Feb. 18, 1911.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
251 
"Six or seven came across to this side/’ I 
answered, “and all except those I killed turned 
and went along the fence.” 
“Well,” said Joe, "let’s keep along just as 
we re going, and when we get to the end of this 
stubble we’ll go straight across to where I 
marked the quail and see if we can find them. 
If the dogs do point them, we'll see something 
pretty.” 
Nothing especial happened until we had nearly 
reached the end of the stubble when True and 
I, who were still outside of the field, managed 
between us to put up and kill a woodcock. I 
had missed the dog and when whistling would 
not bring him, went back a short distance in 
search of him and found him pointing close to 
a little clump of brush in the wet meadows. The 
woodcock hopped up as soon as I kicked the 
edge of tile brush, and gave one of those simple 
open shots which always make a man ashamed 
after he has killed the bird. 
" 1 here,” said Joe, as we came together at the 
end of the stubble, and he pointed with his hand 
to a bare hillside, yellow with dried grass about 
a foot high, “there is where those quail went 
down, and there we ought to find them. There 
is not air enough stirring to make it worth 
while to go around them and try to work up 
the wind. If there were a little breeze I would 
like to do that. We’ve all heard the story about 
quail holding their scent, but I never have seen 
any positive evidence about it. Of course there 
have been times when I have thought I had 
marked down quail and then gone to the place 
with the dogs and been unable to find them, 
though later I have come across them very close 
to the spot, but now I am positive that these 
birds, or most of them, alighted in this grass 
and certainly the dogs ought to find them. Let 
us stai t in and try. One thing we must remem¬ 
ber, though, that we should not kill more than 
six of these; that will leave one-half the bevy 
for another time.” 
Spreading out so as to cover almost the whole 
of the width of this patch of grass, we started 
to walk through it slowly, trying to keep the 
dogs from running over it too hastily, for I think 
most of us were a little doubtful as to whether 
they could smell the birds. However, it proved 
that there was no difficulty about this. Hardly 
had we staited when Joe’s old dog, which had 
made a cast toward the middle of the lot, bring¬ 
ing him in front of my brother, suddenly slowed 
up and stopped. The puppy, which was not far 
behind the old dog, backed him beautifully. Old 
black Rex, lumbering along a little to one side, 
stopped in his stride and backed, while True, 
who had been crossing over from my front, also 
backed. Here then were four dogs pointing and 
backing, the two white ones facing west, and the 
black and the red one facing east. 
It was a beautiful sight and we all gathered 
to watch it; to admire the positions assumed by 
the dogs and to comment on their attitudes and 
the expressions of their faces. After our curi¬ 
osity was satisfied, Joe asked my brother to step 
forward and kill the bird, and he advanced to 
flush it. A moment of stamping around before 
the old white dog seemed to show that the quail 
was not there. Then the old dog took a few 
steps forward and froze again, and as the old 
dog advanced, the young one teetered after him 
with extreme caution. Meantime Rex on the 
other side had crept up a little nearer 
but good old True refused to stir out of his 
tracks. 
At last the bird was tramped out from its 
hiding place, and flew low straight away to be 
deliberately killed at about thirty-five yards. 
Joe s old dog, who was entitled to that pleasure, 
was sent forward to retrieve it, but on his way 
back with the quail in his mouth he suddenly 
stopped and pointed. 
What,’ said my brother, “has he got another 
bird and is he pointing it with that one in his 
mouth? Joe said, "It looks like it, doesn’t it?” 
At that moment I saw what explained the old 
dog’s point which, in fact, was not a point, but 
a back. 1 he puppy, after being ordered to charge 
when the old dog went out for the bird, had 
taken advantage of the concentration of our at¬ 
tention on the dead bird and its bearer, sneaked 
off a little to one side and had come upon an¬ 
other quail and was pointing it. The old dog 
was backing him with the bird in its mouth, and 
True and Rex raised on their haunches were 
also backing. 
We exclaimed with interest at the unusual 
sight and Joe threatened the puppy with dire 
punishment the next time he found him failing 
to obey orders. Now, however, there was noth¬ 
ing to do but to kill this bird, and Joe moved 
forward to do so while we others also drew up 
as nominal supports, though when Joe leveled 
his gun there was usually no need of support. 
When the quail got up, as it presently did, Joe 
killed it, and the puppy was sent to retrieve it, 
both birds being finally brought to pocket with¬ 
out further incident. 
