160 The Grouse Family 



which would do credit to a host of gigantic bull- 

 frogs. 



When I first heard this booming, it sorely puz- 

 zled me. It was in western Ontario, on what is 

 known as Raleigh plains — an extensive tract of 

 low, marshy land, lying for miles along the south 

 bank of the Thames River. During early spring 

 this tract was flooded with the exception of a 

 limited central area of less than one hundred 

 acres in extent. Spring shooting of geese, duck, 

 and snipe was then both legal and amazingly 

 good, guns were comparatively few, and the plains 

 formed something very like an earthly Eden for 

 those sufficiently game to face astounding mud 

 and ice-cold water. To get out before gray dawn, 

 to occupy some trifling "hide," and there await 

 the morning flight of waterfowl, was the proper 

 caper. This frequently was wet, dirty work, but 

 the shooting was grand, so discomfort was cheer- 

 fully endured. Just before sunrise, from the higher 

 part of the plains there invariably came a mysteri- 

 ous sound — " Boo-rum-roo-boo-rum-roo " often re- 

 peated. I had then never seen a live prairie-hen, 

 nor had the older local gunners, and the booming 

 sound troubled me much. It was easily imitated, 

 and one day I spoke of it to three red-faced old 

 rascals of the genuine old sporting school. 



" What's it like ? " growled one, who hated 

 troublesome boys as he hated his Satanic majesty. 



