454 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Sept. 18, 1909. 
question about those birds being fully developed 
and swift. Bang, bang-bang. “One down," mut¬ 
tered the little man. “1 got one also,” an¬ 
swered the big man; but a thorough search by 
both men and the dog found only one bird, 
a large white-faced cock. Explanations fol¬ 
lowed and it was decided that the white face 
had called the fire from both guns. 
"Where did they go?” asked the big man. 
"Three straight away through the brush, the 
other three or four down to the point. 
After a little discussion it was decided to fol¬ 
low the three through the brush first, the big 
man taking the outer edge while the little man 
went through the thicket. They met on the fur¬ 
ther side without raising a bird and began to 
follow the edge of a small cornfield when "Bob- 
white, bobwhite” came from the point. It could 
not be resisted, and leaving the first three to 
take care of themselves, our friends headed for 
the deep grass at the point, the dog working the 
edge until he froze, only his black tail showing 
out of the grass. The little man called to lus 
companions and they closed in. Whirr-bang. 
“Down,” muttered the little man as a big cock 
surrounded by a halo of loose feathers struck 
the ground. Whirr-bang, bang from the big 
man and bang from the little man with his re¬ 
maining barrel, but the three birds got away, two 
going straight for a little tamarack swamp 
across the field, the third curving back toward 
the point where the bevy had been flushed. 
Across the field the friends tramped, now al¬ 
most walking on air, but the big man was be¬ 
ginning to count. He had one quail in pocket 
while the little man had four quail and a grouse 
and the big man felt just a little on his mettle. 
Into the tamarack they pushed. Whirr, di¬ 
rectly before the big man. “Get him ? called 
the little man who, though only a few yards 
away, could not see either man or bird through 
the dense brush. “Yes,” answered the big man; 
“Come and help me find him.” 
The grass was long and rank on the ground 
under the tamaracks and a long search by both 
men and dog failed to locate the bird. The big 
man was still more on his mettle. Evidently 
both birds had risen at once and our friends re¬ 
traced their steps to the point. This time the 
little man took the edge while the big man 
thrashed through the brush and was lewarded 
by raising the bird—a hen, and at the repoit of 
his gun she tumbled to the ground, but in spite 
of the best retrieving efforts of the entire party 
gained a brush-pile and from there all trace of 
her was lost. Then the big man was decidedly 
on his mettle. > 
“Shall we go back to the first bevy?” asked 
the little man. 
“Sure.” 
This time they approached the brush from a 
direction they had not before taken, passing 
over a small Stubblefield. Near the edge of the 
Stubblefield the little man discovered that his 
pine was out. Now this pipe was practically a 
part of the little man’s anatomy and when it was 
out he was not really complete, consequently he 
stopped to light it. The big man stood watch¬ 
ing him, his gun resting against his arm, and the 
dog, which was beginning to show signs of wear 
from the rough service, sat licking the end of 
his tail where the brush had whipped the skin 
off. Snap went the little man’s match and 
whir-r-r-r, a bevy of quail rose just at the edge 
of the stubble and went straight into the brush. 
The two men looked at each other in an ex¬ 
pressive silence and the dog sneaked just out 
of boot-reach. After a minute the little man 
laughed; it was a foolish laugh, as there was 
really nothing mirth-provoking in the rise of a 
bevy of quail, particularly when they were not 
prepared for it. The big man looked disgusted 
and both started for the brush. 
Just over the rise in the thickest of the brush 
there was the inevitable barbed-wire fence. 
“Wait until I am through,” said the little man 
“so that only one of us will be in the con¬ 
founded thing at one time.” Just as he got be¬ 
tween the wires the birds got up and bang-bang 
went the big man’s gun. The little man scram¬ 
bled through the fence, leaving his cap hanging 
on a barb, just in time to down the last bird, 
as it headed across the railroad track. 
The two birds recovered, they pushed further 
into the brush and the dog pointed. “Take him,” 
muttered the little man, thinking of the discrep¬ 
ancy of the bag. The big man stepped forward, 
up went a single bird and fell back to earth. 
“Good,” exclaimed the little man. As he spoke 
another bird arose, circling the big man and 
giving the little man a quartering shot at long 
range, which he missed. Twenty yards further, 
at the edge of some long grass, the dog pointed 
again. “Take him,” again muttered the little 
man. Whirr, and the big man registered a clean 
straight-away kill. The big man was now 
happy; “You take the next one,” he said as he 
pocketed his kill. 
