140 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
the head of an excited dog as he jumped high in the air 
in a vain attempt to catch a victim. 
Out would pop three or four cottontail rabbits with 
a pup in full chase. The cottontails would dart in 
every direction, the pup would stop, look after the dis- 
appearing rabbits, then hear his gay companions carry- 
ing on in the bramble bush and turn back to join them. 
I asked G. Dan the reason for it all. He said, ‘‘It makes 
the dogs eager to hunt after they get a good smell of 
fresh quail scent.’’ Heavens! they certainly were 
eager enough, as eager as the broker’s wife to speculate 
in stocks, when she gets all the profits and the husband 
handles the losses to suit himself. 
Betty, the daughter of Count somebody, a most 
distinguished parent, made a covey point backed by 
Red, a grandson of Duke somebody or other. Both 
dogs had desperately long and stylish registered names. 
Dad sat down remarking, ‘‘Go ahead and knock the 
daylights out of that covey. I’m tired.”’ I walked up 
slowly, my double sixteen ready. Betty never moved 
but Red began drawing nearer by inches. As I stepped 
within ten feet of Betty, a stick snapped under my foot 
and ‘‘Whirr!”’ the air was full of birds, a full covey of at 
least fifteen. One drops at the first shot and another 
crosses my aimed-at bird just asI pull the trigger. Both 
fall. It was unusual to get three birds with two shots. 
The rest fly across the fence and light down in an apple 
orchard. Betty is still pointing. I advance slowly 
when up springs a single quail. It’s easy to shoot single 
birds. One bird makes but little noise comparatively 
and there is nothing to detract from the business in 
hand. There was no hurry. I waited until the quail 
was twenty-five yards away and fired. Red was a fine 
retriever. I called Betty in. She lies down at my feet. 
