208 
FOREST AND STREAM 
ing, while I stayed at the wagon. Charlie flushed 
the quail and missed it clean. Then another arose 
and sailed away, unmindful of the lead that fol¬ 
lowed. A bad beginning, truly. “I must do better 
than that,” Charlie remarked, as he Mew the 
smoke from the gun barrels and watched the 
flight of the birds to a distant clump of pal¬ 
mettos. “But we are going to have quail fo: 
supper, nevertheless-” 
The dogs soon found the birds again, and 
Charlie made good his word. For he neatly 
dropped 'both birds when they flushed again. The 
dogs found more birds, and I witnessed some 
very pretty shooting from my seat in the wagon. 
We drove a short distance further, and the 
dogs located another covey. This time I joined 
in the shooting and got several birds, as well as 
making some aggravating misses. Charlie did 
some more good shooting, and when we again 
mounted the wagon we had eighteen birds to our 
credit. We now began looking about for a good, 
place to camp for the night, and while so engaged 
the dogs gave chase to something in the tall grass. 
As skunks were plentiful, we guessed that the 
dogs were in pursuit of one of these highly- 
scented animals, and we attempted to call them 
off. A close encounter with his skunkship spoils 
a dog’s nose and renders the dog himself a not 
ever, were not to be called off, and soon had the 
overly acceptable camp comrade. The dogs, how- 
animal. Fortunately, the game turned out to be 
a coon and we expected to see a lively fight, but 
Kate made short work of him—the coon making 
scarcely any resistence. We took the coon along 
to cook for the dogs’ supper. 
Just as the shades of night were settling down 
we came to a small pond of clear water with a 
tew pines scattered about. Here were wood and 
water, the principal necessities for a camp .site 
We halted. Charlie cared for the horse and 
built a fire of resinous pine, while I dressed the 
birds and prepared supper. Our meal consisted 
of bread, bacon, quail and cranberry sauce, and 
my brother and I did full justice to it. Then we 
replenished the fire and sought our blankets. 
There was a small thicket of bushes along the 
edge of the pond near our camp, and this was 
fairly alive with doves. The whistling sound of 
their wings was heard constantly overhead, as 
they came flying in from all directions to join 
those already assembled in the thicket. To their 
soft cooing was added the harsh cries of cranes, 
bitterns and other water birds who resented the 
presence of our inquisitive dogs. When these 
noises ceased an owl appeared, and serenaded us 
with his “Whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo, whoo-hoo, whoo- 
hoo-oo-oo!” The stars came out and peeped 
down through the scattering branches of the 
stunted pine under which we lay, the fire die,' 
down with the conversation, and then came sleep. 
We were astir before the first signs of comlTTg 
dawn, and by the time the sun had risen we were 
moving. So were our bird neighbors. The doves 
quickly vacated the thicket and took swift flight 
toward distant feeding grounds. Flocks of noisy 
blackbirds swept by in chattering, irregular flight, 
pausing in fluttering uncertainty over some in¬ 
viting clump of reeds and then sweeping on, 
noisy always. Occasionally a great blue heron 
arose in awkward fashion out of the tall marsh 
grass, croaking hoarsely, as if he had contracted 
a severe cold during the night. 
However erratic the flight of other marsh birds 
may be, the heron, when once on wing, flies in a 
straight line, as though he knew perfectly well 
where he was going and was in a hurry to get 
there. With neck and head furled close and his 
long legs sticking straight out behind, he swerves 
neither to the right or left, but pursues his calm 
course. Not so with the sandhill crane, whose 
trumpet-like voice we could hear far off to the 
westward. The sandhill will circle about you 
when you intrude upon his domain, as if loth tc 
leave, and you are finally half persuaded that 
you have only to crouch down and remain quite 
still when he will settle down and go on feeding. 
But you are mistaken, for after circling round 
and round, ever mounting higher and higher until 
he seems but a mere speck in the blue above, he 
will strike out for distant feeding grounds and 
soon become lost to view. 
The dogs were slow to find birds this morn¬ 
ing, but finally Kate trailed off among the clumps 
of scrub palmetto and came to a point. The 
birds were flushed and some lively shooting fol¬ 
lowed. The quail scattered nicely and gave us 
excellent shooting. We moved on and found 
other coveys, of which we exacted heavy toll. 
Our method was to drive slowly along, giving the 
dogs ample time to cover the country on either 
side of the wagon. Upon finding a covey we 
would alight and go after them. When that 
covey had received our compliments we would re¬ 
turn to the wagon and proceed until the dogs 
would find another covey. 
Brother is an expert wing shot, and he never 
has any difficulty in reaching the limit allowed by 
law. He made doubles with the birds getting 
up in the most difficult manner imaginable, and 
when an entire covey all flushed at once it is 
seldom indeed that he failed to bring down a 
pair of birds with his double barrel. His poor 
shooting at the beginning of the previous day’s 
work was not repeated during the trip. While 
he was doing such good work I killed a few 
quail, but I made many misses- I always do. 
Several times when the birds flushed, however, 
I had the satisfaction of picking up two birds 
which I had brought down with as many shells. 
We were now on a dry prairie and the dogs 
were beginning to show the effect of their hard 
work. It was with difficulty that they could be 
induced to trail up the cripples, and as we always 
make it a point to let no crippled bird escape, we 
had some tough work in one dense clump of saw 
palmettos, where several crippled quail had taken 
refuge. We accompanied the dogs over the 
ground time after time until all hands were 
nearly exhausted, but we at length got our birds. 
We then ate luncheon and took a long rest under 
the shade of the pines. 
The next place reached by us during this day’s 
drive was a dense cypress swamp, an old familiar 
hunting ground of ours, and known on account 
of its shape as the “Horseshoe Cypress.” Many 
happy days have I spent at this place—alas, we 
found a crowd of surveyors encamped at the 
ruins of “Billy Smith Town,” an old Seminole 
village of the days gone by, where my own tent 
has been pitched in days when only an occasional 
hunter invaded this peaceful region. It was near 
here that I killed my first deer. Away to the 
north and west of Horseshoe Cypress* swamp 
stretched vast plains, studded with clumps of 
pine and feathery-fronded palms, and bathed in 
almost perpetual sunshine. 
On these wastes the bloody drama of the fron¬ 
tier has already been enacted. A desperado with 
his family, fleeing from the wrath of the settlers, 
was overtaken by cowboys, shot down and buried 
with a spade brought along for the purpose. An¬ 
other desperado, Dave Roberts, quarreled with 
Curs Hunter ever the possession of some hogs, 
and one dark night Roberts attacked Hunter in 
his camp on these lonely plains and got killed for 
his trouble. I knew both men. Both were old 
woodsmen, and had lived lives full of wild ad¬ 
venture. 
Giant dredges are now busy digging canals 
through this great prairie, and ere long the houses 
(Continued on page 231.) 
The English Setter of Our Grandfathers. 
