FROM THE GAME FIELDS, 



363 



On March 17, '98, I went snipe shooting 

 in company with young Harry Miner. We 

 drove out of Bowling Green along the cem- 

 etery pike, and arriving at the Morehead 

 farm, which has 300 acres of blue-g"rass 

 land in the river bottom, we hitched our 

 horses, breeched our guns and got ready 

 for work. 



It began to sprinkle before we flushed a 

 bird and soon was pelting furiously. We 

 found a small flock and in the course of 

 an hour had killed 7 birds, all of which 

 were poor. Snipe do not fly far on a 

 rainy day. I killed one coming over me; 

 something rather unusual, for the snipe is 

 a wary bird and rarely flies toward a hu- 

 man being. When they are flushed their 

 zigzag flight makes them a difficult target. 



On March 22d I was out again after the 



festive snipe. My friend, Dr. C , and I 



drove to the Morehead meadow, but 2 or 3 

 shots drove all the birds across the river. 

 We got a boat and followed them. 



Three hundred yards from the shore we 

 put up a flock of killdeer and 2 or 3 snipe. 



Dr. C went into cover composed of 



briars and tall grass, got up several and 

 banged away to no effect. He came back 

 and we started along an old cow-path, 

 when a bird got up in front of him and 

 to my right. As the doctor had been 

 having all the fun since we came over 

 the river, I took this one. We went 

 through a barbed wire fence and the cover 

 became ideal. Bird after bird got up. The 

 doctor did deadly work, and in an hour 

 my game sack was full ; but both of us 

 were out of shells. However, in my 

 breeches pocket I found an old shell that 

 had been loaded 2 years or more. I was 

 somewhat dubious, but seeing a bird alight 

 in some sedge grass, walked him up and 

 the cartridge proved true. 



My limited experience in snipe shooting 

 has led me to believe that No. 8 shot, 

 backed by nitro, is the best shell to use, 

 though it rarely kills outright. No. 7 shot 

 are more deadly, but less effective in bring- 

 ing down a bird. As for the old fashioned 

 black powder, it is almost a waste of time 

 to use it, as far as a second shot is con- 

 cerned. Ere the smoke clears away the 

 snipe are out of range. 



A BET AND A RABBIT CHASE. 

 Four Jerseymen were quartered at a Vir- 

 ginia farmhouse in quest of a little sport 

 among the quails. The farmer would drive 

 the sportsmen to where quails were plenti- 

 ful, and at the close of the day bring them 

 home. During the drives to and from the 

 grounds rabbits would frequently dart 

 across the road, in front of the horses, sit 

 on their haunches and smile as the gunners 

 passed by. So often did this occur that 

 the sporting blood of the Jerseymen boiled. 

 One of them, John, yelled, " I'll bet $5 I 



will catch the next rabbit that crosses the 

 road." Frank took the bet instantly amid 

 cheers from his companions. The wager 

 was no sooner made than out bounded a 

 bunny, ran along a few yards and disap- 

 peared in the brush and tall grass. 



John's chance had come. He leaped from 

 the wagon, and entering the tall grass, went 

 flying after the rabbit. The shouts of the 

 judges and referee were so boisterous that 

 the rabbit stopped to learn the cause of the 

 commotion. So amazed was he at the wild 

 antics of the onlookers that he forgot his 

 own safety until pounced upon by the sly 

 John and seized by the ears. 



The $5 was cheerfully paid by Frank, and 

 the rabbit carried to the farm. The follow- 

 ing morning the party gathered in the open 

 field for another chase. The 4 men stood 

 around and 50 feet from the farmer, who 

 was to release the rabbit. At the word, 

 bunny ran, with all the Jerseymen after him 

 helter skelter. This time the rabbit showed 

 no curiosity, but ran as fast as his legs 

 could carry him. He got through the block- 

 ade and reached an old stone wall and 

 safety. S. P. L., Leesburg, Va. 



TOO BIG FOR HIM. 



In 1881 I was practicing medicine in 

 Leadville, Col. A young friend proposed a 

 grouse hunt on Mount Massive, just across 

 the Arkansas river. With 2 good breech 

 loading shotguns and a fine Gordon setter, 

 we went up a large canyon into the moun- 

 tain and stayed all night with a charcoal 

 burner. In the morning we started up the 

 mountain through dead pine timber, fire 

 killed 20 years before. We found good 

 grouse shooting in the young pine timber. 

 My friend, John Armijo, and I were about 

 100 yards apart when the dog flushed a 

 blue grouse that flew over a large tangled 

 pile of dead logs. The bird fell at the crack 

 of the gun and the dog ran around the 

 " rack heap " to retrieve it. Never have 

 I before or since seen a dog so badly fright- 

 ened. With tail tucked between his legs, 

 he took a bee line down the mountain to- 

 ward home. I got up on the logs. Below 

 and within 20 feet of me, his fore paws on 

 the grouse, was a large mountain lion, 

 looking up and snarling at me. His long 

 white fangs showed beautifully. It seemed 

 to me I could see teeth a foot back in his 

 head. It did not take me long to get to 

 the ground where Armijo was. He laughed 

 at me for not killing the lion and said a 

 load- of No. 6 shot would kill it easily. But 

 when I offered to show him the animal 

 he concluded not to go, and even asked me 

 to say nothing about it on our return. But 

 the story was too good to keep. Besides 

 the dog was at home waiting for us, and 

 that had to be accounted for. 



C. B. R., M.D., Carroll County, Mo. 



