After Grouse on Laurel Ridge. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
A few days before the last election. I sent 
Daddy an invitation to hunt grouse with me in 
the ravines of Laurel Ridge. The invitation 
was accepted: and, as soon as possible after the 
polls opened. Daddy hit the trail for Latrobe, 
Pa., loaded with fond hopes of knocking the 
feathers out of about a dozen birds. The next 
day there was a dismal drizzle—the first rain 
for months—and there was gloom in the house 
that morning. Toward noon, the clouds began 
to break, and with joy in our hearts and our 
faces two huge smiles, we hot-footed down to 
the station in double quick time, so as to start, 
even if it did rain again. 
We drove twelve miles from Legonier to 
Stahlstown, where a farmer acquaintance wel¬ 
comed us; and we were soon seated at his table, 
stowing away everything in sight. 
We were advised by the small boys next 
morning to hunt the ridge back of the house 
and were told that we ought to find the birds 
near the top near the orchard. Thither we pro¬ 
ceeded, the English setter Zip leading the 
way, quietly trailing through the berry bushes 
and quartering from right to left on our way 
up the hill. Finding nothing in the briers, she 
made for some wild grape vines. Here she 
seemed interested but was not successful in dis¬ 
covering birds. We felt that the partridges 
ought to be among these vines, as there were 
still a few grapes among them. 
After walking some distance among the thick 
cover, we were rewarded with a sight which 
sent the blood flowing through our veins with 
renewed vigor. There ahead some little dis¬ 
tance stood the dog stiffened out, with head 
slightly lowered, and tail as straight as a ram¬ 
rod. Daddy and I walked cautiously toward the 
setter, only to be disappointed by seeing the 
partridge flush wild, before we were in a posi¬ 
tion to shoot. The dog turned her head and 
looked at us with reproach in her glance. Sure 
that I had marked the direction that the bird 
had flown, we went after it. The dog under¬ 
stood that careful work would be required now 
in order not to flush the bird the second time. 
I.ightly she made her way over the many leaves 
that covered the ground; and presently, we 
thought that we were near the place where the 
bird must have alighted. The dog quartering 
back and forth, did not seem able to find scent 
among the dry leaves. While standing a little 
ahead of Daddy, watching the dog working be¬ 
low me on the hillside, I turned to speak to 
him, when there was a roar at my right side 
that startled me. The partridge had left his 
hiding place behind a stump, and flying low, 
was making for the top of the hill as fast as 
his wings could carry him. Startled by the un¬ 
expectedness of his appearance, I fired, but the 
shot went wild. 
Chagrined by my failure. I reloaded, and 
whistling to the dog, started up the hill after 
the bird. Near the top, I found that a rail 
fence in a comparatively open spot in the woods 
must be crossed. Knowing by past experience 
that the partridge might lie along this fence, 
I did not cross, but bade the dog to do so. 
At once she stiffened to a point, and I mo¬ 
tioned Daddy to come on up the hill for the 
shot. The noise he made in passing over the 
leaves caused the bird to flush, but alas! that 
time I was ready for her, and she’ fell at the 
report of my gun. 
We now began to hunt along the rail fence, as 
we were near the old orchard. Keeping Daddy 
on the opposite side of the fence, we hunted 
along the top of the ridge. Suddenly, there was 
a roar in the direction taken by Daddy and two 
partridges flushed wild from underneath a grape 
vine and headed into the thicket to Daddy’s 
right. The roar that they made must have 
startled him so much, that he stood and watched 
them as they flew into the thicket without 
shooting at them at all. 
Following them up, the dog soon made game 
and finally stopped and pointed. Daddy came 
up and said, “That bird must be in that stone 
pile, for the dog is pointing directly at it.” 
“No,” I replied, “I see the bird standing on the 
ground just back of it. Get ready. She will 
jump in a second.” This it did, and neither of 
us got a shot, for the bird put some trees 
between us. We thought that we knew just 
where that bird had gone, but after following 
the direction that it had taken and hunting over 
a large portion of the ridge, we concluded that 
we did not. 
