GROUSE IN NEW HAMPSHIRE. 



OLD BILL. 



The 14th of last September saw a party 

 of 4 busily crowding guns, ammunition, 

 cameras, clothing, etc., into a double-scared 

 carriage, preparatory to a week's trip into 

 New Hampshire. 



There are various ways of " going to 

 camp," but if one has the time and the 

 horses, there is no other way so enjoyable 

 as to drive. You have no trouble with the 

 dogs, as is usually the case in the cars, and 

 then you have your kit with you all the 

 time. Besides, a drive gives you an oppor- 

 tunity to examine the game country. The 

 stories each one has to tell, the dogs to 

 watch as they run beside the team, the 

 camp fires by the roadside, and the chances 

 to take pictures of camp scenes, all tend to 

 make it the pleasantest way to travel. 



THE NOTED COON DOG, 

 See page JS4- 



TRIM." 



At length we arrived at our destination, 

 a large old-fashioned farm house. We all 

 gave a loud " wha-whoop." Out popped 

 the old man and his pleasant wife, looking 

 exactly as they did 10 years before. 



" Wa'll, by crackey! here's the boys! " the 

 old man remarked, while his wife was as 

 pleased as he to see us again. 



The good old soul said she had made a 

 " batch o' biscuits, sorter expectin' you ter 

 day; " while the old man told of how the 

 " pesky foxes " were killing his hens, while 

 deer ran across the road occasionally, and 

 said no guns had been heard in the vicinity. 



Our party consisted of Doc, of Massa- 

 chusetts — better partridge shot never 

 hunted; " Old Nick," from Worcester; 

 Clint, a wild-fowler from Hampton, N. H.; 

 and me, sometimes called " Old Bill." 



For dogs, there was Doc's " Trap," a 

 keen-nosed Irish setter, an old hand at 

 grouse; Nick's English setter " Don," 

 and my " Dan." 



Up early the morning of the 15th we 

 hastened into canvas suits and leggins, and 

 were soon off. I took a cart-path shortly 

 after leaving the house. My brethren 

 soon flushed 2 birds, from a swamp adjoin- 

 ing. One darted across my path ahead. I 

 ran up in hopes of getting a view of his 

 course, but slipped and sat down for a rest. 

 While on the ground, the second bird came 

 flying toward me, and I dropped him when 

 within 30 feet. Doc winged a grouse, which 

 was soon retrieved. 



We went through a swamp, and flushed 

 6 birds, but did not get a shot. I again 

 took a cart-path. A bird flushed; someone 

 cried: " Look out, Bill." I did, and saw a 

 bird coming directly toward me, on a level 

 with my head. On he came at full speed, 

 passing within a yard, then turned sharply 

 to the right. As he disappeared in the 

 brush, 20 feet away, I fired and dropped 

 him. 



Another swamp was beaten, and 8 birds 

 flushed, but on account of the brush, no 

 shots were had. At the edge of the swamp 

 Dan was seen pointing, backed by Don, 

 but before we could all get into position, 

 the bird flushed and I got him. 



As the afternoon drew to a close, we 

 turned toward the house, I greatly pleased 

 with my 3 birds. The rest were empty 

 handed, except Doc, who had one. 



That evening we sat around the room, 

 listening to our host's stories. He was an 

 old gunner and could tell fox, wolf, and 

 rabbit stories until sunrise. 



The second day we entrusted the lunch 

 to Clint, for he urgently requested it, with 

 an obliging look on his face. Doc began 

 the day's sport by knocking over a grouse 

 in fine style. I flushed a woodcock on the 

 side of a hill, but shot too quickly and 

 missed with both barrels. Doc finished 

 him, however, on the second rise. This 

 provoked me, for I wanted the bird, so I 

 entered a swamp to get a shot, thinking to 

 even things up. Three grouse were flushed, 

 one of which was killed by Doc. 



After a few hours of hunting, all but 

 Clint complained of hunger. Of course we 

 did not want to insist on eating, while he 

 was not hungry, so we hunted an hour 

 longer. Still he was not hungry. By 2 

 o'clock, however, we found a spring and 

 insisted on nourishment. Then it was 

 found the wnld-fowler had helped himself 

 to all the grub. Doc was provoked, for he 

 is rather particular about not going hun- 

 gry; but we consoled ourselves as best we 



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