406 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 



has made them wary, they will make for the open at 

 first flight, and rarely return before next morning. 

 Look here! See where they have been dusting in this 

 dry loam, just like so many old hens. 



At four o'clock I walk out on the prairie to an old 

 haystack, that seemed to be located near the center 

 of their flight as they left the corn last evening, and 

 lie down to await developments. High overhead a 

 flock of wild geese is moving south; travelers, I guess, 

 from the height at which they fly, and the silence and 

 regularity of their action. Blackbirds in dense flocks 

 are sweeping past, with incessant noise of harsh, rasp- 

 ing cries. Close by, a miniature whirlwind is sucking 

 up the stray heads of buffalo grass and careering with 

 them a short distance, where it leaves them awaiting 

 the next puff that shall waltz them off again. 



Keeping a sharp lookout in the direction of the corn- 

 fields, I presently see a covey of chickens rise. They 

 come down well to one side, far out of range, but af- 

 fording me a fine opportunity to observe their manner 

 of flight Rising with a burst of strong wing strokes, 

 they attain an elevation of from 20 to 30 yards, and 

 scale off on extended pinions for long stretches; then 

 with a renewal of wing-beats they acquire fresh impe- 

 tus. In this manner they alternate, now scaling, now 

 flying along, until lost to sight over the prairie. 



Here comes another covey. Now they are close 

 upon me. Bang! one bang! again, as two cross each 

 other in flight, and down they come. There are num- 

 bers of chickens sailing by, but none venture in my 



