THE RUFFED GROUSE 31 



mark was apt and appropriate, but better luck 

 next time. The dog moves up and points just 

 where the last bird burst out from among the 

 junipers, and you laugh and say, ''One on you, 

 old boy!" and come carelessly up to stand by 

 his side as you reload. At the snap of your 

 gun as you close it another bird dashes out al- 

 most from beneath your feet. What a chance ! 

 Straightaway, and as steady as a standing 

 mark! The shot of a lifetime! Bang! And 

 as the gentle breeze carries off the thin blue 

 haze of the nitro you catch a glimpse of his 

 falling body. Thud! The strong wings beat 

 a rapid tattoo upon the dead leaves, scattering 

 the brown pine needles, then are still. The 

 feathers drift down wind in a cloud, and re- 

 loading as you go, you hasten to gather him in. 

 For a short time the fun is fast and furious; 

 the covey puts for the thick of the woods singly 

 and in pairs, leaving toll, let us hope, and giv- 

 ing you rare sport. When all have left the 

 open you go down into the gully where the noon- 

 day sun scarcely penetrates. At the bottom a 

 slender stream complains and gurgles as it 

 tumbles over mossy stones and twists under 

 fallen tree trunks. There he goes! Your gun 



