THE PINNATED GROUSE. 63 



the young were too small. But in September, 

 when the young can hardly be told from the old 

 ones, a hunt on the breezy hills of the upper 

 Mississippi once covered with parks of oak, 

 open enough for comfortable driving with a 

 wagon, yet dense enough for good shade was 

 something vastly different. 



"Prince smells something already," said the 

 Squire, as the dog rose in the wagon and, extend- 

 ing head and neck over the wheel, began to sniff 

 the breeze with upraised nose, while his tail 

 swayed with gentle motion. 



We had come up one of the long ravines that 

 lead from the bottom-lands of the upper Missis- 

 sippi to the prairie nearly five hundred feet above, 

 and had reached what is really the level of Min- 

 nesota, instead of the top of a sharp ridge as the 

 edge of the prairie appears from the river. As 

 the wagon stopped, the dog sprung to the ground 

 without awaiting orders. For a moment he 

 paused, then on a slow walk went a hundred 

 yards or so along a gentle swell, then broke into 

 a trot and from that into a gallop, crossing at 

 right angles the line of his former course as if the 

 scent had become weakened and he was trying 



