A WORSTED NIMROD. 81 



adjusted his lens, and decided to make a personal 

 inspection around the roots of the bush immediately 

 in front of him. 



Carefully the sage bent over, the suspicious spot, 

 and almost fell backward as, with a whiz and a dart, 

 half a dozen quails flew out, brushing his very nose. 

 Instantly every bush sent forth its fugitives. A flash 

 of feathered balls, and they were all gone. Such 

 whizzing and whirring! it was as if those scraggy 

 bushes were mitrailleuses, in quick succession dis- 

 charging their loads. 



Only one gun had gone off, but that so loudly that 

 our ears rung for several seconds. Mr. Colon had 

 accidentally rammed at least two, perhaps half a 

 dozen, loads into one barrel, and the gun discharged 

 with an aim of its own, the butt very low down. 

 Two birds fell dead. But alas for our Nimrod! 

 Colon stood with one hand on his stomach undecided 

 whether that organ remained or not. On this point,, 

 however, he was fully re-assured at the supper-table 

 that night, and in all our after experience, we never 

 knew that gun to have the least opportunity for 

 going off, except when at its owner's shoulder, and he 

 perfectly ready for it. 



The two birds were now submitted to the party for 

 inspection. They were fine specimens of the Ameri- 

 can quail, more properly called by those versed in 

 quailology, the Bob White. This bird is very plen- 

 tiful throughout Kansas, and just before the shoot- 

 ing season commences, in September, will even fre- 

 quent the gardens and alight on the houses of To- 

 peka. They "lay close" before a dog, take flight 



