
 all the while with a rising out or in curve, may be killed 
 with a very close as with an open bored gun, but I doubt 
 it; for all such shots are snapped at, and it stands to 
 reason that the gun that gives one thirty inches of spread 
 is much more certain to be a killer than the one that cuts 
 that circle down to only twenty or twenty-four inches, 
 so that, as such shots are the rule rather than the excep- 
 tion, the evenness and extent of the killing-circle of a gun 
 should form its standard of merit, rather than its closeness 
 and compactness of delivery. In proof of this, I may 
 mention that the very best field-shots avoid with artistic 
 cleverness the use of full chokes when afield, and reserve 
 them for places where increased distances make them 
 most effective. 
 
 But, again, to reduce the number of pellets in a given 
 circle, at any distance, does not necessarily turn out the 
 best-shooting gun; for there are many guns that, although 
 they put more shot in such a circle than another, yet 
 
GUNS. 427 
 
 they are better game-killers, and that is because these 
 shoot more regularly, and make evener, more sieve-like 
 spreads. For instance, a gun may place with one barrel 350 
 No. 8 shot in a thirty-inch ring, at forty yards, and only 
 300 with the other. It does not follow that the 300 barrel 
 is the better one, for it may leave great gaps, and put shot 
 on in bunches, while the 350 barrel will give quite as 
 large a spread and a much more killing one all over. 
 Hence it is that the tags which accompany a gun, though 
 of great value in establishing its shooting qualities, yet 
 do not reveal the spread and manner in which the gun 
 delivers its load; so here again comes in the importance 
 of fully testing a gun before purchasing it. Furthermore, 
 so long as all guns are not tagged from the same basis, i. e. , 
 at the same range and same sized circle, it is absolutely 
 impossible to draw any but the vaguest conclusions as to 
 their relative merits. 
 
 English guns are targeted at forty yards at a thirty- 
 inch circle, and all first-class ones with Curtis & Harvey's 
 powder if black, Schultze or E. C. if smokeless, and 
 nearly altogether with chilled shot, No. 6 of a certain 
 make, generally Newcastle, that runs with great evenness, 
 so that here we can at a glance see how two or more guns 
 compare provided their tags represent the actual work 
 done by the gun. 
 
 With us it is different. Some of our makers use one 
 kind of powder and shot, while another, living in another 
 State, loads with entirely different ammunition, and nearly 
 all of them lean toward coarse, slow powder, totally unlike 
 that usually used by sportsmen or men who shoot much at 
 the trap; hence it is that tags, while serving as a capital 
 guide as between guns of one make or factory, are yet, 
 when fastened to the trigger-guards of half a dozen 
 different makes of guns, of very little value in establishing 
 accurate comparisons between them. 
 
428 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 respectable gun-maker can possibly object to his 
 gun being tried in the open, and by the would-be pur- 
 chaser, for such men are bent upon pleasing their cus- 
 tomers, knowing full well that one good gun sells others, 
 and so on ad infinitum. 
 
 TRAP-GUNS. 
 
 Trap-guns may be said to be of two kinds only, viz., the 
 ten-bore, at any weight, and the twelve-bore, under eight 
 pounds; and just so long as guns of smaller gauge are 
 not allowed the handicap in rise allowed a twelve over a 
 ten, the smaller bores can never come into general compe- 
 tition with the wider ones. It seems absurd to give an 
 advance of two yards to a twelve over a ten, when the 
 sixteen-gauge, which is four sizes smaller than the twelve, 
 has to toe the same scratch; nor is there the least bit of 
 justice in this, for it is well known that an eight-pound 
 twelve-gauge will outshoot any sixteen-gauge, at their 
 ordinary weight, and both charged to their utmost limit. 
 
 There are many places where guns go in according to 
 their gauge; but until this obviously just ruling prevails 
 everywhere, the narrow bores will be merely dotted here 
 and there, and never be recognized as of full force in an 
 open competition. 
 
 One of the most arbitrary rules governing any kind of 
 sport, is that which limits the weight of the twelve-bore 
 to eight pounds; and it is a mark of the advance of liber- 
 alism to learn that Hurlingham has outgrown the tyran- 
 nical prejudice that brought trap-guns under the scale at 
 that weight. For instance, why should a strong, able- 
 bodied man be pulled down to an eight-pound gun when 
 he can do better shooting with one that weighs more? 
 Again, the limit of powder being liberal, why make the 
 gun come under a weight that will preclude using the 
 full charge permissible under the rules ? No man can 
 
GUNS. 429 
 
 shoot, with comfort, four drams of Curtis & Harvey's 
 fine-grained powder and one and a quarter ounces of 
 shot in a twelve-bore under eight pounds in weight, 
 while in a nine-pound gun this load goes off smoothly 
 and pleasantly; then, if the object is to equalize the 
 weak, light man with the strong, heavy one, it is apparent 
 that the limit of charge must be cut down, as no slight, 
 delicate man can ever hope to stand behind a kicking 
 gun, which jars him from head to foot, as well as his 
 heavier and stronger opponent, whose weight and grip 
 hold the gun much more in check. 
 
 There can be no objection to a limit of charge as well 
 as one of gauge, but in the matter of weight there should 
 certainly be no restriction; for if the man uses a heavy 
 gun because he prefers to, the one shooting a lighter one 
 has the advantage of more rapid manipulation, and so it 
 would be a matter of choice, and not one of compulsion, 
 as it now stands. 
 
 I have made this digression, and will now resume; 
 nor could I write on this subject without ventilating my 
 views on what has always appeared to me to be a gross 
 injustice, and a most one-sided rule, made to fit one man 
 exactly, and just so surely break another. 
 
 The matter of fashion plays a more important part on 
 the kind of piece used for trap-shooting than many 
 would imagine, and so long as London leads in this, we 
 may expect to dance to the tune of the British fiddle. 
 Twelve-bores being in vogue in Europe, $a va sans dire 
 that we must also go in for them, not because they are 
 better than our old tens, that have done us such good 
 service, but because most of us have ten-bores, and now, 
 since they won't wear out, we must keep the gun-makers 
 at their trade, and delve in our pocket-books for the 
 wherewith to buy the gun a la mode. 
 
 Many, whose observation has been drawn to one side 
 
430 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 of the argument only, are under the impression that it is 
 more sportsmanlike to kill a pigeon with a twelve than 
 with a ten bore gun; they think it requires finer holding 
 and better marksmanship, while as a matter of fact, both 
 guns being equally choked, the ten-gauge will put its 
 load more compactly, at the distance within which pigeons 
 are shot, than the much-lauded twelve. The ten-gauge 
 has one advantage^ it shoots harder, for it stands to 
 reason that four and a half drams of powder will drive 
 one and a quarter ounces of shot harder than three and a 
 half; but this very reason ought to carry the ten-bore in a 
 winner, for certainly it is more humane to shoot a bird 
 with the more powerful shooting weapon, in other words, 
 the better killer, than with the weaker one, and. as both 
 can be made to shoot about alike as regards pattern, 
 with the advantage in favor of the larger bore, there can 
 be no good reason advanced why the ten should go to the 
 wall to make way for the twelve, unless it be the same 
 grounds that consign my lady's last bonnet to the depths 
 of her darkest closet to presently appear in the latest 
 fad from Paris. With men, in guns, substitute London 
 for Paris, and, presto ! we have the solution to the 
 problem. 
 
 The trap-gun, pure and simple, should possess two 
 qualities, viz., be a perfect fit and an even, regular, hard 
 shooter; these are imperative. Other essentials, that so 
 largely go to make up a first-class field or duck gun, are 
 not of such vital necessity here. For example, we see in 
 every club guns that are so constructed that water could 
 be poured into the breech and lock mechanism, by 
 simply pushing the top lever back and withdrawing the 
 extension rib from its bed. Bust, sand, salt air, rain, in 
 fact anything within a reasonable limit as to size, could 
 be dropped into this catch-all;, and yet, in trap-shooting, 
 uch a chasm, opening wide to receive whatever may 
 
GUNS. 431 
 
 fall into it, is not a positive detriment, for one seldom 
 shoots in bad weather, so that the " glass case" gun, 
 which at once proclaims its own nnfitness to the practiced 
 eye of a thorough sportsman, stands on a level here with 
 guns of so much greater instrinsic worth that comparison 
 between them would be utterly ruinous. 
 
 Then, again, trap-shooting is generally done in the 
 vicinity of towns or villages, so that a complete break- 
 down merely bars the owner from the day's sport, while 
 should such a catastrophe happen far away from the 
 ever-ready gun-smith, then the journey of many miles, 
 taken in perhaps the one annual vacation, assumes dif- 
 ferent proportions in toto. So long, then, as the very best 
 fitting and shooting guns can be obtained that are not 
 open to these most serious objections, it seems strange 
 that so many guns possessed of such glaring defects 
 should sell side by side with others of perfect construc- 
 tion; yet such is the irresistible power of printers' ink, 
 that we may always expect to see catch-penny schemes, 
 well advertised, push their way alongside of true and 
 honest workmanship, that, costing, as it invariably does, 
 more money to execute, leaves less profit to the maker 
 with which to puff his own wares. 
 
