112 UPLAND SHOOTING. 



But first he will lunch. From one of his capacious 

 pockets, he produces two sandwiches and a small flask 

 of coffee. Experience has taught him that coffee on a 

 cold day is more beneficial than brandy; and though 

 he has heard that only "dudes " carry lunch, he believes 

 that all who start for a day' s shooting without breakfast 

 or lunch, because Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett may 

 have done so, will eventually repent, and wish they had 

 repented sooner. 



Lunch disposed of, our hero circles to the right, and 

 crosses the railroad. Ordinarily, he would scour the 

 thickets parallel with the track, for birds which had 

 been in search of gravel, and had retired to pass in quiet 

 the midday hours; but on account of the storm, he 

 believes they have omitted this part of the programme, 

 and are to be found sheltered nearer their food ware- 

 houses. He finally reaches tlie low-lying tract east of 

 the station. His only consolation is the correctness of 

 his prediction that it would prove barren. But there is 

 a hill for every valley, and, beyond and to the right, he 

 sees the heavily wooded ground rising, and then evi- 

 dently descending to a still lower valley. 



The snow ceases as he reaches the summit. It is 

 doubtful about the birds coming out to feed again, and 

 our friend knows it; he will therefore look for their 

 hiding-places. He glances down the hill, which faces 

 the south, and knows too late that he has found the fall 

 and winter home of the ruffed grouse. To the left, the 

 side-hill is dotted with blackberry thickets and scattering 

 pines. At the bottom, there are tangled coverts and grape- 

 vines, while beyond these are cedars, alders, and a brook. 

 To the right are deciduous trees, and hazel, thorn, and 

 crab-apple clumps. Many of the large trees have been 

 cut down, leaving dead tops in plenty. 



"I'll bet I can kill five birds yet to-night," says our 



