
BRADLEY, FROM BAGGS 
““And right then, what do you think? 
Up got an old cock grouse with a roar and a 
cackle right from under the nose of one of 
Gilder’s pointers, which had been nosing 
around, and, say, you can bet I shot quick. 
That bird come down as quick as he got up. 
And what do you think? He’d shot, too, 
the Doctor had. 
““That’s my bird,’ said he; ‘you was 
late and you shot low.’ 
“That was where I had him fast. I 
knew I had killed the bird, for the shot was 
most favorable for me, while Gilder had to 
turn half way around to even catch a sight 
of the bird. 
“*Oh, is that so?’ said I. ‘Then I'll 
have to complain of you to the game warden. 
You’ve already shot your five birds to-day, 
which gives you thirty-six, if yore own tally 
is right. If you shot that bird it’s going to 
cost you, let’s see, sixty dollars for the 
misdemeanor, twenty-five for the bird— 
that’s the law—besides the costs. You shot 
him, now, didn’t you?’ said I. And then, 
what do you think? The old fool got 
rattled and said he was only fooling and he 
had shot without even taking aim, to hustle 
the bird along. Why, he didn’t have any 
nerve at all when I called his bluff. 
“T didn’t say anything more, but went 
and picked up the bird, and then, with the 
little dog still on the chain, I pulled out and 
left them. I went straight to the house of 
the woman on the South road, where I had 
boarded the dog. And say, what do you 
think? I said to her, ‘I don’t own this dog. 
He just come to me while I was hunting. 
241 
I want you to keep him and I’ll-advertise 
for his owner. But you must be careful 
that his rightful owner gets him.’ 
“Vou needn’t to mind,’ said the woman. 
“That dog belongs to us as much as to any- 
body. We raised him and it was-my son 
trained him. But since Henry went away to 
work in Binghamton he has got to going 
around and living most anywheres. He 
won’t stay home in gunning season and 
lives with hunters mostly. I thought you 
knew it, and the money was for me to keep 
him home for you, so’s you’d have him 
every day. Why, pshaw! since you been so 
liberal, you just take him along home and 
keep him. He’s yours, if you’ll give him a 
good home.’ ” 
Bradley arose and unbarred the back 
door of the store. When the door was 
opened two dogs bounded in from the outer 
darkness and frisked joyously around him 
with noisy barks. One was a little black — 
dog with a bushy tail that curved over his 
back like the tail of a Spitz; the other was 
a fine, well-muscled, long-eared, big-nosed 
liver-and-white pointer. 
“That’s him,” said Bradley, proudly. 
‘““The best little partridge dog in the State 
of New Jersey, ain’t you, Jerry? And this 
is Doc”—mauling the delighted pointer— 
‘‘and he likes me better than he ever liked 
that old fossil of a Gilder, don’t you, boy? 
Hey! you rascals, will we show this fellow 
from Ioway how to hunt partridges? Hey! 
Bet yore life, boys, and soon now, soon. 
Only five more breakfasts, and then—! 
Hey! you rascals, want yore supper ?” 

