230 Sporting Sketches 



birds fall a few yards apart, and as they turn over 

 in the air, the man notes the flash of white and 

 knows his lightning choice has been correct. As 

 he moves toward them, there is a sudden hollow 

 roar, and a lone bird rises from his very foot and 

 goes whizzing toward cover. The gun leaps to 

 shoulder before he can check it, but it is promptly 

 lowered. " Go on, you old seed-hen and do your 

 best next year," he chuckles, as the brown matron 

 strives to set herself afire by atmospheric friction. 

 Her course is wide of that taken by the brood, but 

 he knows she'll call the stragglers to her ere the 

 shadows fall. 



And they will be stragglers. Of the twenty 

 strong beauties that roared up ahead of that first 

 point, her sweet, insistent " Ca-loi-ee ! ca-loi-ee ! " 

 will muster but four when fence and thicket blur 

 together in the scented dusk. Instead of doing as 

 she had told them time and time again instead of 

 plunging headlong into the convenient woods, her 

 headstrong family has whirred across the open and 

 dropped here and there in the well-known resort, 

 the railroad ditch. Hither they have come day 

 after day until the awful, clattering trains have 

 lost all terrors. In the broad ditch are pleasant 

 runways and much useful gravel of assorted sizes, 

 also cosey, sunny spots, the perfection of dust baths. 

 Here, too, are many unaccountable stores of grain, 

 choicest of corn and wheat, which seem in some 

 miraculous manner to appear there all ready for 

 eating. What better place could there be? 



The man looks at the dog and grins with unholy 

 joy. The dog looks at the man and seems to un- 



