298 Sporting Sketches 



certain to have a clear chance. The dogs toiled 

 slowly through the tangled stuff, while we followed 

 abreast. Every now and then would come the im- 

 pressive pause of one or other dog, almost immedi- 

 ately followed by the hollow thunder of strong wings 

 and the rush of a swift brown body. Usually one 

 barrel, sometimes two, did the trick. Once a bird 

 boomed away with four charges of shot in vain pur- 

 suit. The incident caused a hearty laugh and a 

 lively exchange of that sort of talk which might be 

 dangerous among dry leaves. But little things of 

 that sort seldom are hotter than tabasco. In time 

 the end of the cover was reached and we pulled up 

 for a rest and a bite. Our four-footed friends, too, 

 are quite willing to roll and stretch on the soft fall 

 grass. The big roan showed no trace of the rather 

 heavy campaign, but the white fellow's rat-tail was 

 crimson for fully four inches and his flanks were 

 streaked with plenty of that same red badge of 

 courage. 



To my mind, one of the happiest periods of a 

 good day's sport is when the pipes are drawing well 

 after the midday snack. The dogs have had their 

 crusts and stretch at ease in the cool grass. The 

 coats with bulging pockets hang near by. There is 

 more choice ground to be beaten and plenty of 

 daylight for the work, and even a blank afternoon 

 cannot spoil the day. And then the handling and 

 smoothing of the beautiful prizes so fairly earned by 

 skill and manly, sportsmanlike methods. Every bird 

 has had a fair chance and has been cut down as 

 mercifully as possible. To lie upon sweet grass at 

 the fringe of a noble wood with a sun-kissed sea of 



