THE RUFFED GROUSE 41 



a couple of cartridges into the chambers and 

 aim at the hindmost just as the woods are clos- 

 ing in upon it, but return to sanity, just then 

 catching sight of the fact that all this time old 

 Level-head hasn't moved a muscle. In an in- 

 stant more I stand beside him, pull my hat down 

 a bit tighter, draw a couple of long breaths, 

 test the safety catch of the gun to be sure it is 

 in the right place, and by these processes of 

 mental philosophy manage to steady my nerves 

 a trifle. A low cluck to the dog and he moves 

 in, his tail wagging ever so slightly. Again he 

 stops, and at my approach up jump two big 

 fantails, not ten feet away, bursting out from 

 the junipers with the roar of a tornado. A 

 quick snapshot (a clear case of suicide on the 

 bird's part, for I know not where I held) ac- 

 counts for one, and holding well over the other, 

 who is climbing skyward to clear the trees, he, 

 too, comes down ! Can I believe it? A double ! 

 This is not one of the shots I forget when re- 

 counting this day's doings! 



Up on the hill-top where we go in pursuit we 

 find the other members of the covey. But 

 things are different here. Cover is plenty and 

 though the birds lie close enough, the ever- 



