Feb. 5, 1910.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
213 
The partridge may have covered a quarter 
mile, hardly more, and then alighted, but so 
close on were the hounds that a few seconds 
later they were upon it and flushed it again. It 
started at right angles to its former course, fol¬ 
lowed smartly, and we noticed that this time it 
did not fly as fast or gain as rapidly on its pur¬ 
suers. The birds are fat and lazy in September 
and the hounds had been trained by a master 
hand, so that the issue was never in doubt. When 
our young one alighted the couple were only a 
few yards away and one more short flight 
brought it fluttering to the ground, where 
Lisette fell upon it and gave it the “coup de 
grace,” ably aided by her running mate. 
We called them off and whistled for the 
keeper, who came up while we rested, and picked 
up the dead; later he showed us where one of 
the disbanded covey had alighted. 
Pouf found easily, and again the pair of 
demon hounds were sent in hot chase, but the 
bird went over a slight rise of ground and was 
lost sight of by the dogs. We had to ride up 
to give them a cast, and it was a couple of 
minutes before they flushed. That partridge 
was a tartar. It gave us four gallops across 
fences and stone walls, every time getting out 
of sight of the dogs, and it might have saved 
itself had not a curious stumble of Gladiateur 
given Lisette a lead of five or six yards. 
When she put up the bird for the fifth time it 
doubled on its tracks and rose unsteadily, flying 
so low over Gladiateur that he sprang up and 
caught it on the wing. 
“That settles that pair, I’m afraid,” said my 
companion. “We had better try Marmot and 
Coureur; they are my best.” 
While the new hounds were being brought 
over, we let Pouf work, and it was a pleasure 
to see him split a covey before flushing it, a 
thing I would have deemed an impossibility had 
I not seen it. Of course it is only possible with 
very tame birds, not easily frightened, but Pouf 
seldom failed to separate the one he wanted to 
have chased. 
Marmot and Coureur proved a lean, rangy 
couple, all nerves and muscle, with eager, quiver¬ 
ing nostrils and fiery little eyes. When Pouf 
showed them feathers they were off like a shot, 
and finding a level stretch of clear field they 
almost held their lumbering quarry. At the 
second flight they were upon it as it alighted 
and we scored our third kill without negotiating 
a single fence. 
The next bird chose a ditch, after a half mile 
flight, and search as we would we could not 
find it. Even Pouf could get no scent of it, and 
realizing that we must have made a mistake in 
location, we went after a fresh covey. The 
little pointer spotted one nearby, and with won¬ 
derful skill started the parent cock alone, the 
hounds being sent after it. But Coureur was 
evidently cross at his failure to secure his last 
victim, and when the bulk of the covey flushed 
beside him he deliberately turned from his 
course, and despite the cries of his master, fol¬ 
lowed a new bird. My cousin continued to call 
as we galloped after Marmot, but to no pur¬ 
pose, so he told me to go on and swerved after 
the disobedient one. He dismounted when he 
reached the culprit’s side, and tying his horse 
to a bush, proceeded to administer such a sound 
thrashing that I felt sorry for the poor brute. 
Meanwhile Marmot had nosed out the old 
cock and was chasing him back toward the 
others. Utterly oblivious of the beating just 
received, Coureur joined his mate as he swung 
by, and although it took us a good many flights 
to wear down the tough old bird, Coureur event¬ 
ually nailed him. 
As we gave our heaving mounts a resting 
spell, I remonstrated with my cousin for pun¬ 
ishing his hounds so brutally, but found him 
impenitent. 
“You advocates of kindness in training ani¬ 
mals have a totally wrong idea,” he said. “You 
believe you are befriending the poor beasts and 
DEER IN THE VERMONT WOODS. 
Photographed by Carl M. Farley. 
you are proving their worst enemies. Beat a 
dog as if you really meant it when he disobeys 
or does wrong, and he will remember that beat¬ 
ing so well that he is not likely to offend again. 
Give him a light punishment and he forgets it 
as soon as he shakes off the sting with a shrug. 
And as a result he commits the breach at the 
very next chance, and you have to beat him 
again. You never cure him and you have to 
keep on beating him forever. It is another case 
of the surgeon’s knife as against deadening 
drugs. Take my word for it, seeming brutality 
at first is in reality the greatest kindness in the 
long run.” 
It was getting along toward noon by the time 
we set out again, and the heat was becoming 
oppressive, but Pouf was standing it well and 
the greyhounds were in such perfect condition 
that a few minutes of inaction stilled their beat¬ 
ing flanks. They even fought shy of the keeper 
when he came up to hold them for the next 
covey. This proved a very young one and 
Coureur got his bird as he alighted after the 
first flight, a short and slow one. 
“One more and home we go,” then said my 
companion, “but we want a hard bird and fast 
riding. The next field should provide both.” 
It did. The place was level and paved with 
short, thick grass, and here and there stretches 
of high ferns and matted beds of thistles offer¬ 
ing splendid cover. A number of fences criss¬ 
crossed it, but they were low and really added 
to the pleasure of riding. 
We had not advanced far when Pouf pointed. 
My cousin gave order not to let go the hounds 
and then sent the dog in with the result that 
we saw the parent birds alight some distance 
from their young. It was the former we wan¬ 
ted and we located them easily. 
Again Pouf chose, or happened to find, the 
male, and the bird gave us the run of our lives. 
Marmot, after the second spurt, began to show 
signs of fatigue, but Coureur seemed to gain 
strength all the time and had turned into a 
perfect devil. He snapped at the keeper, gave 
a low cry of excitement every time he started, 
worried his prey after getting it and became 
more and more excited. I was worried, for I 
thought the sun might have affected him. My 
cousin reassured me, though, and said it was 
just “blood,” the high-strung nature of the thor¬ 
oughbred. 
At the fourth flushing of the old cock Mar¬ 
mot was left so far behind that we thought best 
to put him in leash, and Coureur continued 
alone. The bird showed no sign of weakening, 
and I was beginning to wonder whether we had 
not found our match, when a curious and un¬ 
expected occurrence brought the chase to an 
end. 
A timber fence had been broken by the cattle 
and mended by the stretching of barbed wire from 
post to post. Beyond it some heavy brush 
promised protection, and the bird made for it. 
Whether in its tired state it felt unable to rise 
over the fence or whether it failed to see the 
wire, it is impossible to tell, but it banged 
against it in full flight and crumpled up like a 
piece of paper as if suddenly struck by a load 
of shot. Coureur had it a second later, and 
upon inspection we found the feathers com¬ 
pletely gone from the top of the head. 
“That makes the half dozen,” remarked my 
companion, slipping off his horse to pat the 
wonderful king of his kennel, “and we just 
have time to get back for lunch. You may say 
all you please in favor of shooting, but to me 
a morning like this is worth a hundred brace 
knocked over in a drive.” 
And I agreed heartily. Herbert Reeder. 
Vermont Deer. 
Bennington, Vt., Jan. 26. —Editor Forest and 
Stream: I am sending a photograph of two 
Vermont deer. These deer were not taken in 
any zoological park, but right in the woods in 
Pownal near the Vermont and Massachusetts 
State line. This will demonstrate pretty well 
the truth of my assertion, made last summer, 
that the deer in this State are as nearly domes¬ 
ticated as they can be in their wild state. 
Harry Chase. 
