A BOY AND A GROUSE 



HARRY LEONARD. 



It doesn't seem so long ago, but it must 

 have been, for I was a small boy then. Our 

 hunt began early Thanksgiving day. 

 My father, uncle and I were to have a 

 grand grouse hunt. I lay awake all the 

 night before, getting up every hour or so 

 to see what time it was. But I must have 

 slept at last ; for the next I knew I was 

 pulled out of bed by the heels and told to 

 hurry, which I certainly did. Such 

 scrambling about, such a hurried break- 

 fast ; and then, after guns and cartridges 

 were ready, we started. 



It was a regular hunter's morning ; not 

 the kind you hear about, with the sun 

 bursting into glistening radiance. Oh, no ; 

 it was a damp, foggy morning, with the 

 grass sodden and squishy under foot, and 

 every limb or leaf we touched ready to 

 pour an icy rivulet down our necks. 



A short walk took us to the woods, 

 and we deployed in single column.- I was 

 ordered to the extreme right wing. This 

 was thoughtfully given me, as I remember, 

 because there I would be in less danger of 

 getting a grouse. Stealthily, with Indian 

 like tread, I moved along, so noiselessly, in 

 fact, that in 10 minutes I was left so far 

 behind the others I could barely hear 

 them crashing ahead like a yoke of steers. 

 How many sounds there were to investi- 

 gate ! At every rustle my gun jumped to 

 my shoulder at full cock. After a half 

 hour's practice, I had covered all the inani- 

 mate objects in sight, and began to realize 

 I had not yet seen a grouse. 



I soon came to a brook which I wished 

 to cross. It was too wide to jump, so I 

 followed it along some distance. Where it 

 was a little narrower, a flying leap took 

 me almost across. As I drew myself out 

 of that icy water I could not doubt there 

 were things in this world more enjoyable 

 than a grouse hunt. 



On I started again, timed by the regular 

 swish! swash! of my soaking shoes. It 

 began to drizzle, then it turned to rain. 

 and how it poured ! Not reflecting that I 

 was as wet as I could be, I sought a big fir 

 tree and got under shelter. I leaned 

 against the trunk to think how I could get 

 a grouse. I was soon awakened from my 

 revery by becoming aware that trees leaked 

 and that this one had a particularly bad 

 puncture. Incidentally this had flooded my 

 back and the seat of my trousers. Full of 

 wrath at being so imposed on, I renewed 

 my tramp, bound to bring some game to 

 bag. 



Soon I came to an old wall, and as I was 

 getting over I saw game. There was no 

 mistaking it. A gray squirrel was making 

 a beeline for the top of a big chestnut tree. 

 Ah, ha! here was my chance, or here 

 would have been my chance if that squirrel 

 had stopped on my side of the tree. I 

 soon discovered, it made no difference 

 which side I was on, he was on the other. 

 Threaten and storm as I would, I could 

 not induce him to show more than the tip 

 of his tail. At that I fired ; and as the stars 

 paled and faded away I realized I had 

 drawn first blood ; not from the squirrel 

 but from my nose. 



That indeed called for drastic measures, 

 and for 10 minutes I poured a regular Boer 

 fusilade into that tree. Such a bombard- 

 ment those woods never heard before, and 

 probably never will hear again. As the 

 smoke cleared, I saw victory perched on 

 my banner. Most of the treetop was 

 blown away and a bedraggled and ill used 

 gray squirrel lay dead at my feet. 



My stomach then struck for more 

 work. Since that day I have often won- 

 dered why the rest of man so differs from 

 his stomach. Having nothing to quiet 

 those pangs. I gathered in my game, 

 dumped it in my cartridge bag, which was 

 nearly empty, and started for home. ,. I 

 had gone but a short distance when a bass 

 drum and a pair of cymbals flew up from 

 under my feet. Then the rest of a brass 

 band got up all around me and let loose. 

 When I gathered my scattered senses the 

 last grouse was just sailing out of sight. 

 I promptly raised my gun and blew a 

 hole a foot square in a tree 40 yards be- 

 hind him. 



I then hastened in the direction they 

 had taken, having made up my mind not 

 to become rattled again. 



In a short time I heard a soft rustling of 

 leaves, and suddenly the ground around me 

 seemed alive with grouse. I finally selected 

 a bird that was running along with his 

 neck stretched. I aimed just ahead of him 

 and fired. Then there was music again ! 

 The air was full of whirring birds, but the 

 one flapping on the ground was the only 

 grouse in the world for me. 



Dropping everything, I grabbed my bird 

 with both hands, and he was indeed dead 

 when I loosened my hold. 



Happy? Look back, ye sportsmen, to 

 the days of your first grouse, and remem- 

 ber the thrill that went through your heart 

 when you picked up that bird. Gosh ! 

 wasn't it a buster? 



437 



