308 AMERICAN GAME BIRD SHOOTING 
about thirty yards distant fire, and it is yours. At 
the report of the gun your dog appears on the bank 
above, pauses a moment until you have slipped an- 
other cartridge into the gun, and then dashes off to- 
ward where the bird lies. A word steadies him as 
he approaches it, and after quartering once or twice 
the scent reaches his nostrils. He feels for it, then 
pauses, and at command steps forward, gently takes 
the bird in his mouth and trots slowly toward you, 
expressing as much pride and satisfaction in his face 
and in his slowly wagging tail as if he had captured 
the prize without any assistance of yours. On again, 
along the border of the swamp, sometimes stooping 
low to pass beneath the tangled underbrush, or forc- 
ing your way through the thick alders, making the 
dead stems crack and fly, or passing through a spot 
free from low shrubs, where the tall, gray trunks of 
the hardwood trees stand apart, and the footfall is 
scarcely heard on the damp, dead leaves. For some 
time the dog works quietly ahead of you, manifesting 
none of the signs which would lead you to suspect 
that birds were near; but as you approach a little arm 
of the swamp which runs up a narrow ravine, the 
merry action of the setter’s tail warns you to be pre- 
pared for a point. Yes, there, where the wind has 
swept aside the leaves, exposing the black mud _ be- 
neath, you see in it dozens of little round holes, which 
tell you that the long bill has been at work here. Sud- 
denly he stops, and stands quite still, except that the 
tip of his tail moves a little from side to side. As 
