THE RUFFED GROUSE 



old wilderness. No startled deer bounds 

 away before him, nor bear shuffles awk- 

 wardly from his feast of mast at one's 

 approach, nor does one's flesh creep at 

 the howl of the gathering wolves or the 

 panther's scream or the rustle of his 

 stealthy footsteps. 



But as you saunter on your devious 

 way you may hear a rustle of quick feet 

 in the dry leaves and a sharp, insistent 

 cry, a succession of short, high-pitched 

 clucks running into and again out of 

 a querulous *' ker-r-r-r^' all expressing 

 warning as much as alarm. Your ears 

 guide your eyes to the exact point from 

 which the sounds apparently come, but 

 if these are not keen and well trained 

 they fail to detach any animate form 

 from the inanimate dun and gray of 

 dead leaves and underbrush. 



With startling suddenness out of the 

 monotony of lifeless color in an eddy- 

 ing flurry of dead leaves, fanned to er- 

 ratic flight by his wing-beats, the ruffed 

 grouse bursts into view, in full flight 

 with the first strokes of his thundering 

 pinions, and you have a brief vision of 

 untamed nature as it was in the old days. 

 183 



