72 BUFFALO LAND. 



might kill enough for the home table. With double- 

 barreled gun and keen-scented pointer, the sportsman 

 and pot-hunter think nothing of fifty or sixty birds 

 for a day's work. It seems almost impossible, under 

 such a combination, for a covey to escape total anni- 

 hilation. 



We may suppose a couple of fair shots hunting 

 over a dog in August, when the chickens lie close, 

 and the year's broods are in their most delicate con- 

 dition for the table. The pointer makes a stand be- 

 fore a fine covey hidden in the thick grass before him. 

 The ready guns ask no delay, and, at the word, he 

 flushes the chickens immediately under his nose. 

 Each hunter takes those which rise before him, or on 

 his side, and if four or less left cover at the first 

 alarm, that number of gray-speckled forms the next 

 moment are down in the grass, not to leave -it again. 

 If more rose, they are "marked," which means that 

 their place of alighting is carefully noted, and, as the 

 chicken has but a short flight, this task is easy. 

 Meanwhile, the guns have been reloaded, the dog 

 flushes others of the hiding birds, and so the sport 

 goes on. The birds that get away are "marked 

 down," and again found and flushed by the dog. 

 Without this useful animal the chickens would mul- 

 tiply, despite any number of hunters. I have often 

 seen covies go down in the grass but a few hundred 

 yards away, yet have tramped through the spot doz- 

 ens of times without raising a single bird. In 

 twenty years this delicious game will probably be as 

 much a thing of the past as is the Dodo of the Isle 

 de France. At the period of our visit they were 



