Wing vs. Ground Shooting. 



the cedars and cat-briers, or they were in 

 the pastures among the huckleberry bushes. 

 At any rate, they had favorite resorts, and 

 I always knew where those resorts were. 



When the autumn days drew near and 

 the birds had grown, I used to lug out the 

 old gun, and, while hunting lesser game, 

 my heart would beat fast as I penetrated 

 the haunts of the partridges. The old gun 

 was long and heavy, and it balanced like 

 an armful of oars ; and I was too little and 

 too anxious to be steady. 



When after much patient watching I 

 happened to see one of my patridges upon 

 the ground before he flew, I nervously set 

 the ponderous hammer back, and poking 

 the long barrel through the tangling 

 branches, and trembling more than I 

 ever have since in the presence of much 

 larger game, I would pull hurriedly on 

 the trigger. 



Why would n't that trigger hurry up ? 

 I could feel it pull, and pull, and pull, and 

 then my small finger would take a fresh 

 grip and draw with a vengeance, and 

 through the smoke from the explosion I 



