THE RUFFED GROUSE. 167 
When we reached his cabin, which was built, according 
to his own statement, on the principle of an Irishman’s 
church—a yard wide and a mile long—he gave us a 
hearty greeting, and invited us to stay with him as long 
as we pleased. We gladly accepted the offer for a few 
days, as we intended to pay him for our board by giving 
him all the game we should kill. As soon as dinner was 
over, we commenced questioning him about his life in the 
wilderness, and learned that he was so infatuated with 
it that he would not relinquish it for one of ease in any 
city on earth. He also gave us a sketch of his career, 
which was very interesting to us. 
He had been, it seems, a sharpshooter in the Confed- 
erate army, but when the war was over he went West and 
devoted his time to hunting, and with such excellent suc- 
cess that he had a fair balance to his account at the bank, 
a fact which proved that he was wiser than most of his 
class. He said that he had never fired a fowling-picce, 
or ‘‘scatter-gun,” as he called it, previous to his arrival 
in California, as any man who used such a weapon in 
Kentucky, even for snipe shooting, would be looked upon 
with contempt by his neighbors, and deemed an un- 
worthy descendant of those sharpshooters who had de- 
feated Packenham’s army at New Orleans, with their 
squirrel rifles. He had changed his opinion about the 
““scatter-gun,” however, after learning its value, and 
considered it to have no equal for shooting deer from a 
stand when they were driven by hounds, but he thought 
it could not compare with a rifle in still-hunting. 
The conversation about guns, dogs, and wild animals 
was continued until nightfall, and was then only stopped 
because we were compelled to make preparations for a fire 
hunt among the deer; but these did not occupy much 
time, for all that was necessary to be done was to light a 
number of pieces of dried pine and carry them in a long- 
handled pan through the forest until we found a victim. 
