454 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
[Dec. 5, 1903. 
Difficult Pictures to Take. 
It looks simple enough to get a satisfactory picture 
of a dog standing birds, and so it is, provided the birds 
lie close, as is generally the case with quail or wood- 
cock, and the dog is staunch. But when the birds are 
partridges and the time late November, it is a different 
proposition altogether. 
By that time it is pretty safe to say there are few par- 
tridges in Sullivan county, New York, where the ac- 
companying pictures were taken, that have not been 
trailed b}' a dog, shot at or in some manner smelled 
the smoke of battle. They are always ready to run or 
fly from the slightest noise behind them, especialljr to 
run if the cover is at all open. One of the first things 
a mother partridge teaches her young brood is never 
to fly from an open space when man or dog is near; 
run to cover, and when you do fly keep behind a bush 
or tree. 
Your dog may be holding a beautiful point, seemingly 
as rigid as the trunk of that big oak near him, and 
if you could walk on air it would be an easy matter 
to get an unobstructed view for your camera at the 
proper distance. But you walk through dry leaves. 
the birds without ever thinking of the camera. Then I 
Iiid the gun in the bushes and followed Clem into a 
little swale, but the bird jumped before I was ready. 
Clem seemed rather surprised at not hearing the report 
of the gun, and no doubt the bird was also somewhat 
mystified about the man who hunted partridges with a 
black box that neither made a noise nor spit the little 
death berries after him. 
On the outside of this swale Clem made a point that 
would convince 3'ou a dog really thinks. Those who 
have hunted him call it Clem's "fake" stand, a trick 
he always resorted to when you wanted him to hunt in 
a different direction from the one he evidently thought 
best. On such occasions he would pretend to be trail- 
ing a bird, and every few feet come to a point, but as 
soon as he saw that he had coaxed you into going his 
way he would break into his long, swinging trot and 
get down to legitimate hunting, evidently chuckling to 
himself over having worked that old trick once more. 
Across the road, in an old field rather thickly 
covered Avith a miscellaneous growth of bushes and 
young trees, Clem made several .good points. Here 
I fully realized the difficulty of getting the picture I 
wanted, and the perversit}^ of a partridge, coupled with 
It was Christmas eve, as on the previous occasion, 
when we introduced these three worthies to the reader. 
They had dined sumptuously as usual, and Tim had 
stepped out after dinner "to see what the night was 
doin'," in his own phrase, which led to the above little 
rumpus. 
As soon as Jake had passed around the hot rum, 
steaming aromatically, Tim settled back in his chair 
and seemed to listen with a keen and almost poetic 
enjoyment to the eerie sounds of the storm out of 
doors. After a while he put his hand in his pocket 
and took out a meerschaum pipe, elaborately carved 
with a deer's head. This he filled dehberately and lit, 
while Jake and Wirt kept their eyes fixed upon him. 
Never, except on "state occasions," as he called them, 
did Tim smoke this pipe. 
"Vhere did you git dot pipe, anyvays, Tim?" Jake 
inquired at length. 
"That's a question you've asked every Christmas eve 
for nearly tin years," answered Tim, "and I haven't 
answered it for good and sufficient raisons, no offince 
mint. But I think I can answer it now, without injury 
to me conscience or anybody's reputation, as you'll 
understand whin I'm done." 
CLEM S FAKE STAND. NO SIGN OF A BIRD. JUST COAXING YOU TO FOLLOW. 
CLEM POINTING PARTRIDGES IN OLD FIELD. 
step upon fallen branches of trees or brush against 
rustling bushes — all of them good friends to the bird — 
and each sends its wireless message to an ear almost 
as sensitive as a Marconi receiver. Then the bird 
moves, the dog takes a step or two, and when he points 
again all you can see of him is what some tree or bush 
fails to cover. But don't give in that you are beaten; 
try again, and the next time you may get your picture. 
Again, you may come upon your dog pointing in just 
the spot you desire, with the bird within a few feet of 
his nose, and make your exposure without trouble. 
This chance generally presents itself Avhen you have 
left your camera at home. 
For this branch of the sport the dog should prefer- 
ably be white, marked with lemon, brown or black, and 
not more than three or four years old. If he is an old 
dog and has been hunted a great deal, he is apt to be- 
come blase, and will not give you the graceful point 
of a younger dog, whose blood tingles with excitement 
when he gets his nose anywhere near a game bird. 
The dog used in obtaining these pictures was an un- 
usually large, white English setter, with lemon mark- 
ings, and belonged to Mr. W. H. Hankins, of Sullivan 
count3^ His name is Clem, and he is about six or 
seven years of age. He has probably been shot over 
nearly every day in the open season since he was old 
enough to hunt, besides doing a little summer rabbit 
hunting for his indi^ddual pleasure and gratification, of 
which sport he was very fond, as are most bird dogs. 
