THE RUFFED GROUSE. 5 I 



might often be seen in September and even later, 

 but nowhere else have I known it. 



My first hunt on these bluffs was in August, 

 1867. From near the foot of the bluffs where 

 the maple and oak saplings began to encroach 

 upon the older timber of the hills to near the top 

 where from its white staff the birch was flying its 

 banner of brilliant green, two dogs were racing to 

 and fro. We soon came to a ravine where the 

 ferns and prairie-grass were ranker and the shade 

 deeper. Jack, the elder dog, at once started up 

 the leeward side of the ravine on a cautious trot. 

 This soon subsided to a walk as he caught the 

 breeze that played across the hollow. Quietly 

 he moved along, hidden in the ferns' deep green 

 except his upraised nose and the line of his back 

 and tail. Through the golden wealth of the lady- 

 slipper he kept slowly on until his legs began to 

 stiffen and his tail to lose its oscillation. And as 

 he stopped there was a burst of brown from the 

 ferns some ten yards ahead of him. 



Bang, whang, went my gun and my friend's 

 gun almost together; a feather parted from the 

 outspread fan behind the boisterous wings, and 

 in a second more it had faded behind the trees. 