 A perfect trap -gun, regardless of its bore, weight, or 
 dimensions, should be so bored and regulated in its 
 shooting that it will give the greatest killing spread at 
 the distance for which it is intended to fire it. There- 
 fore, if a marksman shoots at thirty -five yards, his gun, 
 if bored and loaded to best advantage, should give him 
 all the chances compatible with a regular and even spread 
 of shot at that distance, for it is clearly handicapping him- 
 self to use a gun that so compactly delivers its load at 
 that -distance that nothing but dead center shots will 
 score as hits. A gun so bored that it will keep the load 
 together, and kill at extreme ranges, is indeed a truly 
 
432 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 valuable weapon for some kinds of shooting; but to 
 score with such a one at half its killing and striking 
 limit of range, necessitates masterly skill in handling 
 it. Nor can such a gun, in the hands of equal shots, be 
 expected to win when shot against one that favors the 
 shooter by allowing him an extra spread of perhaps a 
 whole foot, at the ordinary range at which trap-guns are 
 used. 
 
 In all artificial bird-shooting, it is well to use a mod- 
 erately close- shooting gun; yet far better is it to accustom 
 oneself to a little quicker shooting than to drill on 
 swift-moving birds, and trust to the gun at the other 
 end. On still, calm days, with perfect trapping and even 
 nights, a good shot can account for a high percentage of 
 his targets at long range, provided his gun is loaded 
 and bored as a "readier;" but the instant the wind 
 comes up, or the traps throw irregularly, then the whole 
 onus falls on the one at the helm, and then it is that 
 quick shooting comes into play. Some men can't shoot 
 quickly it isn't in them. Such men hardly ever make 
 successful trap-shots, and most rarely, if ever, first-class 
 marksmen at flying targets. There are too many chances 
 against them when they measure their skill, long drawn 
 out, against the greater certainty of the one who thinks 
 fast, moves with more celerity, and therefore has less 
 allowance and brain- work generally to break his com- 
 bination. There is a happy medium between snapping 
 at birds and poking after them, while the odds, in these 
 two styles, are usually in favor of the quicker shot. 
 When shooting at long distances, such, for instance, as 
 at ducks on a flight, then the most trifling error at the 
 shoulder carries the load wide of the mark upon reach- 
 ing the distance at which the bird is flying, and invari- 
 ably causes a miss; but when inside of forty yards, it is 
 not compulsory to be so dead center, though, of course, 
 
GUNS. 433 
 
 such precautions are always in the right direction, pro- 
 vided it does not take too much time to make them. 
 Shooting, for instance, at a straight tailer from the 
 center trap, when good strong live birds are the targets, 
 one had better pull up and shoot instanter, even if not 
 " dead on," than poke about to get there; for on such 
 shots the vital spot is mighty small, and distance is rapidly 
 increasing, both toward the boundary and away from the 
 score, while, if the second barrel is to be of any avail, it 
 must certainly soon be let drive at the now fast-retreating 
 pigeon. At thirty-three yards, say, a properly bored 
 pigeon-gun will give a killing spread of twenty-four to 
 thirty inches, according to the load, etc.; so that six 
 inches to one side or the other, on a straight-away shot, 
 does not signify, for still the bird will come handsomely 
 inside of the killing-circle. 
 
 On side and quartering shots one can afford to be more 
 deliberate; in fact, here errors must not accumulate into 
 many inches, for it does not take a fast-flying bird long 
 to move across and beyond the width of the whole charge. 
 Smokeless powder, however, is of such decided advan- 
 tage, where both barrels may be used, that nowadays 
 scores are being made that before its advent would have 
 been quite impossible to attain. 
 
 DUCK-GUNS. 
 
 In this country, the gun most universally used for 
 wild fowl shooting is the heavy ten-gauge, while in Eng- 
 land the eight-bore is the favorite. As regards shooting, 
 pure and simple, a ten can' t compete with an eight any 
 more than a twelve can with a ten-bore; but in order to 
 be a serviceable gun, if an eight-gauge, it must be of 
 considerable weight, and that is a bar against its use, 
 excepting where the shooter is at a stand-still be it in a 
 blind, boat, or on a pass; add to which, he must be of 
 
 28 
 
434 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 powerful build to shoot for any length of time with a 
 very heavy gun. 
 
 One thing must be borne in mind, else experience 
 may be dearly bought at the most inconvenient and 
 critical moment. A man accustomed to shooting a ten- 
 pound, ten-gauge gun at the trap and in the field will find 
 himself completely at sea when using a twelve pound 
 eight-gauge, and as most guns of that caliber go over 
 that weight, why, it is as well to get the swing of such a 
 monster well in hand before attempting to pull down 
 swift-flying birds with it; and as all wild fowl are of the 
 most rapid flight, it is apparent that nothing but perfect 
 control of the weapon will insure success when shooting 
 at this kind of game. 
 
 Experience has taught me this, that while I can 
 manage an llj-pound ten-bore of thirty-one-inch barrels, 
 when I attempt to wield a 13J-pound eight-gauge with 
 thirty-four-inch barrels, I simply get behind all fast-fly- 
 ing cross-shots, from the very fact that I can't swing the 
 heavier gun, through being unaccustomed to handle so 
 much weight of metal away off from the left hand, so 
 that, although my eight-bore with its full charge is unques- 
 tionably a better and much more powerful shooter than 
 any ten-bore, yet I certainly bag much more game with 
 the ten; and so it will be with most men unless they 
 become thoroughly accustomed to holding and moving, 
 with rapidity and precision, very heavy and long-barreled 
 guns. A light eight-bore is a most undesirable and 
 unwise venture; for, if loaded with full charge, it must be 
 an ^inordinate kicker, while if only half charge, it will do 
 no better execution than a ten-bore, and always will 
 remain a much more un wieldly weapon. Inside of twelve 
 pounds, therefore, for a double gun, better get a ten- 
 gauge, while a full-weighted eight will go from thirteen to 
 fifteen pounds. Such a gun will shoot, With comfort to 
 
GUNS. 435 
 
 the man behind it, seven drams of good powder and two 
 ounces of large shot. When thus loaded, it is quite clear 
 that a ten-bore with five drams and its 1 J ounces is simply 
 nowhere in comparison. 
 
 A thoroughly serviceable wild fowl gun should be as 
 heavy as the owner can handle with comfort and accuracy. 
 If it must weigh between eight and nine pounds, let it be 
 a twelve-bore; if between 9| and 10^, then, by all means, 
 a ten, while the barrels need not be over thirty inches in 
 length, unless very coarse, slow-burning powder is used, 
 then it may go to thirty-two. 
 
 All duck-guns should be bored specially with a view 
 to shooting heavy charges of powder without undue 
 recoil, and be so regulated that they will throw, with 
 compactness and regularity, large shot, as No. 6 is the 
 minimum size used at ducks. A properly bored gun will 
 put over 80 per cent, of its charge of No. 4 shot in a 
 thirty-inch circle at forty yards, while a really first- 
 class one will put fifty pellets of that size of shot on a 
 square foot at that distance. In no branch of shooting 
 is the advantage of choke -boring of so much benefit as in 
 turning out duck-guns, for here, range and penetration, 
 with closeness of delivery, are all-important. 
 
 Next to the shooting qualities of guns intended to be 
 carried in all weather, liable at any time to be drenched 
 from breech to muzzle, exposed to damp and rough usage 
 generally, comes the gun which, if I may use the expres- 
 sion, is nearest to being water-proof, or, rather, the kind 
 and make of gun that will stand the most exposure and 
 remain internally dry. 
 
 A perfect duck-gun would be one that could be 
 plunged into water in all its length, then withdrawn, 
 wiped off with a rag, and pronounced out of danger of 
 rust. There being no such gun so long as triggers are 
 used, the next approach to perfection is the kind that 
 
436 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 will admit of no water excepting through the trigger- 
 plate. It stands to reason that any style of action that will 
 allow water to penetrate into it, or the lock, from above, 
 is a faulty one for duck-guns; and while such systems may 
 do very well for trap-shooting, where a gun is seldom 
 exposed to the rain or snow, yet it should be eschewed 
 when selecting a gun for rough service in the field. 
 
 It is not the writer's object to particularize nor to 
 stigmatize certain makes of guns in this chapter, but it 
 is clear that any gun which, when open or closed, pre- 
 sents a gap, in which water or salt air may easily find its 
 way into its working-parts or mechanism, is decidedly 
 a defective style of gun for the wild-fowler; Jfor, even 
 with the staunchest one, water will eventually get into 
 the joints, and rust them, unless far more than the usual 
 amount of care and elbow-grease (besides other grease) be 
 plentifully and constantly bestowed on them. I will, 
 therefore, merely warn the novice to look to ' this, and 
 thereby save himself many an hour' s hard work, to say 
 nothing of the possibility of premature break-downs, 
 caused from rusty surfaces bearing against each other, 
 and therefore increasing the strain and wear and tear of 
 any piece of machinery. 
 
 A man who habitually uses a field or trap gun under 
 eight pounds in weight and with a crook of say two inches 
 at comb and three at butt, had better choose a rather 
 straight er stock when in quest of a ten or eleven pound 
 gun, especially if long in the barrels. A gun of seven 
 and a half pounds in weight and thirty-inch barrels, that 
 mounts perfectly with a certain crook, woiild be no crite- 
 rion upon which to order a 10^-pound, thirty-two-inch 
 barrel one. The light gun would naturally come up more 
 easily and with less exertion than the heavier one, so 
 that allowance must be made accordingly, and nothing 
 but experience will teach just how great or little the 
 
GUNS. 437 
 
 difference should be. Then, again, a crooked stock is 
 apt to cause a gun to drop at the muzzle, which is a fatal 
 error where long shots are in vogue, as the tendency 
 will be for it to drop at extreme ranges, while a muzzle 
 that holds well up will, in a measure, rectify this depres- 
 sion by giving the charge a higher trajectory. 
 
