THE SHARP-TAILED GROUSE. 95 
bagged twelve brace in about three hours in Montana, 
without the aid of a dog, and I could have done much 
better if I wished. The number that can be killed when 
the birds ‘“pack” can only be estimated; and during cold 
weather, when they are loth éo leave their perches, the 
veriest tyro can shoot them down with as little trouble as 
he would so many domestic fowl. 
Bagging them in this manner does not, of course, 
come under the head of sport, no matter how pleasant 
it may be to the market or pot hunter. I have been out 
after sharp-tails, late in the autumn or early in winter, 
when my bag for the day did not amount to more than a 
brace or two; and I have known others, who knew their 
haunts very well, and who therefore ought to be more suc- 
cessful, tell the same story, so that they cannot always be 
slaughtered in large numbers. They are, on the whole, 
comparatively easy to killin the early part of the sea- 
son; but, later on, they are wild and shy, and flush at 
such long distances that it requires a good ten-bore gun 
and a heavy charge of No. 6 shot to bring them down. 
Dogs are almost a necessity for pursuing them with any 
degree of success, owing to their color, and the habit they 
have of lying close. A person may be in the midst of a 
brood, and yet not detect them, although he may be 
looking directly at them. ‘Their liquid brown eyes 
chiefly betray them, for they stare at the intruder with 
an expression of fear, caution, and suspicion. They seem 
to say, as well as looks can express it, ‘‘I wonder if he 
sees me; I’ll keep still for fear he might, as I know that 
is my only safety.” They appear to have an intuitive feel- 
ing that their hue is their best protection against 
enemies, and that humility is safer than daring and de- 
fiance. I have wandered about among families without 
flushing them, by moving slowly, and have been amused 
at the way in which they would squat on seeing me, and 
turn one of their bright brown eyes cunningly upwards, 
