SNIPE SHOOTING. 101 
cannot get across there, because of the mud: we must 
not leave without investigating it, and Don must help 
us out.” 
Sending the dog on, and directing him by motion, I 
continued my conversation with Ned. 
“ Now, watch him! How’s that? Look how stealthily 
he goes along, no chance for a long swinging lope in 
that deep mud. Watch him! how he goes, half lope, half 
trot. Steady, old boy! How’s that for a point, Ned?” 
Don had drawn on toa snipe. The indistinct scent 
would have made undecided a less staunch and experi- 
enced dog. Notso with him. That faint scent was to 
him almost the breath of life. There he stood, motion- 
less, as if carved of stone. It seemed as though the 
scent of the snipe had petrified him. He stood leaning 
forward, seeming in anticipation as if from the hidden 
depths of the marsh the snipe might suddenly arise be- 
fore we were ready. Half crouching, he dared not step 
backward, lest the noise might frighten the bird. He 
dared not look at us, lest once doing so he might lose 
the faint scent of the snipe; and thus undecided, yet 
decided, he stood a picture of life, once seen never to be 
forgotten. His nose was held high in air, as if to in- 
voke the assistance of the mild fresh breeze to help him 
retain the scent. His ears were slightly cocked, as if 
some slight noise might disclose to him the hiding-place 
of the wary bird. He looked steadily before him, the 
pupils of his eyes dilating, entranced by the scent of 
the hidden object. His tail stood out straight behind 
him, like a rod of iron; no lashing of it now, from side 
to side, until at times the tip was red with blood, from 
reeds and rushes, from grass and brush beating against 
his sturdy sides. His left fore foot raised until its ball 
