WOODCOCK AND SNIPE IN NOVA SCOTIA. 



475 



crossing a road. Now he holds up; looks 

 around to see where we are, moves on 2 

 or 3 steps, then stops again; takes one or 

 2 more quick, cat-like strides, and then 

 holds up solid. 



" There you are, wife; just gaze on that, 

 for a picture. Great Scott! Is it not worth 

 coming all this distance, just to see that? 



" Yes, but look out; he may flush the 

 bird," answers the better half. 



" Now Jack, steady; up, up." 



Just half a step he makes, and stops with 

 one paw in the air, when " scaipe " goes the 

 snipe. Up goes the gun, another victim 

 down, and the Ithaca takes all the credit. 



Once more forward. Now Jack stops, 

 again, but what with his splashing through 

 the water, and the noise of his bells, the 

 snipe rises wild, and with a " scaipe " goes 

 darting away, in search of a new hiding 

 place. Two reports ring out, in quick suc- 

 cession, but the bird keeps on. All right, 

 we don't hanker for a reputation, of " sud- 

 den death " every time. 



Another start and Jack soon straightens 

 out his neck, curves his back slightly, takes 

 one or 2 sniffs, with that never failing nose, 

 and then, with head and neck straight out, 

 he walks deliberately forward about 30 

 yards, stops, moves back a few paces, 

 swings over a little to the left, and then 

 stands stiff and immovable. This time I 

 walk quickly toward him, saying, " steady, 

 boy, steady," until I get within shooting 

 distance. Then " up, Jack," and he makes 

 a step forward. " Scaipe, scaipe " goes a 

 relative of the chap that went before; but 

 unfortunately this songster, had loitered 

 too long by the way side, and the Ithaca 

 had no trouble in calling him down. 



Gathering him in, we swing about and 

 make off toward some high alders, on our 

 left. Jack works back and forth and soon 

 shows, by his quick, nervous action, that 

 more game is lingering near. Soon the 

 dog stops, raises his head, and looks 

 straight on. I follow the line, and am just 

 in time to see a brown object burst over 

 the hill. I throw up the gun, but fail to 

 connect, and do not press the trigger. 



Mrs. A — wants to know what it was. 

 She had not heard or seen anything. 



" It was a cute old woodcock. He got up 

 ahead of the dog, and sneaked off without 

 a sound. It might be his outer, or 3 alter- 

 nate primaries, have not yet been fully de- 

 veloped; or the unfortunate bird, might 

 still be moulting. Consequently, not hav- 

 ing any vocal powers, he was unable to 

 make that peculiar whistle. Possibly that 

 was why you did not hear him." 



Then we moved on to investigate the 

 subject of so much discussion. Arriving 

 at the point where I had seen the bird dis- 

 appear, I looked the ground over, and said: 



" Do you see that thick clump of alders, 

 down there to the left? Well, that wood- 

 cock is in them. You stay here and watch, 



and if I shout ' mark ' you look out. The 

 chances are that if I don't get a shot he will 

 come back this way. Come, Jack." And 

 down we went. I put Jack in the back of 

 the patch and, making him " charge down," 

 I hurried around to the front. " Now Jack, 

 put him up." 



The bell tinkled merrily as the dog 

 worked through the cover toward me. 

 Finally it stopped. Then it sounded again. 

 Once more he paused. Then another 

 tinkle and then a dead silence. I knew 

 Jack had him. " Up, Jack. 



The bell tinkled. " Up." Another 

 tinkle. I waited a while and then said, 

 " Come, Jack, put him up." Another tinkle 

 is heard, and with a merry whistle, out 

 comes the cock. The gun drops quickly on 

 to his line of flight, and the bird is smashed 

 out of existence. 



I picked him up, and walking back to 

 Mrs. A., we noted his 3 outer primaries 

 were perfect; that he was not moulting, 

 to any considerable extent, and we con- 

 cluded he did not whistle the first time, be- 

 cause he had sense enough to keep quiet; 

 which is more than I can say of some peo- 

 ple I know. However, we did not wish to 

 go into this vexed question, and decided 

 the bird could whistle, or not whistle, as he 

 chose. 



Now, let us swing back toward the house. 

 The afternoon is speeding away, and it is 

 time to turn homeward. 



" Now, old doggie, hie, on. Look 'em 

 up." On we go; but no more birds ob- 

 struct our pathway, and with the exception 

 of an odd grouse, that gets up, now and 

 again, and goes bustling off, we find noth- 

 ing worth noting until we come out of the 

 cover, close to the house. As we drew near 

 a corner of the field, Jack, who had been 

 working ahead on the edge, suddenly held 

 up, and with body half swung round, nose 

 and neck slightly curved, tail drooping, 

 eyes fixed, paw raised, stood motionless. 



I knew there was a bird under his nose; 

 so stepped ahead, when up it jumped. 

 Ithaca spoke, and down he came, all in a 

 heap. Calling Jack to heel, and slipping in 

 another shell I walked forward to pick up 

 the bird, when up from the very spot where 

 I had marked the bird, sprang a cock. It 

 was a surprise party, but the gun leaped 

 into place; the safety was shoved forward, 

 the trigger was pressed, and a charge of 

 No. 7 laid him low, just as he was slipping 

 out of sight around the corner. 



I picked him up and then came back to 

 where the first bird had fallen, but could 

 not find it, and concluded the 2 birds, were 

 one and the same, that the first barrel, with 

 No. 10 shot, had simply knocked him down, 

 but that he had recovered and was making 

 off, when the second finished him. 



Then we put up the game, called in the 

 dog, and wended our way to the house, 

 fully satisfied with the afternoon's sport. 



