BIRDS OF MINNESOTA. 165 
clumps of trees, or log shanties, from which the sleepy farmers 
are just emerging to milk the cows standing in the neighbor- 
ing barnyard. As it grows lighter, occasional Teal are flushed 
from little pools beside the road, and flocks of Mallards are ob- 
served flying over the tall grass of prairie sloughs. Then 
comes the sun gradually dispelling the mist which hangs low 
in early morning, and warming the rather chilly air. Before 
us stretch the hunting grounds, large wheat fields, from 
which the grain has been removed, interspersed with meadows 
of tall grass, numerous ‘‘sloughs,’’ and farm houses where lo- 
cations are marked by rows of cottonwood trees. The driver 
turns into the stable, there is a loading of guns, and the dogs 
are let out of the wagon, two at a time in order that they may 
not all tire before the day’s sport is ended. 
‘These creatures, at whom the day before, we grumbled for 
being under foot and who stalked gloomily about with droop 
ing tails and ears, today are transformed into different beings, 
and have our pleasure in their own noses. Away they go, 
coursing the stubble from right to left and vice versa, at a mo- 
tion of the master’s hand. Mark! One has stopped. He is 
eagerly sniffing the ground, picking his way carefully along, 
while his tail in rapid motion shows his excitement. The 
other dog soon sees his companion’s agitation and hastening to 
him, catches the scent of the covey. Then both their tails go- 
ing round and round they push slowly on, step by step until 
suddenly the foremost dog stops, his head turned a little to one 
side and his nose pointing downward. His tail has suddenly be- 
come rigid. The other, the younger of the two, being some- 
what of a tyro, and this being the first of the season, has in his 
eagerness run too close to a chicken and when the bird flies up 
from under his nose, the startled dog gazes after him and then 
turns his head toward the wagon to see what action his master 
will take. If he could hear his master’s remarks at that mo- 
ment he certainly would blush, if a dog could blush, with 
shame. But he has found another and both dogs now stand 
like marble statues, while we, all four, jump from the wagon 
and with ready guns advance toward them amid cries of ‘‘steady 
Don, steady there? Hold him Grouse, steady sir!” Two are 
to shoot the birds on the right as they rise, two will take the 
birds on the left. Suddenly one of the covey, an old cock gets 
up-—a report—a few feathers floating on the morning air, and 
the bird falls to the ground, where it soon flutters out its life. 
This generally startles the rest of the birds and they rise in a 
