296 Sporting Sketches 



a swirl of painted leaves, and a brown shell is bor- 

 ing a hole through sunlit space. He is a beautiful 

 picture as he crosses with outstretched neck lead- 

 ing an electric fan of wings. Not caring to stand 

 idly while a grand grouse plucked itself, or cut 

 down a tree through having lost control of its 

 brake, I snapped the twelve into position and 

 whirled the tapered tubes until they swung two 

 feet ahead of the flattened ruffs. It was a glorious 

 picture, yet a kaleidoscopic effect, for as my finger 

 pressed the trigger, the feathered fan stopped buzz- 

 ing, the beautiful head went up, and I heard the 

 spiteful " squinge " of modern powder a second 

 before my shoulder felt the jar of my own weapon. 

 Both dogs went down, and through the brush came 

 Doc. His blue eye sparkled, and it asked a question 

 as plainly as words could have done. I felt like 

 lying, for it was a very close thing, but sportsman- 

 ship is mighty. 



" Aprez vous /" I sadly muttered in about all the 

 language of the courts I am aware of, and then I 

 hustled in a second barrel of " You-red-headed-fool- 

 if-you-crossfire-me-again-ril-fill-you-full-of-shot ! " 



" Gad ! he's a beaut ! " lisped Doc, as he smoothed 

 the lovely plumage. " And he's fat, too! " he con- 

 tinued, as he slid what had been within one inch of 

 being mine into his pocket. Then we looked at 

 each other and grinned, for each knew how slim had 

 been his chance. 



The dogs soon got to work again, and a memo- 

 rable bit of sport followed. Dame Fortune was in 

 a generous mood. Within five -minutes the white 

 dog had evened matters by pinning a big cock 