 In the matter of length of stock, duck-guns are best 
 made with rather shorter ones than those intended for 
 shooting in warm weather, when less and thinner clothing 
 is worn; for nothing is more aggravating than to be con- 
 tinually balked ,by having the heel chuck up against the 
 hunting-coat, and stay there fast as wax, just because an 
 extra flannel shirt may have been indispensable on a very 
 cold morning. 
 
 Rubber pads and all such contrivances are useful 
 enough in their way, in that they check the recoil so far 
 as the shoulder is concerned; but nothing will make a 
 kicking gun pleasant to shoot, and nothing but weight 
 and proper boring (with rational loading) will take up the 
 recoil; for although these appliances may deaden the 
 severity of the blow, yet the whole system receives the 
 shock, which, when often repeated, jars the shooter to 
 such an extent that all pleasure is lost, fine shooting 
 impossible, voluntary flinching inevitable, headache most 
 probable then good-bye sport. 
 
 My observation, covering, as it does, a good deal of 
 ground and a great many men, inclines me to the opinion 
 that a ten to ten and a half pound, thirty-inch barrel gun, 
 of ten bore, is about the very best gun for duck-shooting; 
 yet my good friend Fred. Kimble, of Peoria, 111., 
 reputed (and I declare I honestly believe it) the finest 
 shot at wild fowl in America, prefers a heavier and 
 much longer gun, his being one of eleven pounds in 
 weight, and barrels thirty-four inches long. That gun, 
 in his hands, with five drams of F. G. Dead Shot, good 
 
438 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 wadding, and one and a quarter of 4's, reaches ducks at 
 such tremendous heights, kills them so dead stone dead in 
 the- air that it seems sacrilegious to even mention one of 
 different dimensions. It may be that greater experience 
 in this, the most difficult of all shooting, would teach me 
 that longer barrels are of benefit. 
 
 Of one thing there can be no doubt; a well-bored 
 ten-gauge gun, with thirty-inch barrels, can be made to 
 shoot so compactly that it will be a sure killer, if prop- 
 erly held and loaded, up to fifty-five yards, nearly 
 always reliable at sixty, and generally good up to sixty- 
 five or seventy. Now, in order to fully understand this 
 part of the question, it is essential to clearly understand 
 the pace at which a duck flies. It is far easier to obtain 
 a gun that will kill at sixty yards seven times out of ten, 
 than it is to find a man capable of doing the steering 
 three times out of as many shots; in fact, it takes a 
 remarkably good marksman to kill and bag two ducks in 
 five shots in flight-shooting, even if shooting inside of 
 forty-five yards, while most men who are considered 
 good wild-fowl shots are content with bagging one duck 
 for every three shells. Up to forty yards, a charge of 
 loose shot does not lose much of its highest velocity; but 
 after going fifty yards, it commences to slacken to such 
 an extent that the holding ahead on all cross-shots is a 
 matter of great consideration. For instance, the lead 
 allowed on a duck flying across at forty yards should be 
 doubled if the bird is at sixty; and even then, unless a 
 good double allowance is given, the chances are the load 
 will get where the bird was "too late." 
 
 It would be absurd to lay down any given rule by 
 which this leading on cross-shots could be measured. 
 One man throws his gun to his shoulder, swings well 
 ahead, and pulls; another deliberately catches up to his 
 bird, leads it far more than the other, draws just a frac- 
 
GUNS. 439 
 
 tion of a second, and then pulls trigger. This man must 
 be extremely liberal in the allowance, if in nothing else, 
 for the duck is going ahead all this time. Then comes 
 the man whose muscles and nerves act in quickest con- 
 cert with his brain. This man does not lead his birds as 
 much, but still tie must pull in ahead if he would kill, 
 for nothing can overcome the flight of the bird at right 
 angles to the charge of shot nothing except getting the 
 load where the bird will be when it reaches it; and, by 
 the way, if, as many suppose, a load of shot could be 
 made to fly through the air flat as a plate, instead of 
 stringing out for several feet, it is very doubtful if any- 
 one could be found skillful enough to kill birds on the 
 wing, for then the connection of the bird and the shot 
 would have to be simultaneous, else they would never 
 meet. 
 
 The pattern of a shot-gun, therefore, as revealed on a 
 piece of paper, is very misleading, for although there 
 may be gaps and many places untouched by a single 
 pellet, yet were this paper a moving object it would be 
 pretty certain to fly into the shot by going across it, and 
 thereby allowing either the fastest or slowest pellets to 
 perforate it; hence it is that many guns that don't per- 
 form above the average when tried at paper circles, yet 
 as game-killers they answer admirably, giving, as they do, 
 a greater margin to the shooter, helping him, by their 
 large spread, to correct faulty aim or improper allowance, 
 where a very close-shooting gun just misses altogether. 
 Yet, as before stated, a duck-gun should be a long-range 
 one, for wild fowl are shy, wary birds, that take plenty 
 of hitting to double them up; and as cripples are, for the 
 most part, lost in many places, it is far better to miss 
 completely than wound a lot of fine birds, doomed to die 
 a lingering death, and furnish food for the marauders that 
 ceaselessly watch their prey. 
 
440 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 RESUME. 
 
 Many years ago, the average American sportsman, to 
 be well served, had to purchase his guns of English make, 
 for very few good and handsome guns were made in his 
 country as compared with those turned out abroad. 
 London then, as now, went in the van, for the most 
 beautiful and highest art in guns certainly claims Lon- 
 don as home. There is no disputing this. Still, magnifi- 
 cent guns are built in Birmingham, more particularly by 
 the Messrs. Scott & Son, who have so justly earned a 
 most enviable reputation, here and in many foreign coun- 
 tries, for the general excellence of their fire-arms. Tolley, 
 Greener, Bonehill, and others too numerous to mention, 
 make splendid guns, all well known in America, than 
 which, in its length and breadth, it would indeed be a 
 hard matter to find a more trying country on fire-arms. 
 
 Nowadays, and for several years back, guns are pro- 
 duced in America which, for range, durability, closeness 
 of fitting, and absolute worth, can not be excelled, at the 
 price, by any made the world over, so that it is quite 
 en regie for some of the English makers to attempt to 
 make it appear that the home guns are merely "mus- 
 kets," while theirs are works of art. This is a last gasp 
 of the man who finds his much- vaunted and highly over- 
 rated wares steadily pushed to one side, to allow others 
 possessing greater and more enduring merit to take preced- 
 ence. Such a master as Purdey, for instance, is totally 
 oblivious of any and all machine-made guns; they come 
 not into competition with his masterpieces. The man wh o 
 wants a Purdey is after something different from an 
 ordinary gun, though it be ever so good. He wants 
 symmetry, beauty, elegance, high-bred work all over, com- 
 bined with greatest shooting power and durability, and 
 he is willing to pay for his fancy and so he must; while, 
 
GUNS. 
 
 441 
 
 for actual service, a home-made gun, costing only one- 
 tenth as much, may be found to be just as well; but it can 
 never present the same appearance, nor have its exquisite 
 balance and grace of outline, and herein lie its principal 
 charms. 
 
 There are so many excellent makes of guns in this 
 country, that it is a good deal a matter of choice as to 
 which one we will select. The cheapest American guns 
 are to be preferred to common Birmingham or Belgian 
 makes, as they invariably fit closer in their joints, are 
 more durable, and, as a rule, are much better shooters; 
 aside from this, they are made with interchangeable parts, 
 so that any break-down can easily be remedied at a 
 trifling expense. 
 
 In so vast a country, and where so many thousands of 
 men use guns, there ought to be room for all; yet some 
 will get driven to the wall, and experience only will 
 teach many which are the best guns. 
 
COURSETO. 
 
 BY G. IRWIN KOYCE, M. D. 
 
 ]0 other field sport or contest with animals 
 attracts such universal attention as coursing. 
 It is devoid of unpleasant and objectionable 
 features that attach to horse-racing, gun- 
 ning, and many other legitimate field sports, 
 which in themselves are comparatively harmless; but 
 associations attending them prevent their being engaged 
 in or enjoyed by those who are endowed with intensified 
 moral sentiments. 
 
 But coursing, or contesting the speed of greyhounds, 
 although comparatively new in this country as a scien- 
 tific contest, has an assured popularity, and justly so, for 
 the old and young, ladies and gentlemen, can attend a 
 coursing meet with perfect propriety, and with the most 
 intense pleasure. 
 
 Local clubs are being formed in all portions of the 
 United States, and the graceful greyhound is eagerly 
 sought after, not only for field-work, but as a suitable 
 companion for a lady on horseback or a gentleman on a 
 stroll, and as a necessary adjunct to complete an elegant 
 turnout, and also as an ornament for the lawn. 
 
 The younger Xenophon, in his description of the grey- 
 hound when first introduced into Greece, says: 
 
 u In figure the most high-bred are a prodigy of beauty 
 their eyes, their hair, their color, their bodily shape 
 throughout. Such brilliancy of gloss is there about the 
 spottiness of the parti-color, and, in those of uniform 
 
 (443) 
 
444 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 color, such glistening over the sameness of tint, as to 
 afford a most delightful spectacle to an amateur of 
 coursing. 
 
 " I have myself bred up a swift, hard-working, cour- 
 ageous, sound-footed dog. He is most gentle and kindly 
 affectioned, and never before had I any such a dog for 
 myself or my friend, or my fellow sportsman. When 
 not actually engaged in coursing, he is never away from 
 me. If a short time only has passed since he saw me or my 
 friend, he jumps repeatedly by way of salutation, and 
 barks with joy as a greeting to us. He has also different 
 tones of speech, and such as I never heard from any other 
 dog. Now I do not think that I ought to be ashamed to 
 chronicle the name of this dog, or let posterity know 
 that Xenophon the Athenian had a, greyhound called 
 Horme, possessed of the greatest speed and intelligence 
 and fidelity, and excellent in every point." 
 
