AMERICAN WOODCOCK 117 



man who comes striding through the tangle of 

 alders and brush! Why that baleful light in 

 his eye? The clouds of shifting, dancing "no- 

 see-ums" flicker before his face — a colony of 

 the little pests has gathered on his exposed 

 neck, — the great grandfather of all the mos- 

 quitoes is at work sinking a well on the end of 

 his nose, and a swarm of smaller pirates has 

 settled on each brown hand, but all unmindful 

 of these he strides on, with tense and mighty 

 grip upon the barrels of his gun, for hushed is 

 the tinkle of his pointer's bell, and dimly show- 

 ing among the alder stems he sees his dog, one 

 foot raised, in statuesque pose, rigid and glar- 

 ing into a small boggy opening just ahead. An- 

 other step the gunner takes when up with 

 merry whistling goes the plump brown bird 

 into the sunlight. The g-un flies to the sports- 

 man's shoulder; a sharp report breaks the Sab- 

 bath-like stillness of the woods and through the 

 thin mist of the nitro he sees the lifeless body 

 falling to the ground. The small brown gnome 

 of the woodland has finished his course. Now 

 we know what all this means. This is the ever- 

 glorious fifteenth of September, — ''Wood- 

 cocks are ripe," and for two months the man 



