SHOOTING THE WOODS GROUSE 365 



whirls downward out of a cloud of feathers; another 

 changes his course at the report of another gun, and 

 mounts skyward through the tree-tops ; the third, dash- 

 ing the sunshine from his glistening wings, scuds away 

 through an open place, with the guns belching flame 

 and smoke vainly at the place he had just left; while 

 the one that had mounted above the trees, poising for 

 a second aloft, closes his wings and descends with a 

 heavy thump to the earth. 



The fallen birds retrieved, we went on to find the 

 scattered birds. Some three hundred yards we wan- 

 dered along, and suddenly Frank began to dawdle in 

 his pace. With gently oscillating tail, he sniffed in- 

 quisitively at the breeze that swept up the hillside from 

 the long ravine below. To our senses it was laden 

 with the fragrance of ferns and wild buckwheat and 

 wild peas and white clover, with wild rose and mint; 

 but the dog smelt something more, for he suddenly 

 stopped with the quickness of thought, and at the same 

 instant a grouse broke, with uproarious wing, from the 

 deep green cover, some fifteen feet from his nose. 

 Two charges of shot shivered the blended white and 

 green of the birch behind which he disappeared, the 

 air throbbed no more beneath the beat of his hoarse 

 wings, and a faint nebula of fine feathers drifted into 

 sight on one side of the tree. 



Up and down the hill again both dogs were soon 

 beating the ground. In about five minutes Jack, com- 

 ing down the hill on a gentle canter, dropped into the 

 grass as suddenly as if shot, and lay there with only 



