170 GAME-BIRDS AT HOME. 



Of all the quail he had seen he had not yet one 

 in hand, and he thought the prospects slimmer 

 than ever. His dog seemed of the same opinion, 

 and looked at the fearful array of needles on the 

 prickly-pear with as much contempt for my 

 judgment in selecting hunting-ground as did his 

 master. But as we moved along the winding 

 avenues amid the grim shrubbery, birds by the 

 dozen came whizzing and chirping from out its 

 shaggy arms. Some scrambled up with wonder- 

 ful speed of foot along the thorny limbs before 

 taking wing, while others came darting out 

 under full headway. Some curled over our 

 heads, others shot out on the opposite side, 

 rising into sight for a twinkling in a dark blue 

 curve, while others on foot darted along the 

 ground to the next clump of cactus. 



There was no waiting for a shot. At almost 

 every step there was a whiz on one side, a buzz 

 on the other, and a Chirp — chij'p — chtj'p ahead 

 or behind, and the report of a gun was followed 

 by a dozen blue lines curving and twisting per- 

 haps out of the same cactus from which half a 

 dozen had risen but a moment before. Jones 

 did not know whether he was on foot or in a 