Indeed, when Clem appeared all fagged out at the end 
of a day's hunt, the sight of a pile of brush or a thick 
patch of briers that might be hiding a rabbit, would 
always brace him up. If he was fortunate enough to 
find bunny at home, you would see a chase when Long 
Ears broke cover that Avould astonish you. "How in 
the world," you would mutter to yourself, "could that 
half dead dog come to life so quick?" Clem knew such 
eonduct was tabooed when out after partridges, and if 
you were nearby he would back away from the rabbit 
when ordered to do so, but before leaving always gave 
the brush heap a parting slap with his foot, just to see 
the little fellow run. 
The first stand Clem made the day I had him out 
was in the edge of the woods by the side of a brook, 
the water almost touching his foot as it rippled over 
the stones. What a picture that would have made. 
And right here I discovered that I should have left 
my gun at home, for I stepped up and took a shot at 
his fixed determination to do the wrong thing at the 
right time. Clem was not long in locating the birds, 
coming to a beautiful stand, one foot up and head and 
tail straightened oirt, but as I would move up to get 
the proper distance, the bird would run a few steps, 
until it seemed like a game of chess, except that the 
bird made his move almost simultaneously with mine 
and succeeded in checkmating me at every turn. At 
last he flew without leaving his image on the sensitive 
film waiting to receive it. 
In a few minutes Clem again pointed, and this time 
I was fortunate enough to be at the proper distance, 
and snapped him just as the birds, three of them, 
jumped from under a cluster of laurels about twenty 
or thirty feet from the dog. Pres. Hall. 
How Tim Mulcahy Got Shot at 
for a Deer. 
BY FRANCIS MOONAN. 
The door was flung open and the frosty air, accom- 
panied by the driving snow, rushed in in a way to chill 
the whole barroom. Jake Kiimmelwasser roused him- 
self from an after-dinner nap by the stove and roared: 
"Shut dot door!" 
Wirt Zander, who had been dreaming with his eyes 
open, while munching mechanically his beloved weed, 
looked around reproachfully and drew nearer to the 
stove. 
"What's the matter?" cried Tim Mulcahy, who 
walked in and began shaking the snow from his cloth- 
ing. "One would think that you two was a pair of hot- 
house plants!" 
"Bah!" cried Jake. "You Irishmans vant everyt'ing 
vide open!" 
"And you Dutchmin," said Tim, "only want your 
mouths wide open!" 
In a contest of this kind Jake generally came off sec- 
ond best, so he made no attempt at retort, but merely 
requested Tim to stop his foolishness, shut the door 
and sit down. 
"Bedad," said Tim, when he'd taken his seat, "This 
night reminds me of the night I slep' with the bear on 
the mountain." 
Jake knew what this meant, and immediately pro- 
ceeded behind the bar and took down the bottle of 
rum. 
He took the pipe out of his mouth, regarded it con- 
templatively for a few minutes, restored it and then, be- 
tween puffs, delivered himself as follows: 
"It is nearly tin years since I was sittin' one evenin' 
in the barroom doAvn at the hotel. The thrain had 
just come in, and as I looked out of the window I 
seen a young man with a shootin' kit get out of the 
stage and inter the hotel. I says to meself: 'Here's a 
chance of a job,' and I asked Gus, the bartinder, to put 
in a good word for me if the sthranger should be 
lookin' for a guide. Well, I hung around till after 
supper, whin I was pleased to see me man inter the bar- 
room. He was a dapper little chap, dressed like a 
cock pheasant and talked with a drawl. 
" 'A — good evenin',' says he to Gus, 'let me have a 
brandy and soda.' 
"Thin he began to talk about shootin', and told Gus 
how he'd stopped off on his way to Pittsburg for a day 
in the woods. 
" 'You'll want a guide, of coorse,' says Gus. 
" 'Well — a,' says he, 'that depinds. They're such 
frauds, most of 'em, dontcher know.' 
" 'Oh, I don't know,' says Gus. 'I guess some of 
thim are all right. And there's oiie of 'em here now-.' 
" 'A — is this the man?' says me lord, turnin' to me. 
'Are you a guide?' 
" 'Well,' says I, 'I have done some guidin' in me 
time.' 
" 'Do you think— a,' says he, 'you could find any deer 
in the woods?' 
" 'I think I could,' says I. 
" 'A—,' says he, 'that's what ye all say!' 
" 'You think,' says I, 'that we're inclined to be too 
oppymistic?' 
" 'That's the poloite way of puttin' it,' says he, 'but 
I think worse than that.' 
" 'You don't seem to think much of us,' says I. 
" 'Well— a,' says he, 'I'm afraid not.' 
" 'That's too bad,' says I. 'Thin if I war you I'd 
go it alone.' 
" 'I think I will,' says he, 'and— a — I fawncy me 
chance of a buck will be none the less.' 
"'All right, me buck!' says I, 'no harm done.' 
" 'You're a very impertinent man,' says he. 
" 'You bet,' says I. 'That's me.' 
"He flung out of the barroom in a huft', and Gus and 
I fell a laughin'. 
"But I stopped meself suddinly and says to Gus: 
