250 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 18 , 1911 - 
course I saw precisely where it was and did not 
dare to take my eyes from it, because " ai 
to see it on the ground, something that up to 
that time I had very seldom done; for the op¬ 
portunity to see a woodcock on the ground does 
not come often. Keeping my eye fixed on the 
spot I stole toward the bird as silently as might 
be all idea of shooting being quite forgotten in 
my eagerness for the new sensation. I succeeded 
in (retting within six or seven paces of the bud. 
apparently without being detected, and had an 
excellent view of it. This did not last long, 
however, for presently I heard my dog, which 
had missed me, come trotting back to look me 
up He passed within two or three yards of the 
woodcock, which did not move, but a moment 
later the scent of the crouching bird reached 
his nostrils and he whirled on a stiff point. 1 
knew that this was the end of my observations 
on this woodcock, and stepping forward reache 
the dogs head. As I passed him he drew on 
three feet further, and a moment later the wood¬ 
cock sprang into the air, and though I was quite 
ready to shoot, it whirled around a neighboring 
tree trunk, put it between me and itself with 
as much judgment as an old cock partridge 
could have used, and by the time it was again 
in sight was quite out of gun shot. 
Toe who had heard the woodcock get up, 
called’ across to me: “Why didn’t you shoot? 
\„d I could only call back that the bird had 
been too smart for me. A little later a wood¬ 
cock got up in front of Joe, who killed it, at the 
same time cutting off a good sized branch of 
a red maple, and soon after that another bird 
rose close to the river bank and started to y 
across, which my brother killed and old Rex 
retrieved in his usual good style. 
Beyond the cover that we had been beating out 
was a good sized rye stubble that we were to 
work. We sat down on the edge of the field 
to count and smooth out our birds and to smoke 
a pipe or two. The weather was beautiful, one 
of the late October days when the sun is warm, 
the air full of fragrance and the haze that hangs 
over field and wood lends a dreamy aspect to 
all the more distant features of the landscape. 
“Well” said Toe, “this isn't so bad; three 
woodcock and three old ’pats,’ and noon quite 
a long wav off yet. Now. I am told that there 
is one good bevy of quail in this rye stubble, 
and maybe two, and I think that we ought to 
be able to get some of them before noon. 1 
we can find them and can get them scattered, 
we can get what we want. We don’t want to 
kill them all; better leave a plenty for seed for 
the next crop.” 
Tt was not more than ti o’clock when we en¬ 
tered the field and walked down through it, the 
four dogs covering the whole stubble and its 
borders." We had not gone far before the dogs 
began to make game, casting about rather con¬ 
fusedly and as I thought working on trails made 
quite early in the morning. A little later, how¬ 
ever, True, who was galloping slowly along near 
the fence, whirled on a stiff point, which, how¬ 
ever, he almost immediately broke, and then 
began to road, but very slowly and cautiously. 
Rex had backed at True’s first stop, but now 
hurried along as if desiring to overtake the red 
dog and steal the point from him. His master 
checked him and he grudgingly fell back. I called 
to my brother saying: “The birds are running 
and if they cross the fence before rising, we 
may fail to get a shot. Better call Joe over 
and I’ll cross the fence to try and catch them i 
they go into the woods.” 
Before I had climbed the rail fence I could 
see Joe approaching, having whistled his dogs 
over toward where we were, and a moment later 
—just how it was I could not see, because of the 
fence and the underbrush that grew along it-a 
big bevy of quail rose ahead of the men and 
flew on down the field, a single one of the birds 
turning and crossing ahead of me. Joe and my 
brother fired each two barrels, but I could not 
see what they did. I shot at the crossing bird 
and saw some feathers come back, but he went 
on very strong. 
Going to the fence I called over to them that 
I should go into the woods to try to find the 
wounded bird, and I saw their dogs bringing 
some birds to them, but could not see how many. 
Joe called back that the birds had gone over 
into a swamp where it was better not to follow 
them at the moment, and that they would wait 
for me to come back at the lower end of t e 
field. 
The wood where I entered was quite open 
and free from undergrowth, but there were ferns 
and some low shrubbery, and I felt by no means 
sure that True would find the quail. We went 
on slowly for perhaps a hundred yards and then 
I saw the old dog feeling for a scent, and a 
moment later following it up, and presently he 
picked up the bird and brought it to me. I then 
started back to join my companions. 
“Well, Joe,” I said, “how many did you men 
get out’of that big bunch that I heard rise?” 
“Only three,” said my brother, answering me. 
