278 Life and Sport on the Pacific Slope 



been duly scattered and fair sport enjoyed. The 

 guns have beaten the ground thoroughly and know 

 that perhaps a hundred birds are lying here and 

 there within a radius of half a mile. It is time for 

 luncheon, and men and dogs are fagged out. The 

 tyro will be sure to sit down, eat his sandwiches, 

 and discuss the sport at the top of his voice. Not 

 so the experienced market-hunter. He will steal 

 quietly away, and munch his bread and cheese in 

 silence and seclusion. Presently he will mark a 

 cock-call, then another, and another. Before an 

 hour has passed the bevy will have reassembled; 

 his dog will find them, and perhaps a better bag 

 will be made than before. The tyro, on the other 

 hand, must find another bevy, for the quail, hear- 

 ing voices, have not come together. 



The finding of bevies in a rough country is no 

 easy matter. Highly trained setters, field-trial win- 

 ners who range at full speed are almost useless in 

 the mountains. If you are happily able to keep 

 them in sight they may stand to birds in places 

 where two-legged creatures must crawl. As a rule 

 the market-hunter finds his own bevies, drives them 

 into country where the birds can be picked up 

 when shot ; and for this purpose uses a dog trained 

 to range within twenty-five yards of his master. 

 In a dry country like ours, where springs are scarce, 

 the dogs should be lean as a coyote, hard-footed, for 

 sticker-grass abounds, with the keenest eyes and a 

 sensitive nose. An English setter, trained by a 

 market-hunter, is in our opinion the best dog for 

 work in the coast range, but some prefer the pointer. 

 My brother still owns a veteran, half-spaniel, half- 



