706 
FOREST AND STREAM 
The Best and Handsomest Game Bird on the 
sider the question, for up flushed a pretty covey 
of twelve or fifteen quail. 
For the first time in my hunting experience I 
was shooting a 28 bore gun—I think that it is 
the smallest bore shot gun. As it is -invariably 
my rule, when hunting alone, to pick the lead 
bird, I dropped the first one at a very rapid 
passing shot; the second score was made on just 
a slight right quartering shot. The two birds 
fell within fifteen feet of each other. I might 
have attributed the first score to a scratch, had 
the second not been made, but both were as 
clean kills as I have ever seen. The first bird 
was shot through the head. Then I resigned 
every speck of prejudice against the “twenty- 
eight.” Having from force of habit gotten ac¬ 
customed to the twelve gauge, I thought that it 
was simply a matter of fad, using the smaller 
bore guns. I will now take it all back. 
Both for carrying and for rapid handling, the 
small gun is as handy as a walking cane. I do 
not mean to boast of the shooting but the rest of 
it, after quail, was in a marsh, open enough to 
make all clear shots. With the little gun only 
one bird in the seven shot at got away. That 
one flushed wild and a long quick shot was 
taken; however, had I scored would have been 
just one bird over the limit per day, hence it 
was a providential miss. 
My dog had now been into a good Path and 
gotten well cooled off, proceeded to a most at¬ 
tractive hill side where I remembered to have 
American Continent—The Ruffed Grouse. 
killed grouse some ten years since. As we 
climbed along a gradual hill side—large chest¬ 
nut wood to the right and small birch to the 
left, with an old stone fence as the dividing line 
—the dog got busy on what seemed to be a goo 1 
warm trail. While intently watching the work 
up jumped a wild flusher and attempted to cross 
the stone fence into the chestnut wood. The 
fence was crossed though I very much doubt 
the wisdom of the flight, for the grouse landed 
on the ground just over the fence. Wild?— 
they will not allow the dog to get within pointing 
distance. 
That fact may be easily accounted for by the 
tremendous rush, of every man who can pur¬ 
chase a dollar license and carry a gun. Into 
the forests on the very day the hunting season 
opens, they hunt grouse, rabbits, the poor little 
“grays”-—squirrels, skunks—and even crows and 
owls. The game birds under such conditions of 
noise have scattered in every direction and seem 
to be wilder than I have ever seen them. I note 
that the number of my hunting license is 7579, 
and you will remember that our community 'S 
not as large as that of Manhattan. When such 
an army of guns rush into the forest for the 
short season of thirty days, it may be readily 
imagined that the timid pheasants and grouse 
are very liable to be frightened to kingdom come. 
I should prefer to accept the fright theory than 
to doubt the statement of my game commis¬ 
sioner, relative to the great quantity. Over the 
same cover that I have hunted, and made good 
bags of grouse, quail and wood-cock, ten or a 
dozen years since, just two grouse and one 
pheasant were flushed. 
At about the noon hour we decided to give 
over the try in the great territory, and hike to¬ 
ward another, where there is a very attractive 
brook with many covers of dense alders, and 
with birch thickets on the hill sides—called by 
the Indian name “Pecousic.” As far back as I 
have had any hunting experience in western Mas¬ 
sachusetts the Pecousic brook has been a famous 
place for grouse; there were many quail there 
also, a few years since. It is being re-stocked 
from the Forest Park preserve—and bird hatch¬ 
ery. Flushes, however, were distressingly con¬ 
spicuous by their absence, for that ideal day at 
least. At about three P. M. while trudging along 
decidedly discouraged, from what the hopes had 
been built upon, two grouse flushed very wild, 
from a thick place just on the bank of Pecousic. 
Several rods further down the stream a trail 
was picked up, the gun was brought to attention 
and up rushed a cock grouse. There was abso¬ 
lutely no chance for any kind of shot but a 
poor snap. At the crack of the gun the old cock 
whirled and lit into a thick pine tree; I thought 
that I saw distinctly where he stood on the pine 
limb. After re-loading I thought that there 
would not be one chance in one hundred to get 
a wing shot, should the bird go out of the oppo¬ 
site side of the tree. A pot shot was taken sim¬ 
ply because I felt that I was entitled to one more 
bird, after the tramp taken. At the report of 
the gun, instead of falling to the ground, that 
bird jumped off of the limb and came towards 
me. The bird may have thought that I was 
nothing to reckon with as a wing shot, otherwise 
he certainly would have chosen a different 
course. As a different course was not chosen, the 
risk of his life was up to him—and he lost out. 
Another flush was heard somewhere, instead 
of being seen. Traveling by the direction of the 
sound, we crossed a very steep ridge and came 
into a dingle. As soon as the dog was fairly 
over the ridge he got a scent and worked down 
hill. Another wild bird flushed away ahead and 
went straight up the opposite hill side. In grouse 
shooting that is one of the most difficult shots 
for me, simply because I do not think to allow 
for the bird’s hill climbing process—until after¬ 
wards. I was forced to record the shot as an 
unpardonable miss. Had the gun been held just 
a few inches—say six or eight, over the bird’s 
heard, to “lead” him, the shot would have scored 
undoubtedly, as it was a simple straight away 
shot—only a little more so. From the fact that 
the target was climbing rapidly the entire charge 
went behind the bird. The thought of that after¬ 
wards is exceedingly aggravating. 
I had started out to bag just six quail—two 
pheasants and three grouse. The outing was an 
ideal one, the day was as perfeci as though it 
had been made to order. There is nothing in the 
form of outdoor exercise that so strongly ap¬ 
peals to me as a real strenuous hunt with the 
gun and dog. I do not care whether there is 
another gun along or not—aside from being 
neighborly and sharing a good dog with some 
other fellow who loves to hunt. Even then I 
much prefer to pick my fellow. The dog and I 
hit it off very amicably together, we quite under¬ 
stand each other, after many hunts. We have 