“Joe got a double, but somehow I managed to 
miss with my first barrel. Did you get yours r 
“Yes,” I replied. “True found it almost at 
once and brought it to me. It fell dead. Where 
did the bevy go?” 
“Over there in that thick swamp,” said Joe, 
“and I don’t think it worth our while to go m 
there after them. I believe if we go on and 
work some of these other covers we can come 
back here about 3 o’clock and we will find the 
birds out again feeding on the stubble. It seems 
to me a long time since breakfast, he went on. 
“Now, let’s go over to Harley Warner s and get 
him to give us some dinner. I bet he’s got some 
new cider, and we can sit by the barrel and drink 
all we want through the bung-hole with snellidge 
stalks.” 
“Good for you, Joe,” said my brother; we 
couldn’t do anything that would suit me better, 
so with guns on shoulders and dogs following 
at heel, we started for the highway near at hand 
to walk a few hundred yards to Mr. Warner s 
house. Instead of going around and entering the 
yard about the house by the front gate, we 
crossed the fence going through a field to enter 
the yard by the back gate. My brother and I 
climbed the fence pretty nearly together while 
Joe, who was big and heavy, stepped along to 
look for an easy place to cross, but as my 
brother and I jumped off the fence into the low 
briers and bushes that grew close to it, a whist¬ 
ling woodcock darted up from the giound, 
twisted through the brush and flew out across 
the road just behind Joe, who very neatly killed 
it. A few moments later we were shaking hands 
with Harley and his wife, both of whom re¬ 
ceived us with the warmest hospitality. They 
were old friends of Joe’s, but we had been 
known to them for two or three years. Joe’s 
introduction and such intercourse as we had had 
with them had apparently won for us both warm 
places in their hearts. Mrs. Warner gave us a 
splendid farmer’s dinner, and after we had 
eaten, we sat lazily around one of the big bar¬ 
rels in the woodshed and drank sweet cider 
made only a day or two before. Finally Joe,, 
almost with blows, drove us from our revel, and 
we reluctantly parted from our host and hostess 
and dragged our loitering legs toward the game 
cover. 
“Now, boys,” said Joe, “let’s cross over and 
go down the other side of the field where we 
started those quail and see if we can find the 
other bevy that lives there. Harley says he’s 
sure they are there and that we ought to get 
them.” 
A short walk brought us to the upper end ot 
the rye stubble and we crossed it and followed 
the fence down on the side furthest from the 
highway. Before we had gone very far, old 
Rex, who was working ahead began to road,, 
but before he had made anything out of it, Joe s 
white puppy, the dog closest to the fence, whii led 
on point by a bunch of high weeds and the old 
dog backed him. 
“Come on, boys,” sang out Joe, and my 
brother hurried in toward the fence, while I, 
who had been working down outside of the lot, 
stepped forward to be ready for any birds that 
might cross through the underbrush that grew 
along the fence to my side. Joe as usual told 
each of us where to place himself, and I whistled 
True to come in. 
“Now,” said Joe, “if you’re all ready I’ll step- 
forward and flush them.” He advanced to do 
so and the young dog, much excited, crept for¬ 
ward two or three steps, stiff-legged, walking as- 
if the ground were covered with eggs. 
“Look out, now,” was the last word from 
Joe, and a moment' later the rattle of a great 
bevy of rising quail was heard. Half a dozen 
of them whirled over the fence to my side, and 
I got the first one, and then turned a little to' 
try to double on two that seemed to be about 
to cross each other. I do not know whether I 
waited too long or shot too soon, but at all 
events onlv one of them came down. Shots- 
from the other side of the field told me that my 
companions were busy and presently I could hear 
them talking to the dogs as they gathered their 
birds. I had marked my two down, one of them 
close to a little bunch of weeds in an open lot, 
the other a little further on under a young ash 
tree in a cross fence. True found them both, 
the second one only after a little search, and 
brought them in in his usual good style. 
The remaining birds that had crossed over to 
my side of the fence had kept on down it, and 
I had not been able to see where they alighted. 
Presently Joe called across, asking me what 
I had done, and when I put the same question 
to him he told me that four birds had fallen on 
his side of the fence. 
"The rest of the bevy,” he continued, “flew 
down to that piece of bare hillside beyond the 
field and lit there in the short grass. We can 
go down there and have some lovely shots at 
them; there must be a dozen down in that grass, 
and we can kill four or five more without doing 
too much. That was one of the biggest bevies 
I’ve seen for a long time. I believe there were 
twenty-five or thirty birds in it.” 
