THE RUFFED GROUSE 43 
placed when almost from under foot out dashes 
a big red beauty and curls around my head in a 
nerve-tangling curve. I try to turn with him 
and just clear his steering gear with the first 
cartridge, to steady down and make a good 
clean kill with the second as he is entering the 
tall timber. Mr. Dog retrieves him proudly, 
glad to see his master score an average of one 
kill to five cartridges. 
It is grand sport to stop their swift career (if 
you can, for not every bungler can do this 
trick) and it makes the pulses leap to see them 
come hurtling to the ground. The birds are 
now no weaklings—no half-fledged youngsters 
still running with the mother, but plump and 
well-grown beauties and the best game which 
the New England gunner, or for that matter 
any other student of the smoothbore, ever 
brings to bag. 
For success all the requisites of the true 
sportsman and the highest quality of work by 
the dog are needed. The bird may lead your 
dog a long chase through the timber, over 
rocks, through briars and brush, keeping him 
“‘roading’’ and ‘‘pointing’’ until both have dis- 
tanced the gun, and at such times he makes a 
