Nov. 25, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
775 
The next covey we encountered was badly 
scattered in high grass and gave the dog much 
trouble, but brother exacted heavy toll from 
those that were flushed, but the rest of us did 
some poor work on this covey. 
It now began to rain and we were pretty well 
soaked before we could reach the shelter of the 
deserted cabin of a homesteader nearby. When 
the worst of the shower was over, we started 
out again. The dog speedily found a large covey 
in a dense hammock. The birds got up wildly, 
offering scarcely any possible shots at all, and 
in consequence we did them but small damage. 
From this place on for almost a mile we waded 
in water almost shoetop deep, and of course 
found nothing. Swinging to the left we started 
in a circular course toward home. 
The mosquitoes had been bad all mornhig, but 
were tenfold worse 
after the rain, and 
as the day wore on 
became almost un¬ 
bearable. We found 
plenty of birds, and 
had it not been for 
the insect pests, we 
would have had a 
very pleasant after¬ 
noon. The climax 
was reached when 
an immense covey 
was found in a 
thicket of stunted 
pine. We killed 
three as they arose, 
but gave them no 
further thought. We 
already had forty- 
five birds between 
us, and the mosqui¬ 
toes attacked 11s so 
savagely that we set 
out for home, which 
was not far distant. 
About a year prev¬ 
ious to this hunt and 
on much the same 
territory, brother and 
I had had as fine a 
day’s sport as could 
b e imagined. O n 
this occasion we rode about in a light wagon, 
the dog hunting on both sides as we drove along. 
When a covey was found we would unrein the 
horse and allow it to feed about until we had 
paid our respects to the birds and were ready 
to move onward again. The first covey was a 
small one and acted queerly, flying about from 
tree to tree like a flock of doves. 
The next covey gave us some nice easy shoot¬ 
ing, and we secured a fair-sized bag in a com¬ 
paratively short space of time. At a small plan¬ 
tation we came upon more quail, and flushed and 
killed several before they could reach the safety 
of the thick hammocks surrounding us. The 
scattered birds were hard to raise, but never¬ 
theless we secured a few. Brother did some 
fine shooting under the circumstances, but I can¬ 
not say as much for myself. However, we both 
had well filled game bags when we ended the 
day’s sport. 
This was an ideal Southern winter day and I 
remember it among many another pleasant day 
spent in pursuit of bobwhite. The woods were 
fairly alive with meadowlarks and they arose in 
front of the dog in great numbers, singing all 
the while that particularly sweet refrain which 
is always agreeable to the ear. On every tree 
and stump were perched one or more of these 
dear little feathered songsters, proclaiming to 
the world the joy and fullness of his life in 
God’s great outdoors. 
One cold — for Florida — December day with 
two companions I drove along a long sandy ridge 
parallel with two large sloughs. The dog was 
keen and hunted faithfully, but found few birds. 
The wind was raw and chilly and we were un¬ 
comfortably cold. (It is surprising how suscep¬ 
tible to cold one becomes in this climate after 
living here for a few years.) After building a 
small fire, warming ourselves thoroughly and 
partaking of the usual hunter's lunch, we con¬ 
cluded to give up quail hunting for the balance 
of the day and devote our time to the snipe. 
The nearby marsh was a noted one for snipe 
shooting. In Seminole lingo these snipe were 
“wild ojus’’ (ojus meaning “very much”) and 
many of those I shot at continued on their zig¬ 
zag flight unscathed, their shrill “scape, scape, 
scape” coming back tantalizingly to my ears. 
Brother killed a number and missed some, while 
I can say in reverse that I killed some and missed 
more. The other man remained with the wagon. 
I concluded my part of the performance by kill¬ 
ing four snipe with as many shots, firing almost 
as fast as I could pull the trigger. 
On another occasion, failing to find many quail 
or snipe, we turned our attention to the great 
numbers of doves which were feeding along the 
edge of an old burn. On foot we could not get 
near enough to the wary birds for a shot and 
only by staying in the wagon and keeping on 
the move could we obtain any shooting. I need 
not say that this was a rather novel way to go 
dove shooting. Neither need I state that the 
doves failed to receive serious damage from 
our hands. However, we killed a few and soon 
gave up this rather unsportsmanlike mode of 
hunting and again sought the marshes. After 
an unsuccessful attempt to approach a couple of 
sandhill cranes in a pond nearby, brother noticed 
a woodcock arise from beside the wagon road, 
fly a short distance and alight among some tall 
dead grass stalks near the edge of the marsh. 
He marked it down. The dog made a beautiful 
point, brother flushed the bird, and when the 
saucy little gun spoke, a puff of feathers drifted 
away on the breeze, and the woodcock went to 
sweil the contents of our already mixed bag of 
quail, snipe and doves. 
Woodcock are very rare in this section. I 
think the bottom lands of the Mississippi better 
suited to their requirements than our sandy soil, 
yet a few stray 
down this way occas¬ 
ionally, and one in¬ 
stance is recorded of 
their even being 
found in the Baha¬ 
mas. Nevertheless, 
scarce as they are, 
the possibility of 
finding one or more 
occasionally adds 
still another charm 
to the almost endless 
variety of game bird 
shooting among the 
sweet scented pine 
forests of our far- 
reaching sunny 
Southern plains. 
THE TOP RAIL. 
When Stephen P. 
M. Tasker journeyed 
from his home in the 
suburbs of Philadel¬ 
phia to the Adiron- 
dacks last summer, 
he went in company 
with Mrs. Tasker, in 
his motor car, and 
was pleased with the 
experience. Among 
the many beautiful photographs made by him 
en route was one that is unusual, and that bears 
testimony to that wonderful institution, the 
United States Postofflce Department. Along the 
road paralleling the upper Hudson River the 
Taskers met the young man depicted in the ac¬ 
companying halftone cut. He rode about a good 
deal in the Adirondacks, and his dog went 
along. The dog always rides. When he re¬ 
turned home Mr. Tasker found that the negative 
was a good one, and he naturally desired to send 
a print to the traveler, but as he had not learned 
his name and address, Mr. Tasker was at first 
puzzled how to proceed. As an experiment he 
mailed a print on a postcard to North River 
Postoffice, and in a few days received an ac¬ 
knowledgment from the proper person. Of 
course this was possible in a village if not in 
a city, but despite this, it is only fair to give 
credit where it is due, for the hard-working 
postal employes, in town and country, are more 
often recipients of abuse than praise. 
Grizzly King. 
