THE O. & O. SEMI-ANNUAL. 33 
when suddenly several scattered quail crossed‘the road just in 
front of me flying low and very rapidly. Perhaps fifty yards be- 
hind the first comers came a single one, screaming as he came, 
and close behind him flew a Cooper’s Hawk. Anyone who 
knows how fast Bob-white can travel when well scared can guess 
at the gait of the two birds, the hawk apparently keeping up with 
the quail. Just before crossing the road, which they would have 
crossed within twenty-five yards of where I stood, the quail 
darted into a thicket of bamboo briars and the Cooper swung on- 
to a perch a few feet from the ground and not far away. I 
watched for a few minutes to see if anything else would occur, 
but as the play seemed to be over, I shot the hawk and so broke 
up the combination. 
Spring before last I was egging in rather a rough piece of coun- 
try—swamp would not be a misnomer. It was some distance 
above the head of a millpond, but the water backed up far enough 
to cause the creek to run in several channels and to make the 
walking between a mixture from ankle to knee deep, wading in 
sand and mud. I was toiling along in this elysium when a soli- 
itary Sandpiper dashed by me from behind, and as in the previous 
cases mentioned, he was pursued by a Cooper’s Hawk. But he 
seemed to have his wits about him and dodged and darted back 
and up and down with lightning-like rapidity. The hawk was 
in close chase and I thought he was about to take his quarry when 
the Sandpiper gave a quick dart downward and out of sight be- 
hind some bushes—a splash in the water—and a few seconds after- 
wards I saw the hawk flying quietly away. I don’t think he got 
the ‘‘piper,’ but Iam not certain. I think that the Sandpiper, 
getting hard pressed, dashed downward into the creek and dived, 
this being the splash I heard. This Sandpiper worked hard for 
his liberty and I hope he got what he so well deserved. 
Fourthly and lastly. I was hunting around some marshy 
ground last spring, a particularly favorite place for Wilson’s 
Reape, I was after King Rails at the time and snipe were not 
my object that morning. The marshy ground was fringed with 
a thick growth of alder willows, some twelve or fifteen feet high. 
My dog was working along the edge of the willows and flushed 
a snipe. Most people know with what a ‘‘get there” kind of 
flight a snipe rises from the marsh, and when I say that the snipe 
