AFTER RUFFED GROUSE. 



175 



grouse, perhaps. That contents me, 

 though I am afraid to look at Sim. 



This is not easy work, going through 

 these scrub oaks and the underbrush. I 

 order Lance on and keep Sim close behind 

 while we keep the dog in sight. There he 

 points a scrub oak and somewhere behind 

 that thicket he knows the bird is. Now 

 where is it, cock or hen ? Up rises the 

 grouse, quarters to the nearest grove and 

 Sim is crying in agonized tones, 

 "Shoot! shoot!" 



I wait until the bird nears that bar of 

 sunlight streaming through the trees, and 

 then the snap of the first barrel, the flying 

 of feathers torn from the bird by the shot, 

 the dog rustling through the brush and 

 branches, and back comes Lance with the 

 first ruffed grouse, a cock at that ! He 

 growls when Sim tries to take him, for 

 when did Lance yield save to me! I hand 

 the bird to Sim, whose face has a beaming 

 "I told you so" upon it, and we move on. 



Lance stops and points high up .in the 

 tree tops. There perch 2 grouse. I decline 

 the shot and break Sim's heart. He almost 

 openly rebels, for is not his coat at stake ! 

 In his judgment I must shoot, since I have 

 not all to say, and I believe Lance is of the 

 same mind ; but I answer not, nor do I 

 shoot. It is a long tramp before we de- 

 cide that we are hungry and then take a 

 bite. I begin to question my wisdom and 

 judgment for I could easily have killed 

 both of the birds on the boughs. However, 

 Sim starts for the place where he saw the 

 fight and I call the dog so we follow him 

 closely. 



The sun is getting too high for sport, and 

 we climb the hill, when Sim calls my at- 

 tention to the dog, who is evidently in trou- 

 ble. I move quickly and the hill is alive 

 with birds. That is the way with grouse. 

 They separate in all directions, with a 

 booming that is distraction itself. The first 

 barrel goes off, and the second follows. 

 The second is better, and I am sure of it. 

 Lance is sent on to find. I have marked 

 the second, and Sims says he knows where 

 the first should be if I got it. I said, 



"Never mind the first. Of the second I 

 am sure." Lance is gone some time and 

 comes back from the direction of the first 

 shot with the bird ; but the second was a 

 miss, for the dog could not find, although 

 Sim was confident it was the second bar- 

 rel that killed, and not the first. Likewise 

 was I, but the dog knew better. 



Up the mountain side we took, after the 

 birds, but they were wild, and we could not 

 get near them. Though we tried our best 

 it was high noon when we took our lunch, 

 with only 2 birds in the bag. 



Down in the bottom, Sim decided, and as 

 it was my judgment also down we went, 

 because the birds were wild in the high 

 noon sun and stillness of the day. The 



scrub oak was sharp and cutting and the 

 thickets full of tangles and briars ! Every 

 now and then we heard the drum and 

 b-r-r-r of the grouse, going farther away 

 from us ! It was all I could do to keep the 

 dog in sight. In that sort of thicket and 

 underbrush he was worthless, for we were 

 making so much noise we scared the birds 

 before we could see whether the dog point- 

 ed them or not. 



"The heather was blooming, the meadows were 

 r aun, 

 Our lads gaed a hunting, ae day at the dawn, 

 O'er moors and o'er mosses and monie a glen; 

 At length they discover a bonnie moor hen. 



They hunted the valley; they hunted the hill; 

 The best o' our lads wi' the best o' their skill; 

 But still as the fairest she sat in their sight, 

 Then whirr she was over, a mile at a flight." 



It was all against us that I would get 

 another bird, and it was time to be turning 

 our way homeward. Sim did not like the 

 looks of things and was for trying the val- 

 ley from the other side. When 1 declined 

 he saw that coat going back to New York. 



"We will try the old wheat field," said 

 Sim, in a tone that left no alternative. I 

 assented. Some centuries past, there might 

 have been wheat there, but now it was 

 naught but scrub oaks and sage bushes, 

 with wintergreen and berry brambles all 

 over, and chestnuts, beeches and oaks form- 

 ing a perfect ring around it. It was on 

 the homeward way and when we reached 

 its edge and entered it the wind was dead 

 against us. It was an ideal place for a 

 double and I could follow Sim ready for 

 the shot to come. Cautiously, slowly and 

 quietly we worked our way through the un- 

 derbrush toward the center where the in- 

 tervals rose to a knoll. Then I saw Lance 

 on the point and Sim pointed too. Both 

 dog and boy had utterly forgotten me, for 

 therein the center, on a veritable scratching 

 place, strutted a cock o' th' mountain, with 

 the peculiar knicking of the feathers on toe 

 and spur, booming his love song in trium- 

 phant strains ! There were the hens, pick- 

 ing berry and bud, and there was the never 

 to be forgotten picture ! 



From the distance came another sound. 

 A rival was coming to enter the contest. 

 There was to be a tournament and the 2 

 Sir Knights, cocks o' th' mountain, would 

 battle for the fair ladies! Mark the cock 

 o' th' mountain, how he turns to confront 

 his rival, the coming antagonist. See how- 

 he ruffles and makes his neck feathers 

 bristle! See how it swells and puffs in 

 anger ! The wings drag on the ground, then 

 rise and close tightly to the body. Hear 

 his tones as the other cock o' th' moun- 

 tain comes out. They are going to fight 

 a battle royal. They pit themselves with- 

 out fear, and game to heart's core; and 

 then Sim must have been rudely inquisi- 

 tive and lost his balance, for he fell and 

 the birds were gone. 



