198 MEN I HAVE FISHED WITH. 



table I prefer the dark-meated prairie fowl, but that is 

 another question. Also I would say that up to that time 

 I had never seen nor heard of the practice of treeing 

 partridges with a dog. It is only in sparsely settled dis- 

 tricts where this can be done, and it was many years after 

 that I had practical knowledge of this method of shoot- 

 ing. About the thickly settled districts of New York, 

 where I learned to shoot, the ruffed grouse would never 

 take to a tree for a yelping spaniel; they crouched for a 

 spring at the approach of a man or dog, and often the 

 thunder of their wings was the first intimation the gun- 

 ner had of their presence, and he was lucky if he could 

 flesh his shot before the swift bird had put a tree between 

 them. It was largely snap shooting, and, as I have said, 

 the feeling of triumph in dropping one under such con- 

 ditions was great, and there were men in that day and 

 there are men to-day who will agree to every word of 

 this. At the risk of calling down a host of antagonists 

 who will go for my scalp, I will say that the grandest 

 game bird of America is the ruffed grouse, called "par- 

 tridge" in New York and New England, and "pheasant" 

 in Pennsylvania and the South. The wild turkey is a 

 wary bird, and carries more meat about his person; but 

 an experience in shooting both makes me put the turkey 

 in the second place. 



This talk has led me from Henry Neaville, whom I 

 wanted you to know, but a vagabond pen wandered from 

 the subject. I will tell you something of him later on, 

 for he and I joined a party of Government surveyors a 

 year later that explored a portion of northern Minnesota; 

 but before we get to that I must, in the natural order of 

 events, tell you about a winter spent in trapping for fur 

 with Antoine Gardapee, whom you met in the first part 

 of this article. Henry was my intimate companion on 



