A Red- Letter Day 229 



There is some unfinished business, which the strong 

 scent of the expected grouse had interrupted. Now, 

 as the dog slants away, the square muzzle rises higher, 

 and the eager stern whips frantically. Shorter and 

 shorter grow the tacks, until the advance steadies 

 to a straight line. Soon the gallop slows to a 

 canter, a trot, a stately walk. With head and stern 

 held high, on he marches until fifty yards have been 

 covered. Then he suddenly stiffens, while the quiv- 

 ering nostrils search the air for positive proof. His 

 erstwhile gusty breathing is muffled now, his jaws 

 slowly open and close, while the marvellous nose 

 seems to be feeling feeling for a something rarely 

 pleasant. Then on again, slower and slower, till he 

 seems to fairly drift to his anchorage. Then his 

 hind-quarters sink till he is almost on his hams. 



Has he got them ? Man, if you'd ever followed 

 that dog, you'd know he had 'em. When you see 

 that long draw and the squatting finish, bet your 

 gun, or your wife, or whatever you prize most, that 

 it's a bevy and a big one. Scattered birds he will 

 pin in all sorts of fancy attitudes as he happens 

 upon them, but when he gets right down to it, that 

 signifies a wholesale order. The man moves up 

 within a foot of the stiffened stern. For a moment 

 the tenseness is dramatic then whur-r-r ! Some- 

 thing like a mighty shell loaded with feathered base- 

 balls appears to explode in a patch of dried grasses, 

 and the air is filled with humming missiles. Even 

 in the roar and electric rush the trained eyes mark 

 slight differences in coloration, and the trim tubes 

 swing from one bird to a second with a smooth 

 rapidity which betokens years of practice. Two 