 The Greek sportsmen held their greyhounds in the 
 highest regard, even employing servants as bed-fellows, 
 and would exact as much attention from them as they 
 required shown to their children. 
 
 Until the last century, the common people were not 
 allowed to possess a greyhound in many portions of 
 Europe, and even to-day they are acknowledged the aris- 
 tocrats among dogs. 
 
 Should I attempt to give a full history of the grey- 
 hound and coursing, it would fill a large volume; but 
 being limited in space, it will suffice to say that coursing, 
 or hunting wild animals with fleet-footed dogs, is of very 
 ancient origin, and the greyhound, in a somewhat varied 
 form from what we now see, was one of the first dogs 
 mentioned in history, and is seen sculptured on the ruins 
 of some of the most ancient structures. 
 
 They were originally employed in the chase for large 
 game, as tigers, wolves, wild boars, deer, etc., and were 
 
COURSING. 445 
 
 necessarily of a larger and more ferocious type; but as 
 the larger game became less numerous, the form, size, and 
 disposition of the greyhound was materially changed, 
 until to-day we have several varieties of the same species, 
 different countries having a greyhound best adapted to 
 the purpose for which they are made most useful to their 
 owners. 
 
 The different varieties will be briefly considered, and 
 to prevent confusion a classification will be chosen that 
 will enable anyone to distinguish the variety to which 
 each belongs, and breeders and owners will do well to 
 adhere to this classification. 
 
 We often hear mentioned the deer-hound, the stag- 
 hound, boar-hound, wolf-hound, and these terms can be 
 applied with equal propriety to the Scotch greyhound, 
 the large fox-hound, the Russian greyhound, or even the 
 Great Dane, and endless confusion is the result; and in 
 order to avoid any misunderstanding, I shall arrange 
 them in the following order: 
 
 Scotch } I Persian 
 
 English > Greyhound. -j Russian 
 Grecian ) ( Italian 
 
 We have only included the best-known and well- 
 authenticated varieties, although there maybe other dogs, 
 bearing a resemblance to the greyhound, that are 
 used in hunting game by sight, as the French matin, 
 which, however, resembles the collie quite as closely as 
 the greyhound, and, in fact, is made useful as a herder. 
 Other varieties, as the Irish wolf-hound, so called, might 
 with propriety be included in the list; but they so closely 
 resemble the Scotch greyhound, and are so nearly extinct, 
 that they are hardly worthy of a separate classification. 
 
 As to the origin of the name greyhound, very little has 
 been definitely learned. Some authors claim that the name 
 was derived from Grsecus (Greek hound), while others 
 
446 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 give it as their opinion that it was a corruption from gaze- 
 hound. 
 
 Be that as it may, the name is now firmly attached to 
 this family of dogs, and there being such a close resem- 
 blance in the several varieties, it is more comprehensive 
 to include all under the name greyhound. 
 
 It is generally conceded that they were of Celtic origin, 
 and were brought by the various tribes to the southern 
 part of Europe and the British Isles. 
 
 THE SCOTCH GREYHOUND 
 
 Will be first considered, because they are better known 
 and are more numerous than either of the other varieties, 
 except the English greyhound, and perhaps more nearly 
 resemble the old Celtic hound. 
 
 The extremes of size and peculiarity of coat were 
 brought about by breeding, to adapt them to the more 
 northern and rougher country, and in time they became 
 strong enough to pull down the largest stag. The coat is 
 long and wiry, and well calculated to afford protection 
 against injury and the vicissitudes of the weather in the 
 Scottish mountains. 
 
 They are large and powerfully made, with extra-strong 
 bone, and well muscled. The color is more commonly 
 a dark brindle or gray, but often light fawn, or even 
 mouse-color. 
 
 Being unable to pursue their game by sight in a mount- 
 ainous country, the power of scent was cultivated, and 
 speed was in a measure sacrificed to size; and fanciers of 
 the Scotch greyhound are careful to mention the fact that 
 they are able to pursue a wounded deer silently by the trail, 
 and when they have overtaken him, have the power and 
 courage to kill. 
 
 Their size naturally inspires confidence, their coarse, 
 bristly coat giving them the appearance of being much 
 
COURSING. 447 
 
 larger than they really are. A variety is coining into 
 favor in this country having a longer and softer coat than 
 the older dogs. The coat, though quite like that of the 
 collie or Newfoundland, lacks that close under-coat which 
 is the real protection against inclement weather, and, 
 when wet, they have a drabbled appearance, which will 
 detract from their usefulness as a rough country worker. 
 
 They are, as a rule, intelligent and affectionate to 
 their owner; but when in the field show undoubted cour- 
 age, and are emphatically killers. 
 
 They are gradually becoming more numerous in this 
 country, and will in time be found a necessity, with the 
 other types of greyhounds, in destroying the wolf and 
 coyote, which are gaining in numbers in the Western 
 country to a dangerous extent. 
 
 They have been employed successfully in the Rocky 
 Mountains in hunting elk, deer, and other large game, 
 and in coursing antelope on the plains. In the lowlands 
 of Scotland, they are used for coursing hares, but are a 
 smaller variety. 
 
 THE ENGLISH GREYHOUND 
 
 Is pre-eminently the most popular form of the greyhound 
 family, and has been brought nearer to a state of 
 perfection. 
 
 As the larger game became nearly or quite extinct in 
 England, and the hare only remained for the greyhound 
 to pursue, he was gradually reduced in size, the coat 
 became closer, and speed and ability to turn more clev- 
 erly was cultivated, and for over 100 years they have 
 been employed in scientific contests; and to-day they are 
 nearly a match for the swiftest hare in this country or 
 in England, but, like the thoroughbred horse, have 
 undoubtedly reached the height of speed possible to 
 attain, and only now arid then one appears having 
 
448 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 phenomenal speed and working power, that gives him a 
 manifest pre-eminence above his fellows. 
 
 To within a few years, little attention has been given 
 to careful breeding in this country, and, as a result, we 
 more commonly see a large, coarse dog, showing an out- 
 cross with some other breed of dog; but as the interest in 
 coursing increases, a strain will be developed that will be 
 able to contest the honors with the best-bred specimens 
 on their native heath. 
 
 No attention has ever been given to breeding any 
 special color, and a greyhound may be the color of any 
 other dog known. The name greyhound has no reference 
 to color whatever. 
 
 They have been trained to run altogether by sight, 
 and the power of scent has lain dormant for want of exer- 
 cise; but should a pair of greyhounds be allowed to run a 
 trail, and encouraged to do so, the offspring will show 
 the same inclination in a marked degree. 
 
 It is not an uncommon sight to see a greyhound take 
 the trail of a wolf before a pack of fox-hounds, and run 
 by the scent for miles, far in advance of the pack. 
 
 Even the imported greyhounds, from the best strains 
 in England, are quite diligent in picking up the trail, 
 when unsighted, from a rabbit they have been pursuing. 
 
 Why such erroneous ideas in regard to this breed are 
 held, it is difficult to conceive; but the great majority of 
 those not familiar with their peculiarities entertain the 
 view that they 'are neither intelligent or affectionate. 
 All kinds of animals have their individual peculiarities, 
 like human beings, and the greyhound is no exception to 
 the rule. 
 
 Some of them are as sensitive and delicate as a young 
 fawn, while others are as coarse and stubborn as a mule, 
 possess the courage of a bull-dog, and are what would 
 be called good watch-dogs. 
 
COUESING. 449 
 
 Sir Phillip Warwick, in writing of Charles I., who was 
 as fond of a greyhound as his son Charles II. was of a 
 spaniel, says of him: 
 
 ' ' Methinks because it shows his dislike for a common 
 court vice, it is not unworthy the relating of him, that 
 one evening, his dog scratching at his door, he com- 
 manded me to let him in, whereupon I took the liberty 
 to say, ' Sir, I perceive that you love a greyhound better 
 than you do a spaniel.' 
 
 " 'Yes,' says he, ' for they equally love their master, 
 but do not flatter him so much.' ' 
 
 They are quiet and dignified, and not as demonstrative 
 as many other varieties of dogs, but to their owners dis- 
 play marked affection and a high grade of intelligence. 
 
 Again referring to color, we will say that it is a matter 
 of taste as to the color selected. For exhibition only, the 
 fawn, mouse, or white is preferable, but some old coursers 
 contend that the darker colors, as black or brindle, are 
 more hardy; but observation will show that color has 
 very little to do in influencing speed or endurance. To 
 combine the greatest speed with the most pleasing color 
 and outline, should be the results aimed at in breeding. 
 
 We also find a considerable variation in size, ranging 
 from 35 to 100 pounds; but the heavier dogs are not 
 adapted to coursing hares, and are only used to hunt 
 larger game. They are more showy, and for the city, to 
 be used as coach-dogs, are more desired than the smaller 
 greyhounds. 
 
 A model greyhound should be about sixty pounds in 
 weight, with the muscular system evenly developed, with 
 
 ' ' A head like a snake, 
 A neck like a drake, 
 A breast like a bream (a fish), 
 A back like a beam, 
 Paws like a cat, 
 
 A tail like a rat." 
 29 
 
450 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The head should be long, and slightly wedge-shaped, 
 with ears small and well set upon the head. The eye 
 should be moderately full, with an expression of alertness, 
 and possessed of a power to see objects at a great dis- 
 tance. 
 
