THE GREAT NORTHWEST 243 



down a little, recover himself, get back into the flock, 

 drop again a few yards, and then, to our surprise, 

 tumble heels over head, striking the earth a quarter of 

 a mile away. A grain of buckshot did the work. 



The morning flight was over and only one goose 

 was bagged. We munched a few apples, then took 

 setter dogs and started for the gamey prairie-chicken, 

 which out here is really the pin-tailed grouse that goes 

 before civilization, while the regular prairie-hen fol- 

 lows after it. The first bird flushed was taken by the 

 youngest shot, my son James — boy of 15 years — and 

 beautifully stopped. The second bird was similarly 

 treated by the same gunner. The birds were popping 

 op all around, and we all got our share. 



We went back to the car, had breakfast, and were off 

 again on a tramp to Crane Lake, about four miles 

 away. Reaching the water, we found it literally 

 covered in places with ducks, snipe, geese, yellow legs, 

 pelicans, curlew and plover. A few shots started the 

 whole aggregation in motion — mallards, plover and 

 Wilson snipe began to tumble until we were loaded 

 with all we could carry. A gunner away off across 

 the prairie was heard to fire two barrels, then to shout, 

 jump, ran, and throw his hands up. No one seemed 

 to know what was disturbing him, but in a moment 

 we saw two dogs coming at a furious rate. No ; one 

 was a coyote, the other a dog in full chase. Four 

 guns were discharged with No. 5 shot at the slinking 



