THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. 163 



hillside below. Into the thickest part of the 

 flock rang the second barrel of Jones's gun, with 

 the general result of firing into a flock at large 

 instead of selecting a single bird. No bird can 

 so tempt one to break this good rule as this 

 quail can, and no other is so sure to leave one 

 without a feather for reward. 



Jones looked for a moment at the space the 

 birds had occupied when he fired at them, then at 

 me, and then at the dog, maintaining the while 

 that discreet silence which often covers the deep- 

 est surprise ; then with a smile born of confi- 

 dence he went down the hill to where the birds 

 were when he fired at them on the ground. The 

 dog cantered around, jumped over the bushes, 

 snuffed here and there in great style for a few 

 minutes, and then retired to the shade of a 

 sumac. 



Meanwhile the flock had sailed across a little 

 ravine and alighted about half-way up the side 

 of the hill on the other side. The quails scat- 

 tered over about an acre of ground, but in dark 

 lines and little squads they could be seen run- 

 ning together again with Whit wJiit whit, 

 Wook wook wook sounding from a hundred 



