Mr. Ponto 
Gentleman and Sportsman 
By LEWIS HOPKINS 
A S incumbent on him—I being a newcomer 
he called first; showing theiwas through 
our long and delightful acquaintance he 
ever showed—a nice regard for the proprieties. 
Lord Chesterfield, at his best, never presented a 
more dignified appearance than did Mr. Ponto 
on the occasion of this first call. 
Barely settled in our new home, I was view¬ 
ing the possibilities of the back yard and orchard 
from a boy’s standpoint, when around the house 
walked the largest and decidedly the handsomest 
pointer I have ever numbered among my long 
list of acquaintances in that family. It was no 
lack of self-respect or assurance which caused 
him to come to the rear of the house; it was 
because he was calling upon me, and that is 
where he saw 1 was ready to receive callers. 
I was but a boy and knew little of dogs, but 
when this one, dignified and handsome, walked 
around the house up to me and stood looking 
me over with a critical but kindly eye, the mark 
of the thoroughbred was evident even to my 
young eye. 
“I hope you like me, old fellow,” I said, with 
hearty good will after we had carefully looked 
each other over in silence. 
PTe promptly admitted that his first impression 
was favorable, his soft brown eyes lighting up 
at the sound of my voice. After an instant s 
hesitation he stepped up and laid his great head 
upon my outstretched hand and looked up into 
my face with an expression of perfect trust and 
friendship that delighted me. 
Seating myself upon the step with his head 
still in my hand I had a long talk with my new 
friend, telling him frankly what I thought of 
him, how I knew he must be a mighty hunter, 
and how I hoped he would go with me to the 
wide prairie we could look out on from where 
we sat and show me where the prairie chickens 
I had heard of, but had never seen, were to be 
found, and would teach me all the accomplish¬ 
ments of a sportsman. He listened attentively, 
frequently tilting his head a little to one side 
and changing the expression of his face; and if 
he did not understand all I said, he appeared to 
do so and was—taking it all together—about as 
interesting an auditor as one could wish to con¬ 
verse with. 
With due regard for the proprieties he did 
not make his first call a long one. As I followed 
him to the corner of the house, urging him to 
come again and soon, he frequently turned his 
head over his shoulder and tried to show his 
appreciation of my invitation. When he at last 
stopped for a final look and waved his tad back 
and forth I -felt that he had been most cordial 
in his leave taking, and that we were friends. 
There was more in the one long wave of his 
tail—which I came to know as his strongest ex¬ 
pression of pleasure or satisfaction than in all 
the gyrations of the average demonstrative dog. 
Wishing to know my friend’s abode, I watched 
him leave the yard and take his way to a nearby 
house, which I regretted to see bore rather a di¬ 
lapidated, or at least ill-kept, appearance. There 
was dearth of care, lack of paint and a geneial 
air of neglect about the place of my fiiends 
dwelling that made me think the setting un¬ 
worthy the noble character I believed him. 
It was not long before I learned that this was 
by no means the least of Mr. Ponto s troubles, 
for in addition to mean surroundings he had the 
added sorrow of uncongenial associates. He was 
the property of a man who occasionally went 
out shooting, but was not a sportsman. A man 
who appreciated him only for the material ser¬ 
vices he rendered, and who readily censured him 
for lack of success when no blame attached to 
him. 
I firmly believe this lack of congenial com¬ 
panionship was a constant source of humiliation 
as evidenced by the entirely different manner in 
which he conducted himself with his master and 
with me after we got on terms of intimacy. Ever 
obedient and diligent when at work for his mas¬ 
ter, there was nothing but the bare discharge of 
duty without any show of interest or enthusiasm, 
but in the field with me his whole manner was 
changed, and he was another dog. Never demon¬ 
strative, he was yet thoroughly responsive, and 
if ever there was an appreciative animal it was 
this same dog. Every kind word spoken was 
acknowledged by a look or some responsive 
movement of the head or tail, and always the 
air of dignity remained. 
I have ever been a poor “trimmer,” but it was 
by no means pure neighborly kindness of heart 
that caused me to assiduously cultivate the un¬ 
lovely owner of Ponto. In all my diplomatic 
relations with him I discovered but one virtue— 
he was a good shot. This discovery I made one 
afternoon shortly after forming the acquaintance 
of the big dog, when I saw them together on 
their way out to the prairie, and with pretended 
indifference crossed their path and accepted an 
invitation to accompany them. 
The prairie was a large tract of land, unbroken 
and uncultivated, lying on the edge of town and 
extending for miles, with here and there a farm 
carved out. It was virgin and the growth was 
the regular prairie grass and weeds, kept down 
.—to some extent—near town by grazing cattle. 
Prairie chicken, quail, upland plover, larks and 
all manner of small game abounded, and it came 
to be a veritable happy hunting ground, terres¬ 
trial. for me. 
The chicken season, which opened in August, 
was well advanced, and they had been pretty 
well shot out, but a few remained, and that was 
what my companion was out for. We soon got 
into the cover and Ponto went to work and I 
followed his every motion. Never before had 
I seen a real bird dog at work, and it was one 
of the most beautiful sights I had ever wit¬ 
nessed. Then the possibility of putting up a 
prairie chicken and seeing it killed was to me 
who had never killed anything larger than a 
flicker—an anticipated delight that almost pulled 
me off the ground. How my companion could 
walk along so stolidly, as though nothing out of 
the ordinary was impending, occasionally speak¬ 
ing crossly to the splendid dog covering the 
ground so carefully and diligently, was to me 
a mystery. I almost choked with excitement and 
every flush of lark or small bird nearly made me 
cry out. 
My companion talked little, which I did not 
regret, as I was fully entertained by' watching 
the dog work and the anticipation of sport. 
After we had been out for some time and the 
dog had worked out a number of scents, I saw 
that this master’s interest was suddenly awak¬ 
ened. He stopped and watched the dog work 
around us and back and forth over the same 
ground several tunes. 
“Birds been here,” he said tersely. 
Ponto went over and over the ground, some¬ 
times on a run, and then slowly. Several times 
he seemed to be about to come to a point and 
then—after roading a little way—he would start 
off again. 
“Just one or two birds and they been running 
all around here,” said my companion. “Find 
them, you rascal,” he growled, as the dog passed 
near. 
Ah! but look at that, now. On a sudden 
turn, bent almost in a circle, the dog froze. 
From animate to inanimate a lightning change. 
Every muscle tense, every fiber strained, a beau¬ 
tiful bronze statue—and the boy, oh! where was 
he? Froze also. No thoroughbred ever backed 
a point more staunchly. With teeth set to keep 
my heart from getting out my mouth, every nerve 
tingling and as motionless as the big dog, I 
pointed my first prairie chicken. 
