Tbe Ruffed Grouse and Grouse Shooting 295 



of an almost dried-up creek. This is a confusion 

 of comparatively low cover. The larger trees are 

 not too close together, but quick, snappy work 

 must be the order in most of the brush. We 

 decide to work along the face of the woods until 

 the comparative open has been thoroughly beaten. 

 Any grouse found in outlying clumps will surely 

 dash for the woods, and our method means that 

 most chances will be side shots, when the trick 

 of dodging behind trees will avail but little. The 

 dogs are given the word and we move forward about 

 forty yards apart. Now comes a beautiful exhibi- 

 tion of dog work. The big setter, the best dog 

 on ruffed grouse in the county, knows exactly 

 what is required of him ; the pointer, the best 

 quail dog on a grouse day that ever I saw, knows 

 his mighty rival too well to attempt any liberties. 

 So instead of sailing away at top speed and split- 

 ting two-hundred-yard tacks, they merely canter, 

 and while scorning to follow each other, each keeps 

 close watch of the other's movements. Suddenly 

 the pointer stops in the middle of a stride, and like 

 his shadow, the great roan loses motion. My whistle, 

 held pipe-fashion, purrs a low warning (the voice 

 alarms grouse), and the dogs are as steady as trees. 

 In a moment a white and gray ball goes bouncing 

 toward a brush heap, and the pointer's tense mus- 

 cles slacken. It is too early in the day for fur, and 

 Don knows that a something which stingeth like 

 an adder lurks in my pocket. So he gives a yearn- 

 ing look at the vanishing cottontail, and the quest 

 continues. 



A sudden bursting roar of wings, a clash of twigs, 



