40 FEATHERED GAME 
tops, followed by two hasty shots, one from the 
hip, the other with the gun-butt under my arm- 
pit, and taken completely unaware, both 
charges tear great rents through the yellow- 
leaved chestnuts and screening pines, but for 
the bird only causing more haste where already 
speed was not lacking. My dog, with a comical 
wriggle of his tail to show his appreciation of 
the joke on his master, takes a few steps to the 
left and brings to my astonished gaze the bird 
we had seen fall. When shall I learn to trust 
entirely to that keen nose and fine wit which is 
by far the most important member of our part- 
nership? 
With the last trophy safely stowed, we move 
on to further conquests. Over a stone wall out 
into a low spot between two spurs of the hill. 
An old apple tree and a few thick pines make 
the setting of a picture which has for a centre 
of interest the motionless figure of the white 
pointer dog. Forty yards away two grouse 
rise and tear away up hill. Two hasty shots 
sent after them just as they turn the crest of the 
ridge never ruffle a feather, but the reports 
start four more close at hand, which offer the 
easiest of shots to my empty weapon. I rush 
