THE AMERICAN WOODCOCK. 199 



ing above twenty paces from his master, bustling round 

 every stump, prying into every fern-bush, worming his 

 long, stout body, propped on its short, bony legs, into 

 the densest and most matted cover, no cock can escape 

 him. 



See ! one of them has struck a trail ; how he flourishes 

 his stump of a tail. Now he snuffs the tainted ground ; 

 what a rapture fills his dark, expressive eye. Now he is 

 certain ; he pauses for a moment, looks back to see if 

 his master is at hand; " Yaff! yaff!" the brakes ring 

 with his merry clamor, his comrade rushes to his aid 

 like lightning, yet pauses ever, obedient to the whistle, 

 nor presses the game too rashly, so that it rise out of 

 distance. Up steps the master, with his thumb upon the 

 dexter hammer, and his fore-finger on the trigger-guard. 

 Now they are close upon the quarry; "yaff! yaff! 

 yaff !" Flip flap ! up springs the cock, with a shrill 

 whistle, on a soaring wing. Flip flap ! again there are 

 a couple. Deliberately prompt, up goes the fatal tube 

 even as the butt presses the shoulder, trigger is drawn 

 after trigger. Bang ! bang ! the eye of faith and the 

 finger of instinct have done their work, duly, truly. 

 The thud of one bird, as he strikes the moist soil, tells 

 that he has fallen ; the long stream of feathers floating 

 in the still air through yonder open glade, announces 

 the fate of the second ; and, before the butt of the gun, 

 dropped to load, has touched the ground, without a word 

 or question, down charged at the report, the busy little 



