284 UPLAND SHOOTING. 



out thought she instinctively springs upward, her wings 

 scorched by her cruel enemy, and soon breathes again 

 the pure air of the open field. A grand sight is a prairie 

 fire, but woe be unto man or quadruped who is caught 

 unaware in its relentless path; for, urged by a strong 

 wind, a wind that increases in strength and volume, in its 

 flight the speediest animal soon submits, and the 

 blackened path, the sooty ground, the sickening odor of 

 burning flesh, sadly tells the story of life and death. 



If driven from her nest, the prairie chicken builds 

 again in some other place her destroyed home, and pro- 

 duces another brood. 



The mother bird is thoughtful and solicitous for the 

 welfare of her little ones, and, in her anxiety to protect 

 and shield them from harm, will resort to various sub- 

 terfuges. Counterfeiting a broken wing, she will run 

 before her human enemy, then fly a short distance, seem- 

 ing all the while in dire distress, merely to divert attention 

 from her brood, while they, dear little things, sometimes 

 not larger than a sparrow, will quietly and quickly run 

 away, each one for itself, and seem to disappear by 

 magical illusion, for we look where we saw them last, 

 but can not find them. Still, I have often caught them. 

 The power of flight is given them at an early age, and when 

 the old ones arise, with a loud whir, these little ones fly up, 

 their diminutive bodies looking about as large as a half- 

 grown quail, scatter at once, and after a short flight, drop 

 softly into the prairie grass, where, remaining concealed, 

 they await the expected call, the anticipated cluck of 

 their solicitous mother. 



How long prairie chickens can survive without water, 

 is an undecided question; certain am I that the period is 

 beyond one' s expectations. It is true they are frequently 

 found in the rank grass and weeds of prairie ponds, and 

 along the thick growth of furze at the edges of creeks, 