 The neck is an important factor, and should be long, to 
 correspond to the length of the legs, in order to enable 
 him to seize the hare, while running at the height of his 
 speed, without throwing extra weight on the fore quar- 
 ters, and to prevent falling. 
 
 The neck should taper from the shoulders to the head, 
 and should be slightly arched. The chest should be 
 capacious, with ribs well sprung, but not so wide at the 
 lower portion as to prevent a free action to the elbows. 
 
 The shoulders should be broad and deep, and placed 
 obliquely. 
 
 The fore legs should be nearly straight, with only a 
 slight curve at the pasterns, and well set on the feet, 
 which should stand straight, neither turning in or out. 
 
 The loin should be strong, moderately wide, gradu- 
 ally tapering from the middle to the attachments, and 
 well arched, and free from any appearance of coarseness, 
 and not too long. With muscular hind quarters and a 
 well-developed loin, a dog has the advantage in the pro- 
 pulsory motion over another dog deficient in this partic- 
 ular, be he ever so perfectly developed otherwise. 
 
 The hind legs should be wide as well as thick, with 
 well-bent stifles, and hocks placed low down. 
 
 The tail must be long, well set on, and gradually taper- 
 ing from the body to the extremity, where it should be 
 no larger than a lead pencil. The carriage of the tail by 
 a greyhound has considerable influence in giving a pleas- 
 ing appearance to his outline. It should be carried low 
 down, and only rolled sufficiently so that the end points 
 toward the top of the hips. 
 
COURSING. 451 
 
 The feet may be either cat-like or more like the hare's 
 foot; but a foot that avoids either extreme is preferable. 
 It should be close, giving the dog the appearance of 
 standing on his toes. A splay-footed dog is to a great 
 disadvantage, especially when running a plowed field. 
 
 The bones should be large, but not coarse, in order to 
 give firm attachment to the muscles. 
 
 For coursing, the male should weigh about sixty 
 pounds and the female fifty -five. 
 
 The Grecian and Persian greyhounds are owned and 
 bred almost exclusively in the countries from which they 
 derive their names, and are little known in connection 
 with public coursing. 
 
 The Grecian greyhound is not as large as the English 
 greyhound, and has a coat of hair more like a setter, with 
 rather long, drooping ears and a bushy tail. He has a 
 very pleasing and graceful outline. 
 
 The Persian greyhound is smaller than the English 
 greyhound, but made on a more graceful model. On the 
 body, the coat is closer than the Grecian, but the ears 
 have a coat of long, silky hair, like a spaniel. The ears 
 are long and drooping, and 'the legs are more or less 
 feathered, like the setter. The tail is long, and well 
 curved, and is unfortunately provided with a super- 
 abundance of long, bushy hair, giving it the appearance 
 of being overburdened. 
 
 They are used for coursing the hare, antelope, wild 
 ass, and boar. Although they are slender and delicate 
 in appearance, they are possessed of most wonderful 
 courage. 
 
 They are used, in connection with the falcon, in pursu- 
 ing the wild ass and antelope, which are more than a 
 match for even these fleet-footed dogs; and not infre- 
 quently the rifle is brought into requisition to assist in 
 their capture, as these fearless riders pursue the game 
 
452 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 over the roughest mountainous country, across ravines, 
 through swift-flowing streams, undaunted by the most 
 formidable obstacles. 
 
 The Russian greyhound, which is more commonly 
 called the Siberian wolf-hound, is probably the most 
 majestic and noble specimen of the greyhound. He is a 
 large, powerful fellow, with the courage of a lion, and the 
 speed and endurance of both the Scotch and English 
 greyhounds. 
 
 They are used for killing large game, especially the 
 wolf, but are occasionally used in following the hare. 
 They hunt by scent as well as by sight, and are often 
 taken out in packs in hunting the wolf. 
 
 The coat is long, soft, and silky, with a close under- 
 coat, that enables them to endure the rigors of the Rus- 
 sian winter. Their color is a dark brown, or gray, with 
 variations in shading. They are owned mostly by the 
 nobility in Russia, and but few specimens of the breed 
 can be found in this country. 
 
 Undoubtedly they would be well adapted to our North- 
 western country, being well able to endure the cold, a,nd 
 would materially assist in ridding the country of the 
 wolves and coyotes. 
 
 THE ITALIAN GTREYHOUND 
 
 Is emphatically a parlor pet, and is of no practical use in 
 the pursuit of game. In their outline they resemble the 
 English greyhound, but are as delicate in structure as a 
 young fawn, and being natives of a warm country, are 
 extremely sensitive to cold. They have less diversity of 
 color, being usually of a delicate, golden fawn-color, but 
 are frequently mouse-color, or may be pure white, or motr 
 tied, and are very attractive in the drawing-room. 
 
 Their weight is about ten pounds, but often much 
 heavier, from careless breeding^ and some of the larger 
 
COURSING. 453 
 
 specimens have been used for coursing the hare or small 
 rabbit. 
 
 Now that coursing is thoroughly established in this 
 country as a popular pastime, and in view of the value 
 which must attach to the greyhound from now on, 
 special care should be exercised in breeding this 
 noble animal. An inferior greyhound shows defects 
 more quickly, to an experienced judge, than almost any 
 other breed. A departure from the laws of symmetry 
 detracts from that grace which they so perfectly illus- 
 trate in outline and motion. The laws governing the 
 reproduction of species are simple and easily applied, but 
 success in breeding depends upon an instinctive love for 
 the animal kingdom, combined with a close study of for- 
 mation. 
 
 The Darwinian theory of selection, if one acquaints 
 himself with it, will lead to success in breeding all kinds 
 of animals, for the rules laid down are always sure in 
 their results if properly applied. 
 
 It need not take a long series of experiments, requir- 
 ing years, for even a novice to produce a greyhound hav- 
 ing a beautiful outline, with the greatest speed attainable, 
 for there are enough good greyhounds in this country, 
 including those recently imported, to give a foundation 
 for breeding. 
 
 The first desideratum is speed, and the second is 
 ability to recover after turning a hare; but a perfect out- 
 line, with a pleasing color, with strength and endurance, 
 should by no means be ignored in an effort to produce a 
 speedy greyhound. 
 
 All of these qualities can be secured by careful 
 breeding. 
 
 The theory of selection, and its practical application, 
 is based on the principle that like begets like; and 
 by selecting both parents having the qualities desired 
 
454 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 largely developed, the offspring will likely have the 
 same developed in a still more intensified degree- 
 some of them, at least. Now, to overcome any marked 
 defect in either parent, and to prevent its being shown 
 in the young, select for a mate to the one defective, one 
 having the peculiarity largely developed. 
 
 In some of the produce the defect will be entirely 
 overcome, while in others of the same litter it will plainly 
 show. Retain for future breeding those showing the 
 desired points, and discard the defective ones. 
 
 Always keep the best. 
 
 Unless these rules are observed, failure will nearly 
 always result. 
 
 How often we see disappointment in breeding, when an 
 inexperienced person, transient in his enthusiasm, but 
 having an abundance of cash, attempts to reproduce a 
 perfect specimen of any variety of the canine race by 
 purchasing and mating two prize-winners, one taking 
 honors on the bench and the other in the field. Either, 
 for the purpose designed, have the qualities desired, and 
 justly won the medals, but a marked dissimilarity of 
 structure, and being of a distinct strain, and possibly 
 defective in the same points, prevents their mixing prop- 
 erly, and their offspring are quite worthless; and the 
 novice is disgusted, sells out at a sacrifice, and will 
 contend that he was swindled in the purchase. 
 
 Had a scientific breeder been consulted, he would have 
 seen at a glance that it was an improper mating. 
 
 Not that this is always the case, for frequently one 
 blunders into success, and some of the best combination 
 dogs have been produced in this way; but should the 
 matter be traced up carefully, it would be found that, 
 more frequently than otherwise, the results were obtained 
 by one conversant with % the laws governing the reproduc- 
 tion of species. 
 
COURSINQ. 455 
 
 One of the principal causes of failure in breeding is in 
 leaving these matters in the hands of attendants, who 
 have little or no interest further than to obey orders, 
 when it does not conflict with their ease and pleasure. 
 
 A person not having time to personally superintend 
 the mating of any fine stock, should not engage in breed- 
 ing with any expectation of success or profit. 
 
 The care of the greyhound while rearing its young, 
 and while in training for field contests, should be care- 
 fully studied; and, as the interest extends, the novice will 
 eagerly seek all information obtainable, that he may 
 compete successfully with those having obtained their 
 knowledge by careful observation and an expensive 
 experience. 
 
 The first requisite is to obtain a pair of greyhounds 
 from an honorable and successful breeder, and then bear 
 in mind that the training should really begin sixty-three 
 days previous to their birth. The mother should be 
 carefully fed, and all the affection possible lavished on 
 her. 
 
 She should be exercised regularly to within ten days 
 of the birth of the future winners. 
 
 The disposition, and many other qualities desired, can 
 be stamped in the young, through the m/bther, the first 
 thirty days of conception; and in order to give activity, 
 an eagerness for the chase, and a desire to kill, the 
 mother should be taken into the field and allowed to 
 share in the chase. To allow her to lie around the ken- 
 nel or yard, and accumulate fat and laziness, is positively 
 injurious to the mother and young both. 
 
 While in the field, great care should be exercised, lest 
 she become exhausted or overheated, especially the 
 latter. After the birth of the pups, the mother should 
 be fed all she will possibly eat, and food of rather a 
 sloppy nature. The little ones should be fed about the 
 
456 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 fourth week, or earlier if they are not receiving sufficient 
 nourishment from the mother. 
 
