SHOOTING THE WOODS GROUSE 365 
whirls downward out of a cloud of feathers; another 
changes his course at the report of another gun, and 
mounts skyward through the tree-tops; the third, dash- 
ing the sunshine from his glistening wings, scuds away 
through an open place, with the guns belching flame 
and smoke vainly at the place he had just left; while 
the one that had mounted above the trees, poising for 
a second aloft, closes his wings and descends with a 
heavy thump to the earth. 
The fallen birds retrieved, we went on to find the 
scattered birds. Some three hundred yards we wan- 
dered along, and suddenly Frank began to dawdle in 
his pace. With gently oscillating tail, he sniffed in- 
quisitively at the breeze that swept up the hillside from 
the long ravine below. To our senses it was laden 
with the fragrance of ferns and wild buckwheat and 
wild peas and white clover, with wild rose and mint; 
but the dog smelt something more, for he stiddenly 
stopped with the quickness of thought, and at the same 
instant a grouse broke, with uproarious wing, from the 
deep green cover, some fifteen feet from his nose. 
Two charges of shot shivered the blended white and 
green of the birch behind which he disappeared, the 
air throbbed no more beneath the beat of his hoarse 
wings, and a faint nebula of fine feathers drifted into 
sight on one side of the tree. 
Up and down the hill again both dogs were soon 
beating the ground. In about five minutes Jack, com- 
ing down the hill on a gentle canter, dropped into the 
grass as suddenly as if shot, and lay there with only 
