338 
in the dark since he opened the store at eight 
o’clock. After the clerk had lit a lantern we 
visited the cellar and found a full-grown grouse 
beating its wings against the window in its vain 
efforts to get out. We captured it, found that it 
was unhurt, and the young man later liberated it 
at the edge of a nearby wood. I figured that 
the bird had flown in at an early hour, attracted 
by the grain which was often dropped in loading 
and unloading wagons at the side door. A cellar 
window had been left open during the night, 
and, being frightened by some person or dog, 
the grouse accepted the dark cellar as a favor¬ 
able place for escape. Then he had not had 
sense enough to fly out through the same win¬ 
dow, but evidently had hid in a dark corner until 
the clerk arrived and closed the cellar window, 
then his attention was attracted by the fluttering 
of the bird. 
My first dog in New England was a fine Eng¬ 
lish setter. He was handsomely marked and 
he had a high degree of canine intelligence. I 
was attracted to him while making a professional 
call on a farmer’s family. He was a three- 
months’-old pup, and as the farmer’s wife in¬ 
formed- me, the “old man had no more use for a 
bird dog than a cow had for two tails.” I bough: 
the setter at a reasonable price, trained him my¬ 
self, and I do not think that there was ever a 
stronger attachment between hunter and dog. 
He had a fine nose, an untiring nerve, and his 
work was as vigorous at five o’clock in the after¬ 
noon, after a hard day’s hunt, as it was at ten 
in the morning. And he had the rare and valu¬ 
able quality of being equally good at grouse and 
quail. It was an easy and enjoyable afternoon 
outing to slip off from work in the hunting sea¬ 
son, which was also a healthy season, and spend 
two hours on a grouse hunt, tramping through 
a pine forest and scrubby red oak under-brush. 
One afternoon the setter came to a pretty 
point at long range. I walked ahead of him a 
few paces, fearing that the bird would flush 
wild, when up jumped a grouse and, rushing 
straight toward a pine tree, he swung around it 
from left to right, as I touched the trigger. I 
saw the resin dust fly from the tree, and decided 
that none of my pellets had connected with the 
bird. I loaded my gun, however, and hied the 
setter on, thinking that another bird might flush. 
In a few minutes I heard him mouthing some¬ 
thing and thought of course that he had found 
the grouse which had tried side-stepping around 
the pine tree—and that he was trying to pick it 
up without getting the downy feathers in his 
nose. I asked him to fetch the bird and out he 
came with it. Upon examining the tree I saw 
that my aim had been better than I thought. 
The charge had struck the tree a glancing blow 
and the bird had not been quick enough in getting 
out of range with the tree to shield it; or else 
enough of the pellets had chased it around the 
tree and caught up before the flight carried it 
out of range. At all events, it was a very dead 
bird. 
Further on I saw a wild flush and managed 
to mark the bird as it crossed a little strip of 
open land and pitched into the edge of the wood 
on the other side. The dog also marked it, for 
when I reached the spot before entering the 
cover I saw him in the wood, about a rod away, 
pointing toward where I stood. As I expected, 
the bird flushed and came ripping by just in 
FOREST AND STREAM 
front of me. I winged it, and down it went into 
a clump of small pine. The dog saw that it was 
a runner; and so was he. In about five minutes, 
when I began to wonder if dog and bird had 
gone into a hole in the ground, out he came, 
holding the bird by the head. Most of the feath¬ 
ers had been picked off of the body while chas¬ 
ing it and trying to get ahold of it. 
It was not uncommon for us to have a brace of 
ruffed grouse for dinner three or four times a 
week. Stuffed and well baked, they are indeed 
fit for an epicurean of the most fastidious taste. 
I had the sad misfortune to lose my valued hunt¬ 
ing companion through the gross carelessness 
of a pig-headed motorman of a large electric 
car which he has running at top speed, down 
grade, through the village street. The dog had 
been refreshing himself with a cool drink of 
water from an iron trough, and attempted to 
run across ahead of the car. He was cut in two. 
His remains were gathered up by me. When I 
returned home after dark I carted them in a 
wheel-barrow to his last resting-place under an 
apple tree. As I mourned the death of my dog 
that evening I think that had the motorman ap¬ 
peared on the scene, either he or I, or may be 
both of us, would have had some ribs to re¬ 
pair. 
After my loss, and with business making more 
demands upon my time, I gave up for a few 
years my interest in gun and dogs. Finally the 
hunting blood got the best of my resolution and 
I sent to Kentucky for a ten-months-old Glad¬ 
stone setter. He proved to have a fine nose, but 
he was as wild as a hawk, and the greatest racer 
that I ever tried to break. The first time I 
had him out to see what kind of a dog he was, 
he made a beautiful point on a cock pheasant. 
