SPRUCE GROUSE 7 
little schoolhouse had been crowded up against 
the wall of the woods. A knot of squealing 
youngsters, wild with excitement, were danc- 
ing around two of the older boys who, armed 
with a Fourth of July cannon made of a .45 
calibre shell wired upon a block of wood, were 
trying to down a cock spruce grouse which was 
scolding and strutting on a bough about ten 
feet from the ground. Never did a gun crew 
work more earnestly. Powder, turned into the 
arm with trembling hands, was wadded with 
long moss from the nearest tree—the projectile 
the first pebble that would fit its muzzle. Then 
one gunner gripped the block tightly and aimed 
while the other scratched a match and applied it 
to the touchhole. Bang! Wild screeches and 
uproar! But Mr. Grouse merely gave his tail 
another flirt and continued to strut. Now, any 
boy present could have ‘‘fixed him’? at the first 
attempt with a rock, but no,—they were sports- 
men raised in a sportsman’s country and they 
were going to shoot him or lose him like gentle- 
men and thus be true to Dead River traditions. 
So the war went on until a lucky shot tumbled 
the bird from his perch minus half his head. 
Because of the distance of their haunts from 
