AMONG IOWA QUAILS. 



429 



calling Brant to heel, I crossed the branch, 

 coming in below, to give the dog the wind. 



Long before we were near where I had 

 marked them down, Brant began to road. 

 He would stop, move up a little and stop 

 again. The birds were running. The wind 

 was strong and the grass wet; every con- 

 dition favorable to the dog worked well. 



Finally, after roading and pointing for 

 fully 200 feet, he froze fast, about 20 feet 

 from a clump of rag-weed. As I reached 

 the dog, there came a great fluttering, and 

 away went as fine a bunch of quails as you 

 will see in many a day's hunt. 



Crack! crack! went the nitro, and of 

 course I expected to see 2 puffs of feathers, 

 and to gather 2 plump birds; but I did not. 

 I then looked around to see if, perchance, 

 anybody had seen me. 



The birds took to a corn field near by, 

 the stalks of which towered higher than 

 my head. It would be folly to try for that 

 bevy again, I thought; but as I walked 

 around the corner of the field, Brant, a 

 little wild after the excitement, flushed a 

 cock, which fell at the crack of the gun. 



Knowing where more birds could be 

 found, I crossed the pond, gathered in one 

 bird on the way, and started up the creek, 

 having half a mile to travel to what is 

 known as the big slough. 



Sure enough, birds were there. Almost 

 the instant the dog began showing signs of 

 game, up they went, 30 at least, and away 

 over the willows, up the slough into the 

 corn field, scattering nicely — all but the one 

 that was stopped with the first barrel; they 

 were gone too quickly for the second. 



" Now for a big match; and if you shoot 

 as you have shot, on a few other occasions, 

 you will have no reason to be ashamed of 

 the result," I thought. 



There were a good many quails in the 

 slough grass, so Brant was ordered in. He 

 stiffened into a point almost at once. Not 

 caring to go down the steep bank, I kicked 

 the bushes, where I stood, making a noise 

 like a drove of cattle. This sent the birds 

 out in a hurry, and I scored another — clean 

 miss. " Wouldn't the boys guy me, if they 

 Tcnew." Brant was still there, as solid as at 

 first. There must be another; yes — crack! 

 — feathers. He's mine — no: he goes on. 

 This is serious; something must be done. 



Brant moves a yard and freezes fast 

 again. A clod sends the birds out. Two 

 puffs of feathers — one bird in the ditch and 

 another in the corn. " You don't care for 

 more than a dozen; you have 5 already; 

 there are plenty of others at hand, so now 

 pick your birds and shoot only cocks." 



We had reached the limit of the willows. 

 Here the slough divided, one branch going 

 to the East, the other out into a meadow to 

 the North. The East branch was full of 

 long, dead grass and blackberry bushes; an 

 ide^l cover, but hard for dog and worse for 



hunter. " Guess we'll try it. Hi on, old 

 boy! in you go. Steady — fast again." 



Oh, for a camera! What a picture! If 

 scoffers could only see that they would 

 never again ask why a fellow loves to hunt. 

 " Old dog, you're worth a farm! Wonder 

 how long they'll lay to the dog? Five 

 minutes surely. Now it must be fully 6. 

 This suspense is making me nervous; guess 

 I'd better kick 'em out." 



One step forward. Crack! bang! an aw- 

 ful recoil, and a cloud of smoke; 2 birds 

 down. 



How in thunder did that black powder 

 get in there? What's this? 3 birds down? 

 and I aimed at only 2. 



The slough farther up proves a blank, 

 but perhaps we can find them in the corn, 

 close by. It had been gathered, and the 

 wagons broke down every other row; so 

 shooting was possible, if not so easy as one 

 could wish. I had not gone far when 3 

 birds flushed wild. Taking a snap shot at 

 the last bird, I noticed a leg drop, showing 

 the aim was not at fault; but he continued 

 to fly, apparently as strong as ever, and 

 reached the fence with the others. 



Following, I sent the dog around to the 

 other side, to have the wind in his favor. 



1 had gone perhaps 20 yards, when right 

 before me on the grass, lay a dead bird, 

 the one I had just shot at. 



Following the dog up the fence, I bagged 



2 more. Then, feeling sure of finding the 

 other one, to fill out, I started home. 



When near the place where I had found 

 the first bevy, 2 birds flushed wild. I tried 

 for a double, but missed with both barrels. 

 Still, I was to have my last bird, for the 

 gun was hardly reloaded when the dog 

 came to a stand with a jerk, his head turned 

 around against his side. The stop was so 

 sudden, and the position so strained, he al- 

 most fell over. The birds got up almost 

 immediately, 3 of them, and as the gun 

 cracked, I counted No. 12. 



" Now, my boy, you are no game hog; 

 so call it a good day's sport, and leave the 

 rest for seed." 



The bag was " all feathers," so far, but 

 my good luck had not deserted me; for, 

 as I was passing through a patch of timber, 

 Brant ran to a tree and sniffed around the 

 roots and^up the sides, finally standing up 

 against it, wagging his tail and acting as 

 if a cat was among the branches. He had 

 no use for cats. 



I looked up and saw a squirrel. " You'll 

 go home with me, too; so here goes," and 

 he was added to the bag. 



Reaching home, I placed my game in a 

 row, so it would show up well. I then 

 called my mother to see what I had. 



" How many? " she asked. 



" Twelve quails and a squirrel," I proudly 

 answered; and what do you suppose she 

 said? It was this: " Oh. you pot hunter! " 



