THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE 8 1 



big bird rose from the grass thirty yards on one 

 side and vanished over the next swell. But no 

 dog moved, and we could see the top of his head 

 above the grass, and the outline of the nose 

 pointed toward the place from which the bird 

 had risen. 



As we came beside him he looked at us with 

 wistful glance, then licked his chaps and stared 

 ahead, vacantly but earnestly. We moved a 

 little ahead of him, but he declined to rise, and 

 there was no change on his countenance except 

 an air of deeper certainty. With sudden roar a 

 huddle of light-brown backs and snowy under- 

 wear burst from the ferns thirty yards ahead, 

 aimed for Minnesota, and went upward and 

 onward at a rate of speed surpassed only by the 

 ruffed grouse, and not very much by him. There 

 was not a twinkling to be lost, and both guns 

 cracked together. The bird in front of my 

 companion's gun went down in a flutter of white. 

 As the reader has lived twenty-five years with- 

 out knowing what became of the one the writer 

 shot at, it is possible he may survive the rest of 

 his allotted time in the bliss of equal ignorance. 



Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbb went a dozen more before the 