When the bird flushed, my pride was dashed to 
pieces by seeing my new setter chase the flying 
cock bird as long as he could keep in sight. I 
tried hunting him with a staunch old pointer 
whom we would not condescend to back, but in¬ 
sisted upon getting his nose to first place. This 
usually resulted in the bird getting up before we 
were in position to shoot, but the young dog did 
not seem to mind that, just so he had a fair 
chance to chase the bird. 
I had him near me on the edge of a birch 
thicket when my companion called to me that 
his dog was pointing. I hurriedly fastened a 
light chain to the setter’s collar and called to the 
other fellow to flush the bird. He shot and 
missed. The bird swung out of the thicket and 
came over my head, giving me a fine chance for 
a straightaway open shot. But by the time I got 
my gun up, with the dog chain over my right 
elbow, the setter was dancing a jig, trying to get 
away and stop the flight. As a result my charge 
knocked up the dust ten feet under the bird. 
On the next trial hunt he chased a grouse down 
through a chestnut wood toward where I stood, 
and as the bird rushed by I got a quick shot and 
dropped it—and felt almost like dropping the 
dog with the other barrel. I said quite a few 
things to him. accompanied by a good thrashing. 
Among other things I told him that I proposed 
to give him just one more trial in the same 
cover, and if he did not show better form I 
would either give him to a farmer for a watch¬ 
dog or leave his carcass in a hole on the side 
of the mountain. 
After a hard week of difficult work I slipped 
off one bright October morning by the seven 
o’clock train, to hunt the same cover as on my 
last outing, there being many birds there. Be¬ 
fore I had been off of the train a half hour the 
setter came to a beautiful point in a clump of 
alders and stood as steadily as a well-trained 
dog. I flushed the bird and dropped it with 
the first shot, and to my amazement the dog did 
not budge until I told him to fetch the bird. 
He walked deliberately over to where it had 
fallen, picked it up and dropped it, as the fine 
feathers seemed to annoy him; he finally picked 
it up again and brought it to me. I spent ten 
minutes complimenting him and trying to impress 
him with the fact that he had acquitted himself 
nobly, and during the rest of a hard day's hunt 
I never saw a dog hunt better. I had unusually 
good luck and by lunch time I had bagged five 
birds. Just before finding a comfortable boul¬ 
der in the sunshine for eating my lunch, I was 
making my way to an open pasture, when sud¬ 
denly the dog, going just ahead of me in the 
pasture at a lively run, swung around on a point 
and up came a wild flush straight at me. I suc¬ 
ceeded in killing the bird after it had passed 
me. After bagging it I walked out into the pas¬ 
ture and the dog pointed again toward a large 
boulder. Another bird flushed and started across 
the pasture, giving me a dead easy straightaway 
shot, with which I scored. Then I sat down to 
lunch with seven birds in my bag. 
We rested an hour, and as I continued the walk 
across the pasture toward a sparse growth of 
birch which offered a good cover, I smoked a 
long cigar, held in the right-hand corner of the 
mouth. The dog struck a trail, crossed a marshy 
spot and came to a good point. A large cock 
grouse flushed and came by me at terrific speed. 
I put the trusty Parker gun to shoulder and 
shot too quick. But there seemed at the instant 
to be something in the way, as the gun stock 
came up to my face. Involuntarily I relaxed my 
bite upon the cigar, let it fall to the ground, 
and as the bird rose to the top of the birches I 
sent the second messenger after him. His head 
dropped in mid-air and he fell like a brick-bat. 
Jack and I beat the cover again in the direction 
of the railroad station and got several wild 
flushes. But as I had enough for one day’s hunt 
in a canvas coat that got heavier at every step, 
I felt little enthusiasm for chasing up wild birds. 
So we called it sufficient, stopped for a good rest 
and caught the five o’clock train home. 
For the next hunt in the same territory I re¬ 
ceived a telephone message from the station 
agent, who was a grouse and woodcock enthu¬ 
siast when he could spare a few hours from train 
duties. He asked me to come out the follow¬ 
ing morning and said that if he found it impossi¬ 
ble to get off he would send a young man with 
me to what he knew was a very good cover. I 
reached the station fifteen miles out at seven- 
thirty a. m. The agent’s work for the day held 
him at the station, and he shouted to a neighbor¬ 
ing house for the young man to come prepared 
for an all-day hunt. 
Our first bird flushed in an open lot between 
ourselves and the dog, and came straight toward 
us and actually flew between us, although we 
were not twenty feet apart. We both whirled 
and shot, and dropped the bird. The young man 
modestly and politely remarked that he did not 
(Continued on page 344-1 
