142 “COME DUCK SHOOTING WITH ME” 
field. I could plainly see five quail squatting in the 
short grass, a few feet ahead of the dogs, with heads 
drawn in close to their bodies, looking like small bunches 
of dead leaves and grass. But when the single forward 
quail got up, it broke the charm. At least twenty-five 
small bombshells sprang into being and with fuses 
sputtering flew after their leader. I made a nice double. 
Ted, a young dog, was carried away by enthusiasm. 
He made two or three steps forward. I had just time 
to put a pair of cartridges into my gun when a single 
quail burst upward on noisy wings. It was an easy 
open shot. With the crack of the gun another quail 
darted away close along the top of the grass. It was 
a harder shot than the last, but still nothing to boast 
about. Some people perhaps don’t, but I call that 
making a double. It was impossible to hold Ted any 
longer. He rushed too and fro where the hot scent still 
laid. Finally he pointed; I walked up with gun ready, 
but it was only one of the dead birds. 
I was shooting alone that morning although Dad was 
in the wagon, and not caring to go very far from the road 
and wagon I kept on after the big covey. The most of 
them had alighted in tall grass, on the edge of a good big 
bramble patch. As soon as they began to move they 
would run and hide in the brambles. ‘The first gather- 
ing call of the covey was the time to start after them. 
We went very slowly, Ted, Box, and I; all but the 
youthful Ted knew why and he was kept at heel. A 
hundred yards farther and as my finger snapped, Ted 
came from heel and shoulder to shoulder with Box crept 
slowly forward into a perfect point. Three birds got up 
and one fell. They were a little too close for the full 
choke left barrel. The shots whistling over their heads 
seemed to terrify the quail on the ground and they laid 