The dog made another point near the corner 
of the wire fence. The bird flushed, just miss¬ 
ing the dog’s head and coming straight for the 
little man’s face; he ducked and swung his gun 
around only to find the big man between the 
gun and the bird. “Take him,” he called again 
and the big man made another kill. 
At the edge of the brush a cock bird flushed 
wild and started across the track. “Nines are 
pretty light for fifty yards,” thought the little 
man as his gun leaped to his shoulder, and he 
led the bird plenty. “Going, going, gone,” he 
muttered as the bird came to earth. It fell in 
some heavy grass across the track and the little 
man and the dog hunted for it diligently with¬ 
out retrieving. Meanwhile the big man was 
waiting and, while he said nothing, daybght 
was fading and the little man knew he must be 
becoming impatient, so he reluctantly called the 
dog off. “Any use trying for any more?” he 
asked. 
“Bobwhite, bobwhite,” came from the brush 
edge, almost as an answer. The dog evi¬ 
dently disliked to leave the search for the lost 
bird, but was finally called in and the trio 
started into the brush again. Another quail 
rose, settling another quail’s earthly score, while 
a second, in the fading light, succeeded in mak¬ 
ing its escape into the brush. “Too dark,” re¬ 
marked the little man; “we misfit as well call 
it a day.” There was no denying it; daylight 
was something of the past, and the two friends 
reluctantly climbed the roadbed and started 
down the track, the dog solemnly pattering after 
them. ' 
Not much of the dog in this story, you say? 
Mostly of the men who were supposed to be 
onlv stage-settings? Wait; the story is not fin¬ 
ished ; the climax is to come—it is often the 
last line that tells a tale. After proceeding for 
some distance the little man became aware tha, 
the dog was no longer pattering after them, anc 
glancing back, saw him disappearing in thi 
shades of evening down the track. “Where' 
that pup going?” he asked. 
“Back to a water-hole he discovered,” repliei 
the big man; “he’ll come along all right whei 
he has had a drink.” 
Again they tramped on, heavy of foot, bu 
light of heart, for probably fifteen minutes whe 
the patter on the trackbed again approache 
from the rear and the dog, which had thereto 
fore followed directly behind or at the hi 
man's side, came up beside the little man. Fo 
a while longer no attention was paid to it; the 
the little man chanced to glance down. Some 
thing peculiar in the appearance of the dog’ 
head attracted his attention. Apparently th 
animal had cultivated a long mustache whig 
protruded from each side of its lip. "What 
the matter, Doc?” asked the little man, read 
ing down to stroke the dog’s head. The brow 
eyes looked up solemnly and the next instant 
plump quail was deposited in the little man 
hand. “Where did that come from?” exclaimt 
the little man and the two men stood and gaze 
at the dead bird as though they had never b< 
fore had an opportunity of examining a quail 
such close range. 
"After we had started that dog reinemben 
the bird you shot and were searching for abo 
half an hour ago, went back in the dark, four 
it and has carried it fully half a mile,” said tl 
big man. 
Again the two men looked at the bird, then 
each other and finally at the dog. "\\ ell, I 
be blessed,” said the big man. 
That’s the story. Have you a dog—point 
or setter—melancholy or gay—that can beat ii 
Deer in Vermont. 
In view of the recent comments on the dc 
problem in New England, the following, fro 
the White River Junction (Vt.) Landmark 
of interest. We quote: 
“It is a current report in the White Ri' 
valley that a South Royalton farmer and i 
chardist places the damage done his fruit tr< 
the present season at an even $1,000, and tl 
he is to file a claim for this amount. The pa' 
in question is one who has started fruit cultf 
on an extensive scale, and as his venture 
eludes the attempt to grow plums and cheri 
as well as apples, the result of his experieil 
would be of great value to the agricultural 
terest of Vermont. His trees were his o\ 
planted in his own land and presumably, 
element of sentiment as well as the hope 
pecuniary gain prompted him to establish 1 
orchards. He represents a business in wl' 
a majority of the men in Vermont are engac 
but an insignificant minority of the people; 
the State have secured the enactment of a 
that makes the planting of a fruit tree or 
orchard an uncertain and hazardous proceed i 
The few represent a sport and they are enal 
by the help of the law to ride rough shod cj 
the land owner, and to keep him in a state 1 
perpetual annoyance and anxiety. Not < 
that, but these same men must contribute 
ward the sum of $1,500 which the State 
must be paid its game warden annually) 
salary.” 
