308 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 



about thirty yards distant fire, and it is yours. At 

 the report of the gun your dog appears on the bank 

 above, pauses a moment until you have slipped an- 

 other cartridge into the gun, and then dashes off to- 

 ward where the bird lies. A word steadies him as 

 he approaches it, and after quartering once or twice 

 the scent reaches his nostrils. He feels for it, then 

 pauses, and at command steps forward, gently takes 

 the bird in his mouth and trots slowly toward you, 

 expressing as much pride and satisfaction in his face 

 and in his slowly wagging tail as if he had captured 

 the prize without any assistance of yours. On again, 

 along the border of the swamp, sometimes stooping 

 low to pass beneath the tangled underbrush, or forc- 

 ing your way through the thick alders, making the 

 dead stems crack and fly, or passing through a spot 

 free from low shrubs, where the tall, gray trunks of 

 the hardwood trees stand apart, and the footfall is 

 scarcely heard on the damp, dead leaves. For some 

 time the dog works quietly ahead of you, manifesting 

 none of the signs which would lead you to suspect 

 that birds were near ; but as you approach a little arm 

 of the swamp which runs up a narrow ravine, the 

 merry action of the setter's tail warns you to be pre- 

 pared for a point. Yes, there, where the wind has 

 swept aside the leaves, exposing the black mud be- 

 neath, you see in it dozens of little round holes, which 

 tell you that the long bill has been at work here. Sud- 

 denly he stops, and stands quite still, except that the 

 tip of his tail moves a little from side to side. As 