 The food should be made of boiled milk, rolled 
 crackers, stale bread, and well- cooked meat picked up 
 into small fragments, with a moderate amount of thor- 
 oughly cooked oatmeal. 
 
 Feed this mixture twice daily for two weeks before 
 fully weaning them. 
 
 The stomach and bowels will by this means become 
 accustomed to the change gradually, and when finally 
 taken from the mother will not suffer in the least. 
 
 They should now be fed three times a day, and with 
 regularity. 
 
 After the third month, the food can be made more solid, 
 and soft bones can be given them now and then. Table- 
 scraps, well selected, are often made a standard diet for 
 growing pups, but the greatest care should be exercised 
 in selecting them, especially when obtained from hotels, 
 or acid substances, pie, an excess of mustard, salt, or 
 pepper will be inadvertently added, and may cause a dis- 
 turbance of the stomach or bowels that will be difficult 
 to remedy. 
 
 Admonish the cook to provide only meal, bread, pota- 
 toes and other vegetables. A gentle admonition in this 
 case will not suffice, and a repetition will do very little 
 injury. 
 
 For the first nine months, pups should be allowed to 
 run about with little or no restraint, and should be fed 
 liberally, and kept sleek and fat. If allowed sufficient 
 liberty, they will take all the exercise that they require, 
 especially if there are two or more together. 
 
 If you are obliged to confine them to a kennel, supply 
 as much space as possible; but under no circumstances 
 should they be kept constantly on a chain before they 
 have reached maturity. Other breeds of dogs will appar- 
 
COURSIXGK 457 
 
 ently do well and thrive, and only see freedom for a very 
 few minutes each day, but a greyhound is not made that 
 way. 
 
 Although you may exercise your authority, and 
 oblige them to go into the kennel, still it is better to 
 induce them to go in by offering a bit of food. Never 
 attempt to subdue their will or break their spirits, 
 for a greyhound becomes cowed and sneaky by harsh 
 treatment; their usefulness is greatly lessened, or, more 
 likely, they are ruined entirely. When of mature age, 
 they can, with patience, be taught anything, but usually 
 their education is sadly neglected, and they give one the 
 impression that they have little intelligence; but take those 
 having ordinary dog sense, and carefully teach them 
 various tricks, and see how readily they will take to their 
 lessons after finding out what is wanted of them. 
 
 Actual field- training can begin about the tenth month, 
 especially with the females, as they develop about six 
 months earlier than the dogs. 
 
 Allow them to follow the carriage or saddle-horse for 
 a short distance each day; but until the muscles are well 
 developed, they should not be allowed in the field after 
 game. 
 
 When first taken to the coursing-ground, let them 
 accompany a pair of good reliable killers; and after the 
 game is secured, allow them to mouth it, and encourage 
 them by a friendly pat. Soon they will learn the trick, 
 and then may assist one dog for a race or two. They 
 may now be twelve months old, and a pair of youngsters 
 may be taken afield together. 
 
 Their diet can be changed gradually to a drier and more 
 concentrated food, and the largest meal given at night, 
 that digestion may be completed while they are sleeping. 
 A bit of dry bread or a few small pieces of meat in the 
 morning is all-sufficient. 
 
458 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 A greyhound, like a wolf, will pursue his game best 
 when hungry; and even two days of abstinence will do a 
 dog very little injury, and will enable him to show almost 
 phenomenal speed for a special occasion. 
 
 A full stomach prevents perfect lung action, and a 
 greyhound may be permanently injured by allowing 
 him to exert himself to his utmost, as an ambitious dog 
 will, immediately after a large meal. 
 
 The food best adapted to mature dogs, while preparing 
 them for field contests, can be prepared daily with the 
 best results. Prepared food, or patent biscuit, is subject 
 to changes of the atmosphere, and becomes stale and 
 mouldy by age, and is soon inhabited by a numerous 
 family of insects, and often does much injury to dogs in 
 training. 
 
 An article that will best serve the purpose for a steady 
 diet can be made as follows: 
 
 Boil a quantity of beef or mutton in sufficient water 
 to make a rich soup; when the meat is well done, salt a 
 little, separate the meat from the bones, and cut in small 
 fragments; mix with this equal parts of old bread, well- 
 cooked oatmeal and corn-meal, making a batter about 
 the consistency of ordinary corn-cake batter; spread it 
 quite tjiin in a bake-pan, and bake till quite dry and hard. 
 
 This will keep for some time, and will make a most 
 excellent training-food, although it is more difficult to 
 prepare than ordinary table-scraps, meat and the like, but 
 will pay in the end. 
 
 Of course, a little judgment should be used, and the 
 dog given more or less of a variety daily. 
 
 Vegetable matter is a necessity, given in some form, 
 potatoes, carrots, or beets being the best. 
 
 The food should never be made sloppy for a greyhound 
 in training, and only enough food given to keep him in 
 good health, with coat glossy, and with the muscular 
 
COURSING. 459 
 
 system developing gradually, without showing an ounce 
 of excessive adipose tissue. 
 
 A raw bone may be given twice per week. Dogs 
 seem to require an excess of carbonate and phosphate of 
 lime, and their efforts to secure the meat on the bone 
 will keep the tartar from forming on the teeth, and also 
 keep the gums healthy. 
 
 When it is impossible to prepare the food as directed, 
 give carefully selected table-scraps. 
 
 Whatever the diet may be, try and select food that 
 you can surely supply to the end of the coursing season, 
 and adhere to it strictly. 
 
 To make a radical change two weeks before a coursing 
 meeting is fatal to success. Dogs were brought to the 
 meeting at Great Bend, a few days previous to the meet- 
 ing, that had been petted and fed at home like one of the 
 family, but hearing of Spratt's biscuit being such a valu- 
 able training-food, their owners would feed them quite 
 liberally of the biscuit, hoping to supply a special stim- 
 ulus for the occasion; but what was their disappoint- 
 ment to find the poor creatures' bowels out of condition, 
 and quite undone for a six days' contest. 
 
 We had other examples, where young dogs had been 
 fed on the coarsest corn- meal to within three weeks of the 
 meeting, and then changed to a diet selected from the 
 best hotel-scraps; and although they were fed sparingly 
 of this, they became "logy" and out of heart, and of 
 course made a very sorry showing in the public contests, 
 although they were quite speedy. 
 
 Two meals per day is ample for a dog in training, but 
 one is much better if you accustom him to it from the 
 first. The heartiest meal should always be given at 
 night. 
 
 The quantity of food for each dog should be regulated 
 as before stated, and no two will require the same kind 
 
460 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 or amount; and to throw a large quantity on the ground 
 promiscuously, before a kennel of dogs in training, is the 
 sheerest nonsense. Some will eat an enormous quantity 
 in less time than we are telling it, while others may take 
 a bone and retire to a corner and only secure about a 
 mouthful. Each individual dog should be fed sepa- 
 rately. 
 
 There are various methods of giving exercise, but road- 
 work is, above all, absolutely necessary. This may be 
 given by allowing the dog to follow the carriage or a 
 horse under the saddle. It is a favorite method of the 
 English to lead their greyhounds in the field for hours 
 daily. This is too laborious, and requires too much time, 
 unless one has no other business except to care for a 
 couple of greyhounds; even then we believe that, after 
 the first few days, a walk for a half-mile, a trot for a 
 mile, a gallop for another mile, a run for a quarter, and a 
 walk in, is far preferable. 
 
 The use of the brush, followed by a vigorous hand- 
 rubbing, is invaluable, and should be employed as one of 
 the most reliable assistants in fitting up greyhounds. 
 
 The principles of the massage treatment are quite 
 applicable in this case. Roll, pinch, rub, and pat the 
 whole body, especially the shoulders, loins, and hips. 
 This passive exercise, if thoroughly given, will take the 
 place largely of field-work. 
 
 Yery few actual chases should be given the greyhound 
 in training, and only enough to make him eager. Two, or 
 at the utmost three, races per week after rabbits is ample 
 for any greyhound in training; for, if allowed to pursue 
 game too frequently, they lose that eagerness so much 
 desired in a greyhound, and are quite apt to acquire a 
 habit of running cunning, or waiting behind for the head 
 dog to turn the rabbit, which they soon learn will be done 
 when they are closely pursuing the game. 
 
COURSING. 461 
 
 This will disqualify any dog from further competition 
 in a public coursing meeting, as will be seen by the rules 
 governing coursing. 
 
 A greyhound after the fourth running season is not 
 safely employed in public coursing, although the famous 
 Miss Glendyne, of England, ran her coursing honestly 
 last spring, winning the Waterloo purse, although she 
 was defeated for the Waterloo cup by a three-legged 
 hare being raised at her first course, and her opponent 
 did such vigorous work at the start, and caught the lame 
 hare so quickly, that she scarcely got to her work. She 
 divided the Waterloo cup in 1885; won it in 1886. 
 
 However, it is much safer to leave the old ones in the 
 kennel when selecting a brace for a public contest. 
 
 SLIPS. 
 
 When taking a pair of dogs into the field for training, 
 a pair of slips is as necessary as a harness for a horse 
 when you desire to drive. The advantage to a dog so taught 
 is very appreciable in a close course, for the run up to 
 the hare may be the only advantage one dog may have 
 over his adversary in a sharply contested trial. 
 
 The slips are an ingenious device, so constructed that 
 a pair of dogs are held together as though in a yoke. 
 
