THE QUAILS OF CALIFORNIA. I?I 



balloon. His gun rattled as fast as he could 

 load it, and occasionally a stricken bird went 

 whirling into the cactus, or, if it landed on the 

 open ground, it fell generally but half killed, 

 and in a twinkling was in the nearest bunch of 

 cactus, safe from dog or master. 



In fifteen minutes the climax of this was 

 reached and the roar and confusion were sud- 

 denly gone. So were the birds, especially those 

 that Jones thought should have been in his 

 pocket. He had but three when he should have 

 bagged at least fifteen in single shots. But 

 the shooting was by no means over. It had 

 only settled down. For two hours or more we 

 traversed the open places of that strange covert, 

 and from the thickest and most threatening 

 parts came bird after bird as we passed and re- 

 passed them again, again and again. Never 

 does the valley quail show to better advantage 

 than when he bursts from the outer edge of this 

 stuff and goes around you to enter it again. 

 Through the bluish haze of his rapid wings you 

 see the mottled breast of white and dark with 

 cinnamon shadings, the little bluish neck and 

 black-and-white head outstretched full length, 