While making our way along the foot of the 
ridge that afternoon, the dog pointed toward 
some saplings bordering an open field. As I 
walked up to the dog, the bird flushed and rose 
with the speed’ of a bullet, giving me a difficult 
side shot. Much to my delight, the bird fell. 
Gathering it in. we went toward the top of the 
ridge. Near the top the dog began to make 
game, but we made so much noise in the leaves 
that the bird flushed wild about one hundred 
feet ahead of the dog. Following her and 
crossing the rail fence, the dog began to make 
game, indicating that the bird had alighted and 
was running along the bank of the hill. The 
dog continued to trail and then froze to a 
point. I motioned to Daddy to come up for 
a shot, while the dog and I remained as two 
pieces of statuary. However, Daddy made too 
much noise and the wily bird rose from the 
leaves about thirty feet ahead of the dog. 
Holding on to him as he reached the tops of 
the saplings, I had the satisfaction of seeing 
him tumble after I fired. 
We climbed the ridge once more and made 
our way along the rail fence. After going 
a short distance, we came to an oak tree 
which had been blown down, and on which the 
foliage still remained. The dog became suspi¬ 
cious as sbe neared it, but was too close to the 
tree to give the required warning; and two 
partridges jumped from under the limbs and 
flew to the left toward the hillside. Feeling 
that at least one of them was already mine, I 
pulled trigger; but—I had failed to remove the 
empty shell from my gun after killing my last, 
bird, and nothing sounded but the click of the 
plunger on an empty shell. I tried to kill with 
the other barrel, but the shot went wild. 
Following up the bird, we were soon re¬ 
warded with a point near another fallen tree- 
top. Standing on the trunk of the tree, just 
back of the dog, I motioned to Daddy to make 
his way to a position below the dog and bird, 
in order that one of us might secure a shot. 
Doing so, we waited. Men and dog remained 
motionless as soldiers on sentinel duty: How 
soon this peaceful scene was to be turned into 
a woodland tragedy. 'With a roar, the bird 
sprang into the air. But a shot from the man 
on the log brought it to earth before it had 
reached a height of ten feet. It proved to be a 
large cock bird with a large top-knot upon his 
head. 
I apologized to Daddy for killing this last 
bird; but he said that he was glad that I had 
killed it, as he might have missed it. He seemed 
to be very unfortunate in getting shots, as it 
was almost impossible for him to waljc up near 
the dog, when she was on point, without flush¬ 
ing the bird wild, because the rattle of the leaves 
could be heard throughout the woods. I fared 
better as the dog worked close in and for that 
reason I was in fairly good position whenever 
she pointed. 
The afternoon was now waning, and we 
made our way homeward. Nearing the place 
where we saw the bird on the ground back of 
the stone pile in the morning. Daddy was sud¬ 
denly startled by a roar immediately over his 
head. A partridge flew from a limb of a tree 
under which he was walking, and he brought it 
down with a pretty straightaway shot. I think, 
you who have at some time killed a partridge 
as it was flying out of a tree, realize how diffi¬ 
culty a shot it is to make, and then recall the 
exultation you experienced when you saw the 
bird fall. 
Our bag of five birds for the first day seemed 
very good, considering all that has been said 
and written about the scarcity of grouse, and 
the small area over which we hunted. 
We went to bed that night with high hopes 
of doing as well the next day in another wood 
that I had hunted two years before. The next 
morning, however, we were disappointed to 
find that there was a high wind raging, and that 
a great deal of the woodlot was covered with 
a dense thicket of berry vines through which 
it was almost impossible to make our way. 
Persisting, we had our hands and faces much 
cut by the briers. We found partridges, to be 
sure, but as the leaves were dry, we made so 
much noise walking over them, that if we saw 
them at all, it was very painful to see them 
rise ahead of us out of gunshot. Daddy killed 
a large rabbit, and I had the luck to kill one 
partridge by shooting through the thick brush 
when I heard it rise. 
.After breakfast next morning, in company 
with Robert, one of the boys, who desired to 