 The two straps around their necks, instead of being 
 buckled, are held by a spring, as the dogs stand side by 
 side. The straps are attached to a piece of steel by 
 swivels. This will enable the dogs to turn without get- 
 ting twisted or tangled up. A leading-strap is attached 
 to one of the swivels, and passes back between the dogs 
 to the slipper, or man who does the leading. Through 
 this round leading-strap runs a strong string, on one end 
 of which is fastened a small iron pin. This pin holds the 
 collars in place until the slipper has the word from the 
 judge to let them go. He then pulls the string, and both 
 
462 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 collars are loosened from the dogs' necks, and they are 
 free to pursue the hare untrammeled by anything, and 
 they are thereby given an even start in the race. 
 
 THE JACK-RABBIT. 
 
 There is probably but one animal that will call into 
 activity all of the qualities of the greyhound, and that is 
 the jack-rabbit; and he being such an important factor in 
 coursing, we deem it essential to give a general descrip- 
 tion of him, for the benefit of the many readers who have 
 never seen one of these little fleet-footed residents of the 
 plains. 
 
 He is, undoubtedly, the swiftest animal in the world 
 for a short distance; and when in good condition, and in 
 training for being pursued, frequently he is more than a 
 match for the swiftest greyhound that ever had an 
 existence. 
 
 Their habitat is on the open prairie, from the eastern 
 border of Texas, Kansas, Nebraska, and Minnesota to the 
 Pacific Coast. In different localities their size and color 
 vary considerably, but they all retain their peculiarities 
 where found. In Dakota they are very large, and are 
 lighter in color, and have a thicker coat. 
 
 In New Mexico and vicinity they are very large, but 
 much darker in color than in Dakota and other Northern 
 States. 
 
 There are two varieties, the white-tail and the black- 
 tail; and, as the name would indicate, the tail is the dis- 
 tinguishing feature, although there are other marked 
 peculiarities worthy of mention. 
 
 The black-tail has a lighter body and longer legs, and 
 the ears are tipped with seal-brown for about an inch. 
 The tail much resembles the common cotton-tail in 
 form, but on the upper surface is the same color as 
 the tips of the ears. They keep it rolled close to the 
 
COURSING. 463 
 
 back, and where it rests, there is also a streak of dark 
 brown. 
 
 The color is a light brown or gray, very closely 
 resembling the dry grass. The gray color gradually gets 
 lighter from the back to the under part of the body, 
 where it is pure white. 
 
 A full-grown jack-rabbit will weigh from eight to 
 fifteen pounds, the female being larger by two or three 
 pounds. 
 
 The white- tail variety has shorter legs, a heavier 
 body, with a closer coat, than the black- tail, and closely 
 resembles a young deer in color. The ears are shorter, 
 and tipped with black; the tail is pure white, about four 
 inches long, and has a coat of hair less compact than 
 the black-tail; it tapers to a point, and when running is 
 carried straight back. This variety is found in greater 
 numbers on the open buffalo-grass prairies, and is often 
 spoken of as the prairie hare, and probably quite resembles 
 the English hare in many respects. 
 
 The jack-rabbit never burrows; but when closely 
 pressed by a greyhound, especially when nearly ex- 
 hausted, will suddenly dash into a badger-hole, or even a 
 wolf-den, and not infrequently will take refuge in an old 
 deserted burrow that will scarcely conceal their form from 
 view. They rarely resort to a thicket, but depend on speed 
 and ability to dodge their pursuers to effect their escape. 
 
 Their home, or form, as it is called, is a slight depres- 
 sion in the ground, under a tuft of grass. They back into 
 this, and flatten themselves out, with ears laid close to 
 their backs, only about half of the body being exposed. 
 With the grass blowing over them, and with the color so 
 nearly the same hue, it is a difficult matter to see them 
 when not more than six feet away. They remain at 
 home during the day, but are on foot as soon as the 
 shades of night appear. Not infrequently they are found 
 
464 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 on a plowed field, or stubble; but even here, where one 
 would naturally expect to see them exposed, they have 
 the faculty of affiliating so closely with mother earth 
 that they are not seen until they rise, like a phantom, and 
 glide away. Their coat of hair is of that texture that 
 enables them to stand the severest cold or the scorching 
 rays of a southern sun. 
 
 The young are brought into the world with a full coat 
 of hair, and eyes open, and are soon jumping about. 
 They are quite different from the cotton-tail in this 
 respect, which are born hairless, and remain in the nest 
 for about a week. 
 
 The natural enemies of the jack-rabbit are the wolf 
 and hawk. When raised from his form, and if not 
 closely pressed, he will go away with a sort of hop-step- 
 and-jump, with ears erect, and will delude a novice with 
 the impression that he is crippled. If carefully observed, 
 it will be seen that they have the two hind legs close 
 together, and use them as one. As they hop away, they 
 change from side to side in a very defiant way, now and 
 then making a long, high jump. These tactics are kept 
 up for some time if pursued by a common cur dog; but 
 turn a greyhound loose in the wake of a jack-rabbit, and 
 he will find that there is a force in nature hitherto 
 unknown to him, and he unfurls his legs, drops his ears 
 close to his body, and you can only see a streak of jack- 
 rabbit half a mile long. When caught by a greyhound, 
 they are killed almost as quickly as though shot by a rifle - 
 ball, and for this reason all the elements of cruelty are 
 abolished in coursing. He is a prolific breeder, and will 
 probably never become extinct, and we can be assured of 
 always having a supply on which to try our greyhounds. 
 
 The method of competition, or the manner of contest- 
 ing the speed of two greyhounds, will now be considered. 
 The dogs are drawn by lot, and in pairs, and an experi- 
 
COUKSING. 465 
 
 enced man, called a slipper, is selected to handle the 
 dogs while in the field. One dog wears a red collar and 
 the other a white, made of flannel cloth, one light thick- 
 ness, for the purpose of enabling the judge to distinguish 
 the dogs while running. This is necessary if the two 
 dogs are of the same color. When starting to a course, 
 a long line of beaters ladies and gentlemen on horse- 
 back is thrown out, in the shape of a crescent. The 
 dogs, led by the slipper, are in front, and the judge close 
 by. The spectators are permitted to follow close in the 
 wake of the beaters. It is a grand sight to see such a 
 cavalcade marching over the smooth prairie, there having 
 been at least 3, 000 people in attendance at the meeting, in 
 1888, of the American Coursing Club, at Great Bend, 
 Kan., where the meetings are held. 
 
 The crescent form in which the beaters move is for 
 the purpose of forcing the rabbit to the center, and before 
 the dogs. 
 
 As he jumps from his form, the slipper attracts the 
 attention of the dogs to him by some exclamation, and, 
 as they take sight, they dash for him with such force as 
 to nearly upset the slipper; and when the rabbit is about 
 eighty yards away, the word is given by the judge, the 
 slipper pulls the string, the collars are loosened from 
 their necks, and away they go. Such a long lead gives 
 the greyhounds an opportunity to display their speed, 
 and affords the rabbit a chance to escape; and not infre- 
 quently he takes advantage of this kindly offer, and never 
 lets^ the greyhounds reach him, and escapes in tall grass 
 or weeds A race is decided on the principle that the 
 dog showing the greatest speed and ability to turn the 
 quickest is the superior greyhound, and necessarily does 
 more toward catching the hare, although he may hot kill 
 him; and in order to estimate their relative value, the 
 work done is counted by 
 
 30 
 
466 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 POINTS. 
 
 Speed is valued at one, two, or three points, and depends 
 on the degree of superiority shown; but speed alone is 
 not sufficient to decide a race, unless subsequent work is 
 done, except in a very long race to covert. 
 
 The go-by is where one dog, at any stage of the race, 
 starts a length behind his adversary and runs by him, 
 and gets a length in the lead; for this he is given two 
 points, or, if they are running on a large circle, and he 
 passes him on the outside, he is counted three 
 points. 
 
 The turn is where the rabbit is so closely pressed that 
 he turns at a right angle; for this the dog making the 
 turn is scored one point. 
 
 The wrench is where the rabbit is turned slightly 
 from a straight line, but at less than a right angle, and 
 still keeps the same direction; for this the greyhound is 
 counted a half point. 
 
 The trip is an unsuccessful effort to hold a rabbit, 
 although the greyhound may touch him, or even tumble 
 him, and counts one point. 
 
 The Mil is counted two points, one or nothing. If he 
 is caught by a greyhound while running straight away, 
 the highest count is given; but should one dog pick him 
 up as the foremost greyhound turns him back, he is not 
 allowed anything. 
 
 Those not conversant with the rules of coursing are 
 quite apt to give all credit to the dog that catches the 
 rabbit; and the greyhound that has done all the work, 
 and even turns the rabbit into his mouth, is given no 
 credit whatever. 
 
 These points can be repeated an unlimited number of 
 times in one race, and it keeps the judge on his mettle to 
 keep the counts, as they are rapidly repeated. 
 
COURSING. 467 
 
 One very important point in the rules, that is often 
 overlooked, is that after six successive points have been 
 made, the greyhound making them is counted double 
 for every point made after the six until the other dog 
 scores. 
 
 No allowance is made for an injury to a greyhound, 
 except lie be ridden over by the owner of the opposing 
 greyhound. 
 
 There can be but little jockeying in coursing, as the 
 dogs are free, and will do their utmost to kill the hare; 
 and for this reason the element of fairness enters largely 
 into this style of competition. Coursing proper is an 
 open field pastime, and the rabbits are free, and are 
 frightened from their resting-place; and they flee for 
 safety, and are only limited by the face of the earth. But 
 another method, called inclosed park coursing, has been 
 instituted, whereby the chase is confined to an inclosure, 
 and the rabbits are captured, and confined to a space 
 varying from 100 acres to several sections. They are 
 kept in bounds by a closely woven wire fence. They are 
 allowed their liberty until such time as they are required 
 for testing the speed of the greyhounds; they are then 
 driven into a corral, and are let out one at a time for 
 the races. 
 
