40 FEATHERED GAME 



tops, followed by two hasty shots, one from the 

 hip, the other with the gun-butt under my arm- 

 pit, and taken completely unaware, both 

 charges tear great rents through the yellow- 

 leaved chestnuts and screening pines, but for 

 the bird only causing more haste where already 

 speed was not lacking. My dog, with a comical 

 wriggle of his tail to show his appreciation of 

 the joke on his master, takes a few steps to the 

 left and brings to my astonished gaze the bird 

 we had seen fall. When shall I learn to trust 

 entirely to that keen nose and fine wit which is 

 by far the most important member of our part- 

 nership 1 



With the last trophy safely stowed, we move 

 on to further conquests. Over a stone wall out 

 into a low spot between two spurs of the hill. 

 An old apple tree and a few thick pines make 

 the setting of a picture which has for a centre 

 of interest the motionless figure of the white 

 pointer dog. Forty yards away two grouse 

 rise and tear away up hill. Two hasty shots 

 sent after them just as they turn the crest of the 

 ridge never ruffle a feather, but the reports 

 start four more close at hand, which offer the 

 easiest of shots to my empty weapon. I rush 