YY e now went on and in a very few minutes 
three more birds were pointed, two by True and 
one by Rex, and all were secured. It was the 
simplest, easiest kind of shooting with nothing 
to interfere and time enough for the most de¬ 
liberate of shooters; in fact, it was so easy as 
hardly to be sport, and after the retrieving of 
the fifth quail I suggested to Joe that we leave 
these fellows and go after the other bevy. 
Moreover, it was now well on to the middle of 
the afternoon, and we had a good way to go to 
reach our team. 
You re right; let us leave these quail and go 
back to the stubble and see if we can find the 
other bunch, but you don’t suppose,” Joe con¬ 
tinued, “that we are going to walk back to the 
team to-night. Not much. I told Harley before 
we left the house to have his boy go down to 
where we left the team and drive it up and put 
it in his barn. We 11 stop with him to-night if 
you say so.” And both my brother and I said 
“So” in a loud tone of voice. 
Walking about over ground that we had not 
worked over, but that had been in our view for 
most of the day, we approached the edge of the 
thick swamp in which the first bevy of quail 
had taken refuge. It was getting toward eve- 
ning, the sky had clouded over, and there was 
not much time left for shooting. We all be¬ 
lieved that at feeding time the quail would come 
out of the swamp and go back to the rye stub¬ 
ble, and that by keeping close to the edge of 
the underbrush the dogs would find the trail 
and lead 11s to the bevy. In part, this worked 
out very well. Old True, who happened to be 
ahead of the other dogs, struck a trail which 
seemed to be quite fresh, for he followed it 
slowly, seldom putting his nose to the ground, 
but for the most part walking majestically along. 
Evidently the birds had passed out of the cover 
not very long before, and we were likely to 
come up with them and all to have a shot on the 
rise. 
It did not turn out quite in this way. The 
tiail led to a fence along which grew young 
trees and brush to a height of a dozen or fifteen 
feet, with only here and there a clear opening 
through which one could see. True had almost 
leached the fence and Joe and my brother, on 
either hand, were just about to look for places 
to break through it, when out in the lot on the 
other side of the fence I heard the bevy rise. 
1 ry as I would, I could see nothing of the fly¬ 
ing birds, and my companions had no better 
f01 tune. I could not even see in which direc¬ 
tion they had gone, but Joe, through an open¬ 
ing in the trees, thought he had seen one or 
two birds flying on across the field. It seemed 
useless to follow them, and turning back toward 
the house, we reached Harley’s comfortable home 
just as dusk was falling. 
After we had put our empty guns in the house 
we went to the barn and arranged comfortable 
quarters for the dogs, which we fed, watered 
and chained up to sleep all night on beds of 
warm soft hay. Then we repaired to the farm¬ 
house kitchen, and after a short session at the 
pump with a bar of yellow soap and a rough 
towel, we went into the living room and took 
comfoitable chairs about a big wood fire. There, 
until an hour later, when Mrs. Warner called us 
to a supper that has not yet been forgotten, Joe 
and Harley discussed politics, abused life in the 
big city, told of crops, past, present and to come, 
and had a real good time. 
My brother and I, warmed by the glow of the 
fire and soothed by the murmuring voices, grew 
sleepier and sleepier, until finally, starting from 
a doze, I looked across at him and saw his head 
m such an absurd position that it woke me up. 
I rose, shook myself, and from then until the 
call for supper, tried to keep awake and to be 
interested. 
[to be continued.] 
The Curlew. 
On the lone, lone marshlands, 
By the bourn of the sea. 
Where the wind-blown sands 
Drift incessantly. 
Shrills the curlew—a shy recluse 
By the dunes, and the wastes, 
His home is solitude; 
Which the tempest desolates, 
While the weird interlude, 
Curlew! persists without a truce. 
His plaintive cry is heard 
With the sea mew’s scream; 
\\ hen the storm gust is stirr’d 
And the day dies with a gleam 
In the west, red with an angry flush. 
Yvings he spreads, which express 
The sense of easeful flight; 
Graceful are they, no less— 
To bear him swift and light, 
When he sweeps down the wind with a rush. 
Free, free, the curlew flies! 
Freedom is all his right; 
While Curlew! Curlew! he cries, 
Piping by day and by night, 
And at morn with its rosy blush. 
—Rev. C. T. Easton. 
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