 The race-track is usually a narrow space of 100 to 200 
 yards in width, and from one- half to a mile long. At 
 the end of the track, there is an escape for the rabbit 
 through a high board fence; so if the greyhound is 
 unable to catch him in this distance, he is free. They are 
 run over this track to the escape very frequently previous 
 to a formal competition; and when an old rabbit is 
 in good training, a greyhound stands very little show of 
 catching him. A grand stand is erected on each side of 
 the track, and the spectators are afforded a grand view of 
 the race from start to finish. 
 
468 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 Inclosed park coursing is not an experiment, as the 
 sport has been in vogue for a number of years in England, 
 Australia, and in California. 
 
 At Hutchinson, Kan., a model park has been com- 
 pleted within the past year, and arrangements have been 
 made for a large meeting annually. 
 
 There is a growing popularity for the park coursing, 
 and we will undoubtedly see parks established near many 
 of the Eastern cities. 
 
 The American Coursing Club meeting at Great Bend, 
 Kan., is the national and grand meeting of this country, 
 and will compare favorably with the great Waterloo meet- 
 ing at Altcar, England. The meeting is held in an open 
 field, or on a large ranch, comprising about seventeen sec- 
 tions in a body. It is situated on a vast plain, called the 
 Cheyenne Plains, and is as level as ground can be, afford- 
 ing a grand view for a mile. The jack-rabbits have always 
 found this well suited to their wants, and recently have 
 been well protected from hunters and dogs, and are in no 
 sense artificially prepared for the trials, but are hunted 
 in their natural state. They often flee to the elevated 
 ground, three miles from the center of the plains, and 
 escape their pursuers, the swift greyhounds. 
 
 At 9 o'clock in the morning of a pleasant October day, 
 the beaters are in line, and a long train of carriages are 
 close in the rear; and as they march across the level 
 stretch of country, with every mind centered on the one 
 object that will cause the blood to tingle in the veins, the 
 cry is given, " There he goes!" and a long pair of ears 
 rises like a phantom, and speeds away, challenging the 
 dogs for a trial of speed. 
 
 The quick-sighted greyhounds in an instant jump to 
 the limit of the slips, and the slipper races away with 
 them for a few feet, and then the word is given by the 
 judge; the cord is pulled, and away they go like a rocket, 
 
(469) 
 
470 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 with the judge, reporters, and owners of the greyhounds 
 close in the rear, while the spectators halt to view the 
 race. There are only two greyhounds in the race at one 
 time, and they are easily distinguished at a distance; 
 and as the favorite leads up, the excitement begins. The 
 red collar has turned the rabbit, with the white collar only 
 a jump behind; and as he makes an unsuccessful effort to 
 catch, bunny jumps nimbly to one side, and the grey- 
 hounds go on for a few feet, and while they are trying to 
 regain their stride the jack-rabbit has gained on his pur- 
 suers, and away he speeds for safety. The dogs turn, 
 catch sight of the fleeing game, and quickly settle 
 down for another dash. The red is again in the lead, 
 but the white is just getting to his work, and gradually 
 draws up to his antagonist; is now at his flank, now shows 
 a head in the lead, and in another moment is a full 
 length in the lead. " A go-by! a go-by!" is shouted from 
 hundreds of throats, and the white scores two points. 
 He is now at the rabbit, and another turn is made. The 
 gamy red is handy by, and before the rabbit fairly gains 
 his stride, he is forced 1p the tactics of jumping from 
 side to side to avoid his stroke, and six wrenches are 
 made. 
 
 The wrenches allow the white dog to draw up, and he 
 being but a point ahead, the interest deepens. 
 
 Away they stride, like a double team, for nearly a 
 quarter, with no appreciable advantage to either. The 
 pace is too hot for bunny, and gradually they draw up, 
 and a turn is made another and another in quick succes- 
 sion. The red dog makes a terrific dash to catch, but 
 only trips, loses his footing, and over and over he goes, 
 but is up again without injury, and is soon taking part 
 in the exchanges; but the white, seemingly cogniz- 
 ant of the fact that he has two points to make up, 
 exerts himself to the utmost, and, with a most phenom- 
 
COUKSING. 471 
 
 enal burst of speed, makes a straight go-by and kills the 
 rabbit. Up goes the white flag, and the wearer of the 
 white collar is the winner by four points; and the judge 
 hears the shouts from the spectators a mile away. 
 
 He dismounts to give his panting steed a moment's 
 rest, and secures the game as the owners of the dogs 
 hasten up to relieve their thirst from a well-filled flask of 
 pure water. 
 
 As the dogs are secured, another brace is placed in the 
 slips, and race follows race in quick succession. About 
 twelve races are run in a day, or more if the rabbits are 
 plentiful, and this is kept up for six successive days. In 
 a sixty-four-dog stake, there will necessarily be thirty- 
 two pairs the first round, and thirty-two winners; six- 
 teen pairs in the second, eight in the third, four in the 
 fourth, and two in the last round, leaving one grey- 
 hound winner over all. He will necessarily run six races 
 in as many days; but frequently, at the close, he may be 
 obliged to run two races in one day. The dog last run- 
 ning with the winner is called the runner up, because he 
 ran through the races up to the last race without being 
 defeated once. 
 
 To judge the races successfully, it requires a swift and 
 level-headed horse, a fearless rider, with quick perception 
 and staunchness, and thoroughly conversant with the 
 rules. 
 
 It is almost impossible to keep with the dogs; but the 
 frequent turns enable the judge to cut corners, and in this 
 manner is kept in sight. Not infrequently a badger-hole 
 suddenly appears, and as the horse attempts to avoid 
 it, he loses his footing, and a header is taken that dis- 
 turbs the judge's anatomy not a little; but no serious 
 accident has befallen anyone in three yearly meetings, 
 although several have been thrown from their horses 
 with considerable violence. 
 
472 UPLAND SHOOTING. 
 
 The old style of coursing is perhaps the most enjoya- 
 ble, it being in the nature of a wild, free gallop over the 
 smooth, level prairie, after a pack of, say twelve, grey- 
 hounds, uncoupled and free. 
 
 A private party of ladies and gentlemen, mounted on 
 ponies, meet in the suburbs of some small city or village, 
 and by a ride of three miles are on good running-grounds, 
 where the rabbits are numerous; and, after readjusting the 
 saddle-fastenings, the hunt begins. They have scarcely 
 formed in line before a rabbit is raised, and away go 
 dogs, and riders at their heels, yelling like a band of 
 Indians on the war-path, and often with the ladies in the 
 lead riding like mad. 
 
 The lady first in at the death secures the " brush," 
 which in this instance consists of a pair of long ears. 
 
 . Several rabbits are usually caught in a half -day' s hunt, 
 and all return brightened in spirits, and with appetites 
 sharpened to a keen edge. 
 
 Wolf or coyote hunting is similar to rabbit coursing, 
 and is indulged in quite as frequently, only it differs 
 somewhat in the wind-up, there being a fierce fight 
 between dogs and wolf before the despoiler of the hen- 
 roosts is finally dispatched. 
 
 It is difficult to make a close start on the coyote, and 
 a long, hard ride straight away for five miles, over more 
 or less rough country, across streams, through corn-fields 
 and hedges, is expected, giving one a rare opportunity of 
 displaying good horsemanship. It is wonderfully exhila- 
 rating, and after once being enjoyed, leaves a strong 
 desire for a repetition of the pleasure. 
 
 Antelope coursing with greyhounds is usually attended 
 with considerable danger to both dogs and horses, as the 
 race is a long, straight-away run for miles on the open 
 prairie, without a turn. 
 
 The antelope being very keen of sight, is difficult to 
 
COUKSING. 473 
 
 approach, and will scarcely allow a party to get nearer 
 than a quarter of a mile. They run in a wide circle, and 
 the dogs have a long, stern chase to reach them. 
 
 Often the hunter can, by strategy, approach to within 
 100 yards, by making a detour, and coming upon them 
 from behind a slight elevation on the prairie; and by 
 this means the greyhound can make a sudden dash, 
 and secure an antelope before he fairly gets his stride. 
 They seize them by the ham-strings, and throw them to 
 the ground, and then take the throat. 
 
 The greyhound is frequently killed by the excessive 
 and long-continued exertion and heat. 
 
 Although the sport of coursing originated in England, 
 it appeals strongly to our American tastes. It is attended 
 with just enough of the spirit of competition, gives a 
 grand display of speed, showing the greyhound in his 
 true element, and partakes of a spice of adventure, and 
 shows a graceful rider to the best advantage, and is free 
 from cruelt} 7 . 
 
 As this delightful pastime is better understood, and 
 the aristocrat among dogs is more generally appreciated, 
 and truly his day is approaching, it will surpass in 
 interest all other out-door sports, and the greyhound will 
 be placed in the front ranks of the great canine family. 
 
 " Yet if for sylvan sport thy bosom glow, 
 Let thy fleet greyhound urge his flying foe. 
 With what delight the rapid course I view! 
 How does my eye the circling race pursue! 
 He snaps deceitful air with empty jaws; 
 The subtle hare darts swift beneath his paws. 
 She flys;.he stretches now with nimble bound; 
 Eager he presses on, but overshoots his ground. 
 She turns; he winds, and soon regains the way, 
 Then tears with gory mouth the screaming prey." 
 
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