652 



North American Grouse. 



OUrf 



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THE FIFTEENTH OF AUGUST ON THE PRAIRIE. 



distance all pursuit. Still, there are now and then some late autumn 

 days when the warm sunshine recalls the summer, and when, in the 

 sheltered sloughs of the prairie, protected by low hills and rank 

 grass, a covey will lie close, too indolent to fly away, and will rouse 

 themselves one by one before the pointer. These are halcyon 

 moments. The sportsman's nerves, braced by weeks of autumn 

 shooting, are strong and steady, and every grouse that springs into 

 the air falls with a thud to the ground, after the ringing shot. 

 Every bird is a full-grown one, and the gillie-boy staggers under his 

 load. 



The true manner of shooting prairie-fowl is to drive over the 

 prairie in a light wagon, letting the dogs range far and wide on 

 either side. A well trained dog will range at times a half mile 

 from the wagon, his bright colors and rapid motion rendering him 

 conspicuous on the prairie. When he scents the birds he will come 

 to a point so suddenly that at times his inertia, when attempting 

 to halt, will swing him half around. He stands as if he saw a 

 ghost. The wagon drives near to him, the other dogs coming up 

 and backing him. The sportsmen then alight and take their shots. 

 Rarely the whole covey is' flushed together, and frequently the old 

 birds lie until the last, and while the sportsman is loading his gun 



