Nov. 17, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
7 69 
A CORNER TN LEONESSA—CECCO AND THE DONKEY BOY. 
CAPRARECCIA. 
and a magnificent spectacle met our eyes. We 
were thousands of feet above sea level, and 
though to the east were higher mountains, 
lilac in the morning mist and gilt-edged, to the 
west there rolled beneath us in pretty confusion 
fertile and verdant hills. 
As I gazed spell-bound, practical Giulio was 
attending to the dogs. Their feet, unaccus¬ 
tomed to the hard rock, were already showing 
signs of distress and the careful owner pro¬ 
ceeded to anoint them first with a mixture of 
vinegar and salt, which he always carried with 
him, then applying a coat of tallow as soon as 
it had dried. Incidentally, this treatment is very 
efficacious in all cases of sore paws. 
Cecco evidently considered the precaution 
superfluous. 
“Do you mean to spend the day greasing those 
brutes,” he asked impatiently, “or do you want 
to shoot?” 
“May you die killed,” was the prompt reply; 
“these dogs are worth more than your soul, and 
that of all your dead.” 
A hot reply was on the boy’s lips when I in¬ 
terfered and told Giulio to hurry. 
Before us stretched a series of flat terraces, 
following the top of the range and bordered 
right and left with precipices. We quartered 
the first two or three hundred yards carefully, 
without finding, and then came to a deep gully, 
where our guide stopped us. 
“Wait a minute,” he said; “we must decide on 
our route here. We can either follow the range 
we are on and then take a short cut back to 
Caprareccia, or we can descend by this gully, 
cross to Rocca del Prete, and circle back to the 
left. This range has more birds, but once 
flushed, it will not pay to go after them. The 
Prete has fewer, but they can be followed up.” 
“What do you advise?” I asked. 
“Signori,” he said, with a shrug of the 
shoulder, “it’s like playing the lotto. If the 
coveys have broken, and they should have by 
now, we will do twice as well here. But-” 
“Never mind the rest,” I interrupted, “we stay 
here.” 
The ground was very bad. Loose rocks were 
strewn in every direction and big crevices, out 
of which stuck stunted shrubs, made the walking 
dangerous. We spread out fan-shape, so as to 
cover the entire breadth of the plateau, possibly 
400 feet wide, and advanced carefully., 
Arno was the first to find; he suddenly dropped 
into a steady point, and then sprang a fine hare, 
which I tumbled over, little knowing that the 
season for fur was closed. As I ran to pick 
it up. I noticed that Arno had pointed again, and 
I stopped. Just then he dove forward and a pair 
of the biggest and fattest partridges I ever saw 
went sailing toward the precipice. I stopped 
one with my second shot, and watched the other 
regretfully, as it plunged into space with folded 
wings and then flew up the other side labor¬ 
iously, settling at the very top; not a quarter 
of a mile away, as the crow flies, but miles and 
miles by the road we would have to follow. 
Cecco, who had watched its flight, now turned 
to me with a superior smile. 
“Didn’t I tell you?” he said. “I’m glad we 
found the old pair alone, though. It may mean 
that the coveys have broken, and that we’ll have 
a very good day.” 
I made Pit retrieve the fallen bird two or three 
times, but he did it without ambition, and when 
he flushed half a dozen birds unpointed a few 
minutes later, I realized that he had not profited 
by the lesson. We knocked two over, neverthe¬ 
less, and one was only slightly wounded. As it 
fluttered away, I called on Pit to get it and for 
the first time he seemed to understand. He 
sprang after it. seized it on the jump and re¬ 
trieved it with head up and tail wagging 
proudly. 
For a quarter of a mile after that we found 
nothing and the Arno again pointed. Giulio 
signalled to me to go ahead, and passing in front 
of the dog, I flushed and shot a young cock. To 
my surprise, Pit, who had backed Arno’s point, 
did not stir at the shot, and when I called to him 
sharply to retrieve, he bounced forward and 
another partridge whirred up. Giulio stopped it 
and then remarked to me drily that I didn't de¬ 
serve to have good dogs. 
All the birds which had escaped had alighted 
at the same spot, and when we had covered an¬ 
other mile of killing rocks, without firing our 
guns, I suggested going after them. 
Giulio groaned aloud and again took the 
bantering tone he always used when something 
foolish was said or done. 
• “For an educated person,” he drawled, “your 
excellency at times shows very little sense. It 
would take three hours of fast walking to get 
across there and in three hours’ time the ground 
will be so hot that Victor Emanuel’s own dogs 
could not scent a partridge stuffed with fino- 
chiella (the pungent wild fennel of the region). 
Staying here we will have a try at the best places 
in the Abruzzi. Now let us quit grumbling. If 
I had known you were going to act like this, I 
would have given you an owl and a whistle and 
sent you after larks.” 
I took the rebuke meekly and we went on. 
Presently Baffino began to show signs of ex¬ 
citement and soon all four dogs fell into a 
statuesque pose. They stood in a circle and we 
saw a beautifully marked hen, crouching in the 
shade of a boulder and watching Baffino as if 
fascinated. I literally had to kick it up, and it 
afforded an easy shot! Pit, now very much in¬ 
terested, retrieved it perfectly. As I made to 
go on it was Cecco’s turn to lecture me. 
“A hen is seldom alone at this time of the 
year,” he said, “don’t rush.” 
Arno was soon on a scent and pointed: then 
broke, followed, and pointed again. 
“That bird must be running before him,” re¬ 
marked Giulio. 
“Your dead are running,” snapped Cecco. 
“Who ever heard of a gray partridge running 
at this time, in the open?” 
Arno put an end to the controversy by plung¬ 
ing in and securing a fine cock which he brought 
to me alive. It proved to have a broken wing; 
the wound had healed and the bird was quite 
healthy, but it coifld not fly. 
Tlie pair were old, and our oracle said we’d 
probably find a covey in the neighborhood, but 
we only put up a lone hen, which Giulio shot. 
When we reached the break-neck path that was 
to Fad us down, Cecco swore we had overrun 
at least three coveys, whereupon the hunter, who 
always stood up for his dogs, said unpleasant 
things about mountaineers. It is my opinion, 
though, that Cecco may have been right, for the 
heat was terrific. Our throats were parched, 
our lips cracked, and the perspiration ran down 
11s in rivulets; not likely that a dog could scent 
in such weather. 
The slide downhill was worse than the climb; 
we stumbled and slipped at every step, and as 
I look back on that trip, I wonder we ever 
survived it. We were nearly dead when wc 
reached Caprareccia. 
The return from there to Leonessa, instead, 
was quite pleasant. A fresh breeze had sprung 
up and the scenery was magnificent. Seated in 
the comfortable “bardella” with which my 
donkey was saddled and swayed by the easy 
motion of the beast, I enjoyed the ride im¬ 
mensely. 
I had intended taking a second trip to the 
Rocca del Prete on the morrow, but the con¬ 
dition of the dogs made it impossible, and I had 
to postpone it. 
The next morning, while at breakfast, I was 
approached by a tall, handsome man in sports¬ 
man’s atire, who introduced himself as Count 
della Porta. He said he had heard of an Amer¬ 
ican’s being in the village and thought he would 
like to extend the humble hospitality of his 
home to the stranger. I found out later that 
the friendly aristocrat was a Noble Guard of the 
Pope and one of the best guns in Italy. We be- 
