FOREST AND STREAM 
71 
FIELD INCIDENTS 
OUT - OF - THE - ORDINARY EXPERIENCES 
ENCOUNTERED BY THE QUAIL HUNTER 
By Ripley. 
Chlo, Our Black and White Setter, Came to a Point in a Dry Branch 
Between Fields. 
W ERE it not for out- 
of-the-ordinary oc¬ 
currences every 
day in the history of our 
experience, quail shooting 
would be too much alike, 
robbing the sport of its 
greatest charm, the unex¬ 
pected. There is not a one 
of us that at some time or 
other has not experienced 
a day when the happen¬ 
ings stepped out of the or¬ 
dinary trend of other 
hunting days, and this fact 
is worthy of a place in our 
reminiscences of days 
spent in pursuit of the 
game little brown birds. 
Separate them and they 
might not deserve a place 
in the storehouse of field 
events, but when they oc¬ 
cur all in one day and 
you insist on this you will either sub¬ 
mit to ranking in reputation for veracity 
with a certain Baron of fame, or else less 
kindly disposed ones will affirm that you are 
influenced by a beverage that made a state 
famous in the blue grass region. I will 
run the gauntlet and relate a few strange 
occurrences while shooting one day. 
It was in my hill country. I was not 
shooting well. This was not out of the 
ordinary, but on the contrary, very ordi¬ 
nary. My errors were in some sense com¬ 
promised by the excellent work of the 
dog. There were to be visitors, and I 
promised the family they would have birds 
for them, twenty-four. This amount is 
not much of a kill in an Ozark hill country, 
where the farmers cultivate according to 
the best results for the birds, and there are 
thousands of coveys out on the wild timber 
lands that have neither seen a farm nor a 
bird dog. 
Chlo, our black and white setter bitch, 
came to point in a dry branch between 
fields. From lack of recent rains it had 
submitted to a growth of crab grass. I 
got to Chlo’s head and kicked in the grass. 
A rabbit ran out in advance of us, straight 
as the fight of an arrow. In front of the 
rabbit arose a large covey of quail. I killed 
one. Turning to Chlo I saw her pointing 
near my feet. Looking down inquiringly 
I found a quail fluttering. It was com¬ 
pletely knocked out. In its wild headlong 
rush the rabbit had bumped against it. 
After picking up the bird and taking it 
to a part of the branch and sousing its 
head in water, it came to life, and much 
perturbed it was at the first sight of me. 
Watching it interestedly for a while I let 
it repose on the palm of my hand. It 
craned its head in every direction, then 
soared finally about twenty feet high for 
the adjacent post oak cover. This was hap¬ 
pening number one. 
A S the day progressed Chlo had a nice lot 
of full-grown birds up in a sumac patch 
on the western slope of a very thickety 
hill. Poor shooting form pursued me. I 
missed four birds, and went up to the point¬ 
ing bitch, fully determined to redeem myself. 
The cover was very rank, I found, and it 
was an arduous task getting to the dog. 
Back of her I frightened a bird and it 
flushed wildly. Shooting at it, the instant 
I pulled the trigger I was satisfied that I 
had shot over it at least two feet. A hick¬ 
ory sapling had thrown me off when pulling 
the trigger. Judge my surprise when the 
bird stopped in the air, and fell without 
the loss of a feather. This bird was de¬ 
posited carefully in my pocket, separate 
from the rest, and at lunch time curiosity 
impelled me to pick it. On its bare body 
there was not a shot mark to be discovered, 
but near its breast was a scar extending 
to its neck, and of a dark red color. 
Returning to the locality where I had 
picked up the bird I gazed above me. There 
was a telephone wire strung through the 
woods, for communication to different 
parts of the farm. Blindly against the wire 
to its death the poor bird had flown. 
I am sure this much of the day had been 
eventful, but the day was only half over. 
I met a friend, and for an hour we hunted 
with good results along a creek where the 
corn was rank and growing among it was 
an abundance of cow peas, of which quail 
are particularly fond. I was shooting my 
old gun. The top snap spring had been 
broken for a time; and rather than endure 
idleness while birds were plentiful and 
weather was favorable I managed to get 
it adjusted with a rubber band. As long 
as the band retained its strength, it proved 
an efficient way of hasty repair; but the 
rubber band had a bad habit of breaking 
during moments of excitement and causing 
much annoyance. 
It happened that Chlo 
got on birds down a corn 
row when the infernal 
rubber broke. I told my 
companion to go and flush 
the birds, and that I 
would have the gun work¬ 
ing as soon as I could affix 
another rubber. He 
strode on down the corn. 
As I was sitting down to 
perform my unenviable 
repair work I heard the 
birds flush and the gunner 
cry out: “They are com¬ 
ing your way!” Quite 
low, down along the corn 
rows, they came toward 
me; and for that reason 
my companion did not 
shoot. I jumped to my 
feet, just in time to see 
the birds rushing on me. 
Foolishly I brought the 
open gun to my shoulder, and almost angry 
for the position of helplessness I was in, I 
poked the barrel out ahead of a strong 
flier. Feeling a shock on my gun barrel, 
to my utter astonishment I watched a quail 
fall stone dead at my feet. It was like 
hunting with a baseball bat. 
The out-of-the-ordinary had pursued me 
so long that day; it was not going to re¬ 
linquish me without just one more. 
My companion and I put a covey of quail 
into a thick cover of hickory and post oak 
saplings. On account of the density of 
the growth, paths were only here and there 
made by the range stock. My companion 
went thirty yards further in, where Chlo 
had stuck up a single, so he thought. 
“Look out,” he exclaimed, “there's a rab¬ 
bit!” 
Now Chlo was not the best broken dog 
in the world, and any time that she did not 
chase it was because she did not see it. 
Mister Cottontail came down the narrow 
path helter skelter, and was nearly against 
me before I perceived it. Jumping aside 
to let the rabbit pass, it dodged and much 
to my surprise and Chlo’s momentary de¬ 
light I landed on it with both feet. Chlo’s 
delight was limited to that instant, for I 
flogged her soundly with the rabbit right 
there. - 
Minnesota may be called upon soon to 
consider the stopping of prairie shooting 
for a few seasons in order to give the birds 
an opportunity of recuperating in numbers. 
You are reading “Forest and Stream” 
and enjoying it. Why not furnish some of 
your friends who may not he acquainted 
with the good things in this issue, an hour 
or two of similar enjoyment? If you will 
take the trouble to send us the names of 
any of your circle of acquaintances, zve zvill 
see that they are supplied with a sample 
copy with your compliments. 
