GEESE 



Duke and Duchess, and forecast a bad week 

 for any quail that were unwise enough to 

 remain in the county. 



Both Ri and Nathan are banks men, born 

 and raised close to the Hatteras surf; they 

 know nothing of quail hunting, so we blue- 

 printed it for them on the way to the dock. 



"High-schooled dogs like these are almost 

 human," we explained. "They are trained to 

 pay no attention to anything except game 

 birds, but, with respect to them, their intelli- 

 gence is uncanny, their instinct unerring. 

 They will quarter a field on the run, pick up 

 the scent of a covey, wheel and work up wind 

 to a point. When they come to a stand, you 

 know you've got quail. You walk up, give 

 them the word to flush ; then they retrieve the 

 dead birds and lay them at your feet without 

 marring a feather. It's beautiful work." 



While we were in the midst of this tribute, 

 Duke, whose leash I had removed, squeezed 

 out through the picket fence of a back yard 

 with the palpitating remains of a white pullet 

 in his mouth. He was proud; he was atrem- 

 ble with the ardor of the chase; the irate 

 owner of the deceased fowl was at his heels, 

 brandishing a hoe. 



9 



