QUAIL SHOOTING. 185 
the cage ; but it was love’s labor lost, for the instant I 
left one at liberty he took advantage of it, and flew 
away, never to return. I have seen their eggs hatched 
by a hen, but they were no sooner from the shell than 
they would skulk and hide in the nearest wood-pile, 
under the walk, or any other place to avoid me. 
There is one thing about quail, that I have never had 
explained or been able to understand, that is: the con- 
fused state they are in at times during their migrations. 
For they certainly do migrate,—not far, but their little 
bodies are filled with restlessness, with the desire to 
wander, and they make their nomadic excursions late 
in October, or early in November. Not always by 
flight, but at times in great flocks they will start out 
on foot, travel miles and miles, flying across rivers, 
alighting on land and running along very fast, as if on 
some necessary pilgrimage. Years ago, I have fre- 
quently seen them on these journeys, at the edges of 
villages, running along, each trying to keep ahead of 
his nearest competitors, then they would arise and fly 
into town, with the swiftness of a bullet, and the whole 
flock would be headed for some building. In the woods, 
their flight was never too swift for them to avoid the 
smallest tree ; but in town, they didn’t seem to be able 
to steer clear of two-story houses, and with a dull thud 
their bodies would thump against the buildings in the 
line of their flight. This I have seen repeatedly, and 
have picked up as many as four from one flock, that 
had thus stunned themselves. After alighting once, 
they regain their accustomed vigilance, but boys, clubs, 
stones, bows and arrows, and ancient shot guns, used to 
sadly diminish their ranks. They were very plenty 
in those days, and I have killed as many as seven in 